The shade of the combined oak and yew trees were a welcomed shade from the light. A filthy brown shoes stepped over roots and thorn bushes, a small cloaked person navigated through a cold forest. Apparently, this Brokenthorn Forest had taken lives before. Unless it was from overexposure to poison ivy, the young mystic did not see anything to fear. Of course, the emotion of fear was all but dead to the kid. As the wind caused the trees to sway and sing dangers, the mere teenager reached and placed a half gloved hand against an oak tree. The gruff bark was hardly a bother, as she lived her life on a farm. No stranger to the element, the cloaked blond turned and with her free hand, flicked a spider off her shoulder.

She then reached and pulled a veil from her mouth. It was made of rough sackcloth. Her entire outfit was black - maybe a poor choice, considering that it was summer. Even as sweat started to collect on her back, she did not care. She needed to find him. She needed to kill him.

That wretched Lakefish crime family took almost everything from her. Her career as a detective, her father's career, her father's legs. . . Her home faced bankruptcy as her milkmaid mother hardly had enough to get by. With a hefty price hanging over the head of the very man who psychologically tortured her, Deirdre Pyri was determined to kill two birds with one stone.

Today was a day of vengeance.

Dark determination filled her oak brown eyes. This was not just some peasant farm girl who was chasing him. She was a trained detective, and with nothing but the quarterstaff on her back, she would be the one to end Dagor Lakefish. Permanently.

Pushing herself off the thick tree, she pulled her foot in front of her. She was about to move. . . but her long, black cloak got caught on a cluster of thorn bushes.

Maybe the old saying was right? No capes?