Finally, the long awaited next chapter!
Sorry for the delay, we're hoping to keep up a more regular playing schedule again, so hopefully the next won't be so far away!


Spoiler: Chapter 43 - Fallen - Part 1
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The dawning sun warmed the cold chill of night that had fallen over the lush green farmlands of outer Ghastenhall. The leaves shed the thin ice formations that spring’s darkness had brought, shining drops of water that fell to feed the shrubbery below. Though the sounds of early rising farmers herding their cattle still bounded along the empty grass plains, the number of them had dwindled over the spring. Ghastenhall had been the first region to be hit with the dreaded Tears of Achlys, and it was here that the worst of the sickness and death resided.
By the slow trail upon horseback, the Forsaken made their way along the dirt road towards the main city, eyes tracing the quiet expanse. As had become expected and fashionable, Willow and Traya wore silken veils across their faces, draping the fine fabric along the bridge of their noses and low along their chins. It was a futile attempt by the populace to shield themselves from the deathly plague. Though it offered no real protection from the vile and sentient sickness, it offered commoner and noble alike a naïve hope of preservation.
Willow had first seen them appear in Matharyn only days before they had left. Like most plagues, the first casualties of the sickness fell from the ranks of the poorest. With the lack of nourishment from hefty food stores and the brunt of the coldest weather by lack of shelter, the poorest of the fair city were always the first to fall. When the plague reached Matharyn, the veiled fashion had already infiltrated every street. The common folk wore flanks of harsh wool or scuffed linen around their faces, while the nobles and the upper classes took the chance once more to flaunt their station. Ghastenhall had always been the cultural hub of Talingarde, first in line with the raging change of trends and fashions. And so it was here that the veiled craze had truly taken off. Veils for women came in an array of vivid shades, embellished with intricate patterns woven in shimmering gold thread, or strung with glass beads in glittering hues. Veils for men were tighter fitting and threaded with much less frill, in colours of bold blues and greens.
Though of late, her mind and time had been preoccupied with the like of battles, gods and kings, Willow could not deny her affinity with the standard of dress. With spring’s arrival the colours had changed, gone were the dark and rich fabrics of winter, entering bright shades of blooming flowers and sprouting plants. Greens in emerald rich and smooth teal – pinks in soft pastel and glowing fuchsia – yellows in sun bright and warm honey. Trotting along upon her steed, Willow wore a long and draping gown of burned amber, a short sleeved dress with a collar that extended into a head wrap and finished in veil that softly reached across her lower face.

As usual, Pellius and Garvana shunned the need to follow the fashionable trends. Clad in their armour, looking much the part of wandering adventurers, they forwent the veils and opted to stride through the streets with their faces open to the warm spring winds.
“What is it we’re looking for?” Traya asked, peering over the mauve silk that draped along her face, “Potions?”
“And scrolls,” Garvana huffed, uneasily guiding her horse out of the path of a cart filled with the plagues latest victims, “We need to protect ourselves from the dragon’s breath.”
“I think we’ll need more than a few trinkets,” Traya scoffed.
What they knew of the fearsome Strider-in-the-Dark was not nearly as much as they would have liked. Yet, what they did know, was enough to instil trepidation within them.
“The dragon’s breath may be frighteningly powerful,” Garvana frowned, “But it cannot hurt to have even the smallest amount of protection.”
“I still do not like the idea of fighting such a beast,” Traya scowled under her breath, looking to the others with an arched and knowing brow, “For one, though the undead may not be at risk to much of its ways, some of us are still breathing… and would like to stay that way.”
“We may not have a choice,” Willow said quietly, moving her steed closer, “If there was a way to procure the Heart without encountering the Linnorm, the Heart would not be there…”
“There must be another way,” Traya sighed, shaking her head, “This is suicide.”
“Suicide is usually something we have a way of evading,” Garvana laughed.
“It may be possible…” Willow began thoughtfully.
“What may be?” Traya frowned, looking to Willow.
“There may be a way to slip in unnoticed. Perhaps while the dragon sleeps. If I am able to sneak through unseen… it may be possible to retrieve the Heart and escape before the dragon knows anything is afoot.”
“Now that,” Pellius laughed, “Sounds like suicide.”
Willow shrugged as an easy grin lifted her lips, “It may well be worth a try.”
