62 the tolling of the bells.

Dawn broke on the shortest day of the year.

The sun slowly eased above the horizon, as though hesitant to face the long night that awaited. A light dusting of freshly-fallen snow dotted the hills, soon melting beneath the gentle warmth of the sun's rays. The duchy's citizens were slow to wake, slumbering deep in their beds, their very souls dreading the sunset a mere eight hours away.

Lynn's crushed fallen twigs beneath her boots as she hurried through the forest.

Forgive me, Damian. This is the best decision for all of us.

Her breath fogged in the air. The forest around her was dark and unfriendly, the spindly trees seeming to stretch forever. Gray boughs reached out to snag her cloak and scratch at her armor, as if the trees themselves sought to hold her back. Dark shadows streaked across the ground, a skeletal monster undulating across the uneven hills.