“You haven’t been curious? She’s always bundled up, eh? She’s got to be hiding something under all those robes.”

Theo shrugged away Slayter’s repeated question. The boisterous paladin had been talking about their furtive companion, Finde, more and more in the last week of walking the Wood Road.

The forest had been falling away slowly as they walked. The heavy evergreen forest had thinned into occasional clumps among the thick yew trunks flush with spring growth. Merchants passed here and there, some rolling past the quartet without a word of greeting or introduction; some hurried opposite. More than once, the stalker had caught snippets of snide comments from those riding by, but he ignored them as he did the insects and other forest pests that took a fleeting interest in his passing. Rumours of “Warless” and “peasant bandits” were nothing new. Theo had learned long ago to ignore such whispers—unless they came with clenched fists, or worse yet, brandished weapons.

There had been a textile merchant who had trundled alongside the four for half a day, eager for company and to hawk new clothing and rolled yards of fabric to the group. His attempts were ill-fated, however. Theo held little interest in new garments; Mother Brandy and Slayter wore their vestments beneath their armour and had little use for finery on the road. Finde took more of an interest in the merchant’s travels than his wares. Ultimately, no coin changed hands, and the merchant left them behind.

All the while, Slayter drove his elbow into Theo's ribs with conspiratorial looks, trying to arouse a curiosity about what was hidden beneath the scholar’s enveloping robes and wraps. Theo wasn’t sure if this boorish interest was based in overbearing faith or more carnal lines of thought. From what little Theo had learned of Slayter over the past week, he wouldn’t have been surprised by either answer. The paladin had a sharp eye for skin as much as for supposed sin.

Finde was soft spoken, reserved, and ever-swaddled in dark, heavy robes tied with numerous ribbons, chains, straps, and ties. Whereas most mercenaries wore boiled leathers or stiff hide pelts for protection, if Finde wore armour of any kind, it was hidden beneath the mostly grey and slate blue layers; shawls of midnight purple and shadowy green and yellow faded almost to grey, though their wear left them no less obscuring. A short dagger with a hooked, vicious blade lay flat against the scholar’s back, lost among the numerous belts and loops that hung from her, sticking out in between the folds of her robes.

Theo was always surprised by the grace of Finde’s movements, how her shape and silhouette seemed to distort and shift in elegant arcs, instead of the clumsy trudging one might expect from her bulky apparel. There was an eerie familiarity to her poise, her way of flickering this way and that as she walked, but Theo could never place the memory. Perhaps it was a fragment from the time before he began wandering, before he was sick, before he was cured.

Finde was mysterious in more respects than her appearance, shying away from the party’s more pious activities. When Slayter and Brandy knelt to their prayers, she abstained, joining Theo or going off to seek her own solitude.

No wonder Slayter’s so drawn to her, Theo mused to himself as the Road beneath their feet sloped gently uphill. Her faith and self are both secreted away; the mystery must be driving him mad. They were entering the low hills south of a steep ridge that ran west to east, a gloomy, jagged wall that rose and disappeared into snowy heights and cloud-wreathed summits. The path rose and fell in a steady order, as if the ground were breathing and exhaling in centuries-long motion. Theo enjoyed the ascent and falls; it gave their travels the air of ritual .

The stalker had been surprised to find how much he enjoyed his new companions. Finde was pleasant and polite, though quiet and stoic during meals, often spending the evening buried in one of the large oilskin-wrapped books she carried. Slayter had jumped at the notion of making friends, though what that meant in practice was that the paladin treated Theo like an exasperating younger brother, despite being two years his junior. There would certainly come a time to revisit the bond, but the stalker pushed the thought away for a later time. There was much road to walk after all.

The one exception was Brandy, with whom Theo hadn’t spoken much. Her maternal face had knit in consternation and disapproval when she’d first looked Theo over, pausing with obvious disdain as her eyes lingered on the scythe folded across his angular back.

The stalker tried to tell himself that any sinister aspect he may project was surely the fault of the curious weapon he wielded, rather than of his unkempt hair or dirt and gore-stained greatcoat. He tried to stay clean, but the grimness of combat, the lingering stench of grave dirt, and the dust and grit of many weeks of walking clung to him regardless of how many times he scrubbed his body raw.

Unconsciously, Theo tried rubbing out one of the more prominent bloodstains on his vest, to no avail. They’d spent a half-day travelling southeast along the road, not a soul passing them from the rear, nor crossing their path in the opposite direction.

The foursome had no set marching order, though they tended to drift into the same pattern when forced to walk single-file. Slayter often led the group, owing more to bravado and blind gravity than sense. Theo followed in his wake, watchful and sharp-eyed despite his meagre shadow compared to their trailblazer. Finde followed Theo, and Brandy brought up the group’s rear, marching with blind confidence that wherever the road would take them, it would be better than where they had been.