As the soft clip of horse hooves echoed along the cobblestone streets, the Forsaken made their way through the town towards the marketplace, passing the tune of sickly coughs and wheezes as they went.
Tethering their horses to a stable post along side the Wellspring River, they continued on foot through the streets of Whitequarter. As the sounds of people and cheer grew, they neared the grand market square. The hours passed as they perused the fine and peculiar wares of the visiting merchants, filling their pouches with vials of curious potions and brews. After visiting the weapon-smith to purchase a new and stronger bow, the afternoon sun began its descent, as their casual and meandering steps brought them alongside the path of the river.
Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed in Willow’s head, loud enough to halt her steps.
“Barnabus Thrain of Ghastenhall sends greetings,” the gruff and aged voice said, “I know Sir Richard’s whereabouts and mission. I remain at the Great Library in Ghastenhall. Seek me there. Hurry.”
Willow frowned, looking to the others who had continued on as if they had heard nothing. As Pellius noticed her halt, he turned to her with a questioning look.
“You did not hear that?” she asked quietly.
“Hear what, my lady?” he responded with a frown.
“Brother Thrain’s message.”
“What message?” his frown deepened.
“It must have been a spell of some kind,” Willow whispered, looking around her with suspicion, “He said he knows the whereabouts of Sir Richard, and his mission.”
“What did he say?”
“To meet him in the library, with urgency…” she replied, “Curious…”
“Suspicious,” Pellius scoffed.
Willow took a quick look around before making up her mind swiftly.
“Tell the others,” she nodded curtly, turning back towards where she had left her horse, “I will meet up with you this evening.”
“Be careful, my lady,” he frowned, brow crushed in distrust.
“I always am,” she winked with a grin.
As she quickened her pace and wove her way through the throng of people, she made it to the side of her steed as a sudden cheer erupted around her.
“He has done it!” cried a man in elation, “Mitra has delivered the noble knight to us, and he has brought about the cure! Mitra be praised!”
Willow frowned, turning her head towards the tearful man, watching his delighted face radiate with pious joy. With swift steps and a feigned excitement, she arrived by his side.
“What is it?” she asked, the frown vanished by will, replaced with innocence, “What has happened, sir?”
“Mitra has saved us, my lady!” he gushed warmly, “The Shining Sun sent us our dear Sir Richard, and the benevolent and brave knight has found us a cure to the vile sickness! Cast off that veil, my lady! Mitra’s love was all we needed!”
“Sir Richard of Havelyn?” Willow asked, a feigned joy coming over her face, “Oh, light be praised… how wonderful.”
“The one and the same, my lady!” he laughed happily, “He has saved us!”
Willow smiled, inclining her head towards the man as she returned to her steed. It was with a new urgency that she lifted into the saddle, ignoring the momentary looks of shock as a noble woman mounted a steed unassisted. She swiftly dug her heels into the horse’s sides, ushering it quickly out of the busy paths and onto the main streets. Though the cure was no threat to them, actually aiding their cause by allowing the masses to recover in order to serve, it was a boost of morale that reminded the people that Mitra was not completely unaware of their plight. Sir Richard of Havelyn had been a thorn in their side from the moment he had made himself known. He needed to die. Not a legendary battle in the eyes of the light, he needed to be extinguished in the dark – to be forgotten by all.


She slowed her steed on arrival at the great Library of Ghaster, swiftly dismounting before tying her horse to the post. As she approached the large doors, she unbuttoned the flank of amber fabric from her face, before dropping the customary toll of silver into the decorative iron tray. After walking the halls for a few moments, she found Brother Thrain amidst a stack of musty tomes, his wrinkled face pulled into his usual frown as he sorted through the mass of literature. When she approached, he looked up as she drew nearer, his grumbled frown easing as he recognised her.
“Ah, Lady Clarentine,” he smiled, though the smile was barely a look of joy under the weight of his gruff demeanour, “Here for the symposium this evening?”
“Of course, Brother,” she responded cordially, “I would not miss the opportunity to discuss Fillius Isenhour’s work.”
“The usual time and place,” he huffed, nodding curtly as he turned from her.
