Chapter 3

Later that night, nosiness and curiosity were a hankering that must be stricken; uncertainty must finally break, and so it was that come nightfall, the entirety of the village of Winterberg had assembled in the courtyard. Torches had been lit, and some old lamps were on their hands and set in sconces for light, though a few were yet held, some alongside scythes, pitchforks, and daggers. The expression was sceptical, and the murmuring throng was not a crowd by any means, but it had heard about groups and was keeping its options open depending on how things went.

Knight Ambrose arrived in shadow, lit by the enormous orange sphere of the full moon rising at his back. The wind was frigid, and the distant wolf howled in unison. He led his mount to the courtyard, where he had first announced his intentions, tying the horse to a post at the square's end. He strolled to the very centre of the throng, dealing with none. At the foot of the gibbet, standing his full height, he commenced to draw