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On a bright winter day, Sheraton held Fellanie's hand as they trudged through the snow. The sound of snow crunching under their boots echoed through the forest of pine trees. 

Sunlight seeped through the dry branches of trees, bathing the ladies in rare winter warmth.  The snow only came up to her knees today.

"Are we going the right way?" Fellanie asked, tugging on Sheraton's hand.

"Yes. We are halfway to the cave, my lady," answered Sheraton. She carried a backpack the size of a 50 lb bag of potatoes without a complaint as she led Fellanie through the frozen woods.

Fellanie had filled the backpack with sandwiches, purple candies, and blankets to bring to her friend. She hadn't been back to the cave for a week because she was recovering from a cold. She spent all week thinking about how to thank Darq for his help.

They walked for another half an hour before Fellanie sat down against a tree and let out short sharp gasps.

"I'm tired. My legs hurt. Are we there yet?" She complained.

"Not yet, my lady," Sheraton smiled at the impatient girl.

A scream rang through the woods. Fellanie jumped up, and her fatigue all but disappeared.  Sheraton dropped the backpack and withdrew three 12" chef knives from the bag. She motioned for Fellanie to stay quiet and grabbed her hand.

Another cry, though this time the voice was closer. Sheraton listened with her eyes closed. Fellanie looked around but saw and heard nothing else.

"We have to help them!!" Fellanie cried out. Sheraton quickly covered the girl's mouth with her hand. They slowly made their way in the direction of the scream.

They found a boy sprawled on his back on the snow; the color visibly drained from his face. His hazy red eyes, visible through his matted black bangs, scared her. His blue coat was torn and covered in scratches with splashes of bright red.

Three coyotes circling the boy turned their attention to the ladies. 

"Don't move," hisses Sheraton. She slowly approached the animals with a chef knife in each hand and one in her mouth. Their attention shifted to the maid, a new target that would feed all three of them if taken down.

The animals sprinted at Sheraton, and she turned around and ran when she was sure she was their only target.

The boy and Fellanie were now alone with two feral coyote carcasses lying in the snow. 

"...get my..sword," Darq requested through ragged breaths.  Fellanie rushed towards Darq, only to trip on a root and stumble down the slope. She shook her head as she crawled over to him.

"No! You're..hurt..and there's blood everywhere." Hot tears spilled from her eyes and dripped down onto his forehead. She wiped her eyes with the back of her knitted mittens, but it only smeared the tears around. He eased his ferocious look at the sight.

"No, you need to..stab me here," his eyes glanced down towards his left shoulder. 

"What are you talking about? No! Sheraton will be back soon!!" 

"Non, she won't. I need…I need to break the circle." He willed himself to sit up but only managed to lift his head an inch.

Sheraton jumped down from the hill and walked over to the children. She picked up Darq in a princess carry and motioned Fellanie to follow her. 

"No! I can't go," Darq protested.

"Darq! You have to!!  You're my only friend, and I'll take care of you, I promise!" 

"I'll take you back to the cave." Sheraton turned around.

"Can you..bring me my sword? I can't lose it." He pointed towards a slaughtered coyote; crimson flowed onto the red blade from its open belly.

As Fellanie stumbled towards the sword, her labored breaths became more and more irregular with every step. She squeezed her eyes shut and blindly reached for the incarnadined hilt with her mittened hands.

Sheraton dropped Darq and rushed to seize Fellanie. She opened her eyes, and she was now under Sheraton's arm.

"I'll carry the sword and the boy. My hands are already stained. There's no need for my lady to dirty her mittens." She gently let Fellanie down and then picked up Darq.

A green bow adorned with an emerald caught her attention. The ornament swung from the hilt as Sheraton carried the sword.

It looked just like the one she had lost last week.

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