Willow smiled at his abruptness, she was rather fond of the aged brashly tempered man. As she awaited the sunset and perused the halls of the library, she thought on the troubling problem that the paladin was. The prophetic words that they had heard since they had begun their righteous mission for the Dark Lord, were that the son would bring about their doom. For a time, Willow had thought the words were of the Shining Sun, the very will of Mitra standing against them. But as they had continued down the path of darkness, culling the faithful and dousing the light of the holy lord, she had begun to rethink their words. The son. The son of Thomas Havelyn, the nephew of the fearsome Cardinal Adrastus Thorn. Perhaps it was he that was fated to bring about their doom. It was him that escaped the dreaded Horn of Abbadon, it was him that rallied the King of Talingarde to his cause, it was him that seemed to appear along every step of their dark path. And now, he had quested in the name of the Lord of Light and cured the evil Tears of Achlys. What could his next quest be, and how would the Forsaken be able to stop him?

As the sun fell behind the horizon, Willow made her way to the familiar spiralling staircase that descended deep below into the basement lecture hall. As she approached the open doors at the bottom landing, she recognised the faces of Thrain’s guards as they nodded to her. A sudden thought arose in her mind as she saw them. Thrain had been with Cardinal Thorn long before the Knots had formed. If there was any who would stand by him, even while he strayed from his course into the disfavour of the Dark Lord – it would be him. And Cardinal Thorn was determined to eliminate the Ninth Knot. Was she delivering herself openly to his waiting arms?
As she stepped over the threshold, the men sealed the doors behind her.
“It is good to see you alive and well, child,” Brother Thrain said warmly from across the hall.
Willow smiled to him, “And you, my friend.”
Though she approached him casually, she felt the slight tug of wariness overcome her. She trusted him, though she knew not why. It may have been a childish folly, but she was eager and contented to add Brother Thrain to her very short list of true allies and friends. When she stepped to his side, he held his arms out to her. With only the slightest hesitation, she stepped into his embrace. When no blade pierced her skin, nor spell hit her flesh, she sighed quietly and returned his amiable hug.
“You have been busy, I hear,” the aged priest chuckled, pulling back from the embrace and indicating a seat to the side of the lecture hall, “Curious that after your word with the terrible Chargammon, he turns his eye upon the Adarium.”
“Coincidence, I assure you,” Willow smirked playfully.
“Of course,” he grinned, “And I have heard the unfortunate passing of King Markadian, another coincidence?”
“One of many,” she laughed softly.
“Ah, well it is good you are well young Willow. The word is of much destruction and chaos across the lands, the battle of Fallingsbridge bringing the defeat of the king’s army.”
“The bugbears fought well,” Willow nodded, arching her brow, “Though it seems they had the upper hand in the battle. For a strange reason, the army led by General Vastenus assaulted only the most well defended gate. Curious move on his part.”
“Curious indeed,” the brother commented, giving no tell of clue upon his face.
“You sent word of Richard of Havelyn,” Willow said with a frown, the easy smile dropping from her lips, “What is it you know?”
The priest adjusted his seat upon the uncomfortable wooden pew, his aged bones creaking as he shuffled to face her.
“It was a few days ago now,” he began, a worried frown pulling upon his lined brow, “That I received a piece of parchment that was being passed around amongst the priesthood. It spoke of a meeting actually here in this very room late at night. I was to tell no one but the faithful. How could I refuse an invitation like that?”
“You are, of course, the most faithful,” Willow chuckled.
“I am that,” he replied with a small laugh, “But, guess who was at that meeting? Not only your friend Sir Richard, but also the princess Bellinda. The heir to the throne of Markadian herself in this very room!
“So she did survive,” Willow frowned.
“Indeed,” he nodded, “She spoke for quite a while – very inspirational stuff. It seems she’s forming an army. She calls upon all true sons and daughters of Talingarde and Mitra to flock to her banner in this dark time. She’s gaining followers quickly. I would be careful around her. She seems... I don’t know... dangerous.”
“We discovered something within the Adarium,” Willow replied, her frown burrowing slightly, “Bellinda is not the daughter of a foreign fallen queen, well, not exactly. She is the daughter of the silver elder wyrm, Antharia Regina.”
“She is what?!” Thrain balked, shaking his head, “Truly? Until the other night, I had thought her only a childish brat. And it was her who slayed the black beast?”
“We do not know for certain,” Willow shrugged, though there was nothing relaxed about her reply, “Someone had the ability to open the skies and rain meteorites upon him. And to my knowledge, there was only the princess and Havelyn within the room.”
