Daylight struggled to reach this place, and the shadows all seemed to be crawling with horrors from Pagan superstition. The old Roman road that cut through the Black Forest was far behind, and the dirt path the locals had decided was fit enough to be called a road led a simple cart into the depths of this ancient wood. The occasional beam of sunlight did manage to cut through the canopy, lending light for Makae and her companion, as they perched on the aging bench of the creaking cart. The two mules that pulled it along seemed nervous, their heads swaying at every creak of branches or snap of twig. The wind itself rustled the leaves above, and animals darted between the shadows.
The driver, a man with deep set wrinkles and a shaggy mane of grey hair, snapped the reins. His milky eyes neve
