The dream was cold. The warmth of the hay was gone now, replaced with a chill Harken was all too familiar with. The old, moldy stone walls of Therea's dungeon stretched on for eternity in all directions. Lit torches flickered in sconces along the walls and an acrid, damp smell permeated the air. Harken tried not to gag. He would need to act quickly before the dream tricked him into believing it was all real.

He placed his hand on a stone wall and willed it to change. He visualized a great oak being felled in a forest. The smell of summer tickled his nose and the sounds of hammers and saws echoed in his ears. With some difficulty, the wall began to bend to his will, rippling like water on glass. Slowly, the gray stones shifted into themselves before turning completely into wood. Harken smiled with satisfaction and took a step back to admire his work. The dream was his to control now.

With a wave of his hand a door appeared before him and Harken stepped through. He picked up a burnt out torch from a nearby sconce and blew into it, making the fire erupt with new life, driving away the cold darkness around him.

Harken sensed a familiar presence down the endless corridor. The creature was here, somewhere, but in what direction he could not tell. He walked down the newly created hallway, passing by empty cells and torture rooms that had once housed the most wicked men in Therea. Their screams used to fill the halls for hours at a time as they begged for their lives. The silence was almost apprehensive now.

After a few minutes Harken stopped. At the end of the hall was a door. A door he had not made. It was fashioned out of solid oak and barred with heavy iron slats. A small window was grated shut in the center, a sliver of light still poking out. It looked convincingly enough like a door but that was the problem with dreams. Everything was malleable.

He threw the torch into a nearby brazier and gave the door a push. It wouldn't budge. Tugging on the handle did nothing as well. There was no keyhole to speak of either. For all intents and purposes, the door did not want to be opened.

Frustration began to eat away at Harken's patience. If the way in wasn't going to present itself, then he would create his own. He took a step back and kicked at the door. The wood groaned and slid half an inch. He kicked again, driving his foot into the latch with all his might. Harken gasped as the door surprisingly flew open and bright, blinding light flooded the hallway, swallowing him up entirely.

When the light subsided, Harken found himself standing in a forest. Great oaks, Pines and Solder trees towered over him as far as the eye could see. Bushes and wildflowers dusted the landscape, blooming in the bright summer sky. A butterfly flitted by him and landed on his outstretched hand for a moment before flying away. Harken stood there, amazed at the sudden change in scenery.

At first he thought himself alone in such a paradise, but then he sensed something else in the forest too. A shadow slinked between the trees. Standing on two legs, the shadow was twice as tall as a man with eyes like two pinpricks of moonlight. Two great horns protruded from its bovine shaped head, curving outwards and ending at sharpened points. And it was heading straight towards him. 

Harken froze in his tracks as the Shadow stopped twenty feet away from him. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest and wouldn't doubt if the creature heard as well. The shadow lifted its head, sniffing at the air before settling its gaze on him. And then, without warning, it erupted into a bone chilling roar and charged him. There was only one thing to do.

Harken turned tail and ran. After what he'd seen, there was no mistaking what haunted Irgencourt's woods now. A Krole. By the twelve constellations, how he hated Kroles.

Krole's were ornery, territorial spirits that were attracted to the axiom that pooled in forests and glens. Morr the huntsman must have stumbled upon the heart tree that the spirit inhabited, leading him to his early grave. Harken had no desire to follow him.

The Krole bellowed once more, sending chills up his spine, but that only inspired him to run faster. Fighting the spirit in its dream would have been an absolute folly. The only good solution Harken could think of was to return to his own dream and wake up. However, he needed to find the door first.

The ground shook as the Krole tore through the forest to reach Harken. He hopped over bushes and zigzagged between trees but the spirit would not let up. Anything that impeded its path was either trampled underfoot or smashed into kindling.

Harken began to panic. Where had the door gone too? He couldn't run forever, and if he died in the dream, he'd be leaving a perfectly good body to waste away in the Elder's barn. Not exactly the best way to go, he thought.

A glint to his left suddenly caught Harken's eye. The door was standing on a hill in a nearby clearing. A spark of hope ignited in his heart, renewing his vigor. The way out had presented itself, all he needed to do now was to reach it.

Harken dropped to a knee and leapt towards the door, just as the Krole hurled itself at where he had been moments before. The impact shook the earth, catching Harken off balance. He tripped, rolled and pulled himself back up, ducking just in time as an arm the size of a log came swinging past his head.

Harken pumped his legs, pushing with all his might. He breached the clearing and scrambled up the hill, grabbing a hold of the door just as the Krole emerged from the trees. It stopped suddenly and pointed a finger at him, its gaze dead set on his own. It didn't take a smart man to know what the spirit's intent was. Stay out. Thoughts of the huntsman's fate came to Harken's mind. He wasn't going to end up like Morr, at least not tonight.