“Well,” he frowned, “Then I would advise caution around her. She knows all about us. Or at least a little. She spoke about the Knot of Thorns.”
“That is Sir Richard’s doing,” Willow nodded solemnly, “He was the one who informed the King and guided the monarch against us.”
“Then he must also be her source on the information,” he frowned, “She mentioned that there were nine knots and that the worst of those villains was the Ninth Knot who they think are likely the leaders. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way!”
Willow chuckled softly, though her brow raised as she knew he did not know how close his words were to the current truth.
“There were several things she did not know,” he continued, “Or was simply mistaken about. She never mentioned Thorn, she doesn’t realise that the Fire-Axe is part of the Nine, and she seems to believe that Chargammon was part of the Nine Knots. She specifically mentioned his death as slaying one of the Nine. I’ve no idea how you managed to convince Chargammon to attack the Adarium, but she seems to believe he was one of us.”
“The meeting concluded with Bellinda talking to Sir Richard more privately, but I overheard everything. Bellinda is sending Richard to Chargammon’s lair. First, she wants to see if there is any information there about any of his allies. And also she wants the dragon’s hoard. She believes the money could be of use in raising and equipping her new army. He has already sailed for the island almost a week ago. If he has a fast ship he may already be there.”
“Then perhaps we must make sure that he finds something there,” Willow said darkly, “And ensure what he finds means he will not be returning…”
“Very good,” Thrain nodded, before frowning and looking to Willow, “I tried to relay this information to Thorn, but he’s not responding to my seals. Has something happened to the Cardinal?”
Willow chose her words carefully. She would not lie to the man she considered a friend, yet his loyalty to Thorn could have proved an impassable obstacle. While the Cardinal still lived, and they still planned his demise, she would not test Brother Thrain’s loyalty to his life long friend.
“He must have much on his mind,” Willow shrugged, “It has been some time since we have heard word from him. Do not fret, we will take care of the paladin. I must thank you for letting me know. He has been most troublesome. Have you heard word that the plague has been cured? Havelyn found a way to overcome the Daemon’s Gift!”
For a moment, Thrain’s eyes narrowed slightly, as her evasive words lingered. Though, when she mentioned the Tears of Achlys, his mind turned from suspicion to curiosity.
“Impressive,” he grunted, seeming put off by the feat yet impressed by it, “Do you know how he managed such a thing?”
“No,” Willow shook her head gently, “I have only heard word of it on my ride here. We had heard he had begun a quest for the cure, yet we figured it was a futile journey. But he returned from wherever he was, in time to be by Bellinda’s side. Curious that he would be there at the opportune moment, that he would be there when Chargammon arrived. No one knew what we were planning. No one but the Ninth and Thorn.”
Brother Thrain nodded his head in thought, as the revelations churned through his mind. After a time, Willow sighed a small breath.
“I must go and inform the others,” she said with a small smile, standing to embrace the old priest, “We must head to Chargammon’s lair with all haste. I will keep in touch.”
“Stay safe, young Willow,” he said seriously, with a small affectionate smile.
She returned his smile, pushing down the guilt she felt at deceiving him, “And you, my friend…”


When she returned to the farmland estate on the outskirts of Ghastenhall, she called the others into the parlour to relay what she had been told. As she revealed the details of Brother Thrain’s words, she was met with a mix of emotions; anger, determination and suspicion.
“Are you certain the priest is not misleading you on Thorn’s orders?” Pellius scowled.
“I am certain,” Willow replied, a truth in her words, “I believe he was truthful. He has not spoken to Thorn, and he seems unaware of the conflict between us. He reached out to us because he trusts us.”
“Let us hope your friendship with him has not clouded your judgement,” Pellius frowned thoughtfully, “We must follow this up.”
“What of Sir Richard?” Traya frowned, “We cannot allow him to retrieve Chargammon’s horde.”
“We cannot allow him to live,” Willow scoffed bitterly.
“But we must seek the Cardinal’s Heart,” Garvana interjected, “We cannot pursue Thorn without it!”
“Thorn does not know we are after his phylactery,” Willow replied, “We need not worry, as long as we do not alert him to it.”
“If the goal is to conquer the country,” Traya added, “Then dismantling the princess’ army must take priority. She cannot get her hands on that much gold.”
“And the paladin must be