It had been a slow night, and the Innkeeper was busy wiping down his counter, so he could be excused for not paying any mind when the door opened. After all, if it was a customer wanting a drink, they’d make their presence known soon enough. Given this inattention, he could also be forgiven his startled reaction when a dull thumping sound made him look up, and he found himself face to face with the bared fangs and staring eyes of the largest wolf he’d ever seen. Of course, excusable though his reaction was, he still drew a hearty laugh from the patrons of his establishment when he screamed like a frightened little girl and leapt backwards only to collide with a large cask of ale. As he cautiously drew himself up from the floor, nursing the bruise forming on his back, he realized that the wolf’s head was, in fact, severed and very dead. It lay on his previously clean counter, staring emptily at nothing and slowly dripping blood from the stump of its severed neck. He looked around quickly in an attempt to spot who had placed the head there only to be startled once more by a young girl’s voice coming from behind the counter. “Down here, you idiot.” Cautiously looking over the counter, the barkeep saw the girl who had spoken. She wore rather heavy leather garb for a girl her age, looking to his eyes like someone had made a grudging compromise between clothing and armour, and was covered in dried bloodstains. On top of it she wore an ugly, ragged cape of a disturbing dark-red colour, complete with a lightly pointed hood that concealed much of her face. He could spot tresses of hair underneath, and saw that it was a very light blonde that could have been beautiful had patches of it not been clotted and discoloured by blood. “Are you just going to stare at me all day or are you actually planning on doing anything useful?” The light, girlish voice was contrasted by her dark tone and words. “Oh, I’m sorry miss. I just…” “Didn’t expect a kid, I know. Heard it a million times. Now stop staring and do your job. Check the eyes. The wolf is a greyback.” The innkeeper reluctantly looked into the creature’s eyes, and found that the pattern on the creature’s yellow irises indeed hid a thin, curling red script, the demon tongue, marking it as a demon in the shape of a wolf. With a whispered oath he wiped away the sweat that had started beading on his forehead. “Gods protect us. There hasn’t been a greyback in these parts for 30 years.” “Well, there was one now, and I ‘m collecting the bounty.” “But that’s 400 crowns, miss. I don’t have that much on me. You’ll have to wait until the king’s men come and take the head.” “I’m not staying in the arse end of nowhere for weeks waiting for a royal courier. Just give me what you have and then pay the rest in dried meat and hard liquor.” “You’d wipe my shelves clean! I couldn’t restock until the king’s men get here with my compensation! You’ll ruin me!” The child frowned, then reached out and grabbed the surprised innkeeper, pulling him halfway over the counter with uncanny strength. When she spoke again, her voice was low and harsh, with an almost hissing quality to it. “Better you than this town, old man! I killed this thing over in Pinehill, just a day’s walk from here, and do you know why I didn’t take my bounty in Pinehill? Because Pinehill is gone. By the time I’d tracked this beast down all that remained of the town was blood, ruins, and a few children the wolf had kept around to play with! It would have come here next, and how much good would all you coin and drink be then? Would the coin save your fat hide from its teeth? Would your bottles keep its claws away?” “I’ll pay you! Just… Just put me down.” The girl scoffed and let him go. “You’ll still have your ale and your bread. You’ll live until the kings men come to save your sorry hide. Now give me what I’m owed. And a room for the night, I’m sick of sleeping on the ground. And a tub I can bathe in.” “Of course, miss. Right away, miss.” The innkeeper hurriedly started gathering together what coin he could find even as he called down his daughter to prepare a room and a bath and his son to get all the dried meat and strong drink they had in stock. His fingers shook as they hunted for any stray coins he might have missed, and he didn’t relax until the child had gone upstairs to her room. “You’re lucky, you are.” One of the patrons said, his voice a little awed. “That was Hood.” The innkeeper tried to place the name. He had a feeling he’d heard it before, but he couldn’t remember where. “Who?” “Guess you haven’t heard of her this far south then. Get me a flagon of ale and come sit down, and I’ll tell you all I know.” The innkeeper poured the man a flagon and sat down at his table with an expectant air. The patron in question, a rather grizzled-looking young man dressed in moose furs, took a swig of his drink and then leaned forward to tell his tale. “Hood is the most notorious wolf hunter in the far north. They say she has the body of a little girl, but the mind of a merciless warrior. She’s been hunting the demons in the snowy forests since before I was born.” The man sat back a little and took another swig, a faraway look in his eyes. When he continued on, his tone was speculative. “No-one really knows how she looks so young, but there’s dozens of stories. Some say that a greyback tricked her and stole her age, and she’s hunting it down to get it back. Others say she was lost in the woods when she was just a child, but was strong and cunning enough to slay a demon and eat its flesh rather than starve, and that the demon blood corrupted her and stunted her growth. Some say Old Fenris himself killed her whole family, and she swore on their graves she would not rest nor settle until she had her revenge, and now the gods are holding her to