We ended up leaving the waggler meat buried in the snow, Ma Tamerynn will just have to accept it – whatever the consequences. After what had happened that night, neither me nor Arturus wanted anything more to do with it.

We loaded the lone horse between us with the furs and meat of the more normal game and began the long trek back to our homesteads on the slopes. Our guns lost with the other two horses. It was a quiet journey back, Arturus was lost deep in thought over the loss of his son and what we may have inadvertently brought upon ourselves. We got back to Arturus’ homestead late the second day of travel and it was not until we stood at the door of his house that he stopped, hand on the knob and spoke.

“Sil, I want you to return to the Valley, and take Lady Rinston and Avery with you as well.” His eyes were empty, glazed over, but his voice was firm.

“Listen Art,” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “What happened up there wasn’t your fault, whatever happens from this …”

He gently pushes my hand away; his eyes soften a little. He takes his hand off the knob and steps away from the door.

“I appreciate you and Walter coming out here with me, I do. But look at what it’s gotten us - broken families. Lady Rinston is of the valley and a decent family at that – they might let you back in on her name alone. There is no reason for you to stay here, I see why they exiled me out here – there’s only death on this mountain.”

“Art –" I begin to say, but he cuts me off.

“Listen, it has been hard on all of us, think about it at least, okay? If not for the Lady and my daughter, for your family. Try not to think too hard about it though, we can talk about it tomorrow, please at least sleep on it.” Seeing the desperation on his face, I can’t bear to deny his request.

His initial rattle of the doorknob must have been noticed, the door opens to the warm interior of the cottage and Widow Rinston stands, her pale skin and thin frame illuminated by a cozy fire. Her eyes feverish with worry. A small girl clutches her skirt and peeks out at us standing in the cold.

“Art?” Widow Rinston asks softly, her eyes say more than her words, “It’s been so long,” a deafening pause, “where is Roland?”

Arturus simply shakes his head and steps inside, tears colleting on the fair cheeks of the Widow Rinston. She turns to me, “You best head home Silmäth, I’ve heard strange sounds coming from across the river. We would have gone, but it’s just the two of us and the river has been wild despite the frost. I’m worried about Ma and the children.”

I nod my head and turn to go; they have much to talk about. As I turn, she runs out and gently lays her hand on my shoulder. She is holding a lantern. “Silmäth? Thank you for bringing Art back home safe, and please – take care of yourself.”

I nod and hug her farewell; she hands me the lantern and I head out into the light of the dying day.

It takes me a good couple of hours before I make it across the river and to my homestead. Normally, it would have only taken an hour or so, but between the fading light and the unusual turbulence of the river it took me longer. It’s quiet and dark, no light of a fire emanating from the windows of the cottage. The open door creaks eerily on its hinges, looking like somehow it was busted from the inside out. Snow lazily piles into the threshold of the house. I rush in, fearing the worst. Scanning the dark room, my eyes first settle on the tables and chairs strewn haphazardly around the floor – intact but messy. They shouldn’t have frozen, we should have had enough wood and they hadn’t been desperate enough to use the wooden furniture in the house. Then my eyes settle on the strange pile of meat on the table, and my nose is hit with an all-familiar sweet rancid smell. I carefully make my way to the table, the floorboards quietly creaking under the weight of my boots. As I approach, I lift my lantern to get a better view and almost jump back in shock.

There on the table is the waggler meat we had buried in the snow up on the mountain days ago.

I hear a slight rustling from Fae’s room accompanied by a strange, wet, slurping noise.

I slowly back out of the house and in the enveloping darkness, am able to find my way to the woodshed where my suspicions are confirmed, wood, piled high and untouched. This had nothing to do with the cold, but some other danger of the mountain and I had a feeling I knew what. I found the splitting wedge, and now somewhat armed, made my way back into cottage and to the door of Fae’s room where the wet slurping continues. I slowly push the door open with the wedge and enter the room.

There, barely lit in the dawning moonlight was Fae, lying on her bed, grotesquely askew and managled, her torso noticeably torn open. Above her, a lone waggler. Its limbs awkwardly balancing its heavy body on the bed, its long tongue like neck pulsating as the beast slurped and swallowed its food, and the tip of that tongue – buried in the cracked skull of my daughter, drinking her innards like soup. I carefully set my lantern down to not alert the beast and grasping the handle of the wedge till my knickles turn a pale white, I let my boiling rage out and charged the beast. I get its attention with my cry and as it raises its little skull, I freeze as I find myself face to face with the pudgy countenance of Ma Tamerynn grotesquely stretched across the end of that waggling tongue-like appendage. As i stand frozen in shock, the creature whips its neck unnaturally and slaps me back through the door, sending my splitting wedge clattering and knocking the lantern over in the process.

Despite the flame from the lantern beginning to spread, the waggler seemed to become fixated on me, the soulless, empty face of Ma Tamerynn mockingly waving to me as it moved over the threshold. I managed to crawl to my feet and barely rolled out of the way as it slammed it’s face into the ground – perhaps with the intention to impale me where I had lay and start gouging on me instead. I manage to scramble to the splitting wedge and as the flames began to take hold of the wooden cottage and consume the threshold of the door, I accepted that there may not be any escape for me, but at the very least I could keep this grotesque image of Ma Tamerynn here with me. As it spun around to face me I dodged to the right, slammed down the wedge with no hesitation and pinned its long neck to the floor, the dull axe not able to slice cleanly through. The creature struggles and squeals  sounding like an old woman crying desperately for help. I step on its slimy neck and start to try to pull the wedge from the ground, but it’s buried deep and the writhing makes it hard for me to get leverage. The creature’s rear contorts and its hind limbs slam against my abdomen. I feel my ribs crack as I’m sent flying through the wall into the cold snow outside.

As I lay, face down in the snow I spot a trail of older dried blood not from myself marking the snow. The tracks lead down to the river and I think about my own struggle to cross what felt like an eternity ago - and the fact Sillian had been unaccounted for. I don’t have the strength to pick myself up. I barely manage to sit up and as I stare into the crackling fire burning away my house and family, the wails of the waggler join the crackling of the fire in an odd harmony. Slowly it begins to tear its own neck off to escape. It wrenches free, blood oozing from its open wound, but it doesn’t seem to mind.

“Perhaps they really were singing …” I quietly think to myself as the headless creature begins to slowly feel its way through the burning room out into the snow. Its neck waving rhythmically in the cold air like a metronome. I lay, the cold draining any energy I had left to escape or fight back, its only a matter of time before one of the two get me, and the rhythmic ticking of that bleeding neck is counting down the time I have left. I gaze into the fire for some remnant of comfort. Somewhere in the depths of the fire, I feel a familiar sensation. Somewhere in the fire I feel the burning sensation of yellow scorching eyes burning their way through my skull and into my very soul. The eyes from an empty face and laughter from a voiceless mouth echoing throughout the mountain woods drowning out the sounds of horses.