her oath by not letting her age until it is done. Some say old man Time himself is so scared of her that he doesn’t dare come close to her. In the end, there’s only one thing about her anyone is really sure of.” “And what’s that?” The innkeeper asked, his breath hitched in anticipation. “That wherever she goes, she hunts the greybacks. So if Hood is here, so are they.” Hood took a drink from one of her recently appropriated bottles, ignoring the way the strong alcohol burned her throat. She was well used to it, after all. She gave a short nod to the young woman who was filling her bath with hot water and then took another swig, smiling slightly as the alcohol started to make her memories of the previous day dim a little. She peeled off her bloodstained armour leaving her in just a thin linen undershirt and breeches. She then started painstakingly cleaning and oiling the leather of her overgarments. After all, stiff and cracking leather was nobody’s friend. When she was done, she drew her sword. It was rather plain, with an undecorated iron crossguard and wooden grip and no marks on the blade. The blade itself was made of rather fine steel and while it was no longer than a foot and a half, it was almost three inches wide. The edge seemed razor sharp, though apparently not sharp enough as Hood started running a whetstone along its edge with practiced movements, only stopping occasionally to take another swig from her bottle. “Your bath is ready, miss.” The innkeeper’s daughter said hesitantly when she had at last filled the tub with water. Hood took one last look at her blade before carefully sheathing it and looking up. “Good. I could certainly use a good scrub. Would you stay and help me with my hair and back? Bloodstains can be so stubborn.” “Of course, miss.” The young woman answered without hesitation. After all, the first thing you learned as the daughter of an innkeeper was that arguing with people with swords who drank strong spirits like water was rarely a good idea. Hood stripped out of her undergarments, making the young woman who watched her gasp as she revealed a crisscrossing network of scars running across her torso and legs, some of them new, others old and faded. Hood paid her little mind as she gratefully sank into the tub, the hot water chasing some of the stress and fatigue from her tired muscles. “Don’t mind the scars, girl.” Hood said with an almost amused tone. “They’re a handy reminder of what not to do in a fight, nothing more.” “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to stare. I was just startled.” “Don’t worry yourself about it. I’m used to frightening people. Now help me wash up.” The young woman pulled her wits together and started the rather arduous task of washing the dirt and blood out of the blonde girl’s skin and hair. The skin, she noted, was rather thick and tough, certainly more so than it looked, but the light blonde hair was surprisingly soft. She was a bit concerned as Hood kept on drinking even as she worked on her hair, but soon stopped thinking about it and started humming as she worked. Hood, tired from the day’s journey and lulled by the strong drink and gentle melody, slowly fell asleep right there in the tub. Hood woke up early the next morning feeling slightly less miserable than usual. Someone had apparently dried her and moved her to the surprisingly comfortable bed, and her dreams had been less troubling than usual. Even so, the previous nights drinking was hitting her with a vengeance. With a bit of effort she located the chamber pot and noisily purged what little remained in her stomach. Once she was sure she had nothing left to throw up, she used the same receptacle to relive herself of the rest of the drink in a less unpleasant manner. All in all, she thought a bit ruefully, it was a good morning. She located the hand mirror she kept in her pack and studied her face critically, frowning a bit at the bags under her eyes, but nodding approvingly at how bloodshot those selfsame orbs where. People rarely saw her eyes, but in case they did it was safer for them to be bloodshot. After all, if her icy blue irises where surrounded by red lines people would be less likely to notice the thin red lines of demon tongue script that penetrated a bit further into the cold blue of her eyes with every passing month. She packed her things and went down into the common room of the inn, where she was greeted by the innkeeper and a bowl of hot grain porridge that she could barely keep down. The innkeeper himself was unfailingly polite as he helped her pack the spirits and meats she had requisitioned, the only fault in his manners being the occasional undertone of nervousness he let slip into his voice. Barely managing to carry the large packs she was given, but refusing the man’s offer of help, Hood made her way into the inn’s courtyard and started loading her things onto a rather short and corpulent horse that stood bound to the fence surrounding the yard. “Time to get a move on, Lumpy.” She said as she secured the packs. “A wolf as big as that last one is sure to have a mate, and we need to find her before she attacks some innocent town.” She didn’t bother to feed the horse before leading it out of the yard and onto the dirt road. He could graze on the way. After all, he was a Northwood packhorse, suited to a place where summers were short and horses spent most of the year eating moss off of rocks and trees or digging in the ground for edible roots. Even with just the grass he managed to eat as he walked, Lumpy had managed to get rather round in the short months they’d spent in the south. As Hood walked down the road with her horse in tow, the red light of dawn flooded the landscape with the colours of blood and fire. She just hoped that wasn’t an omen of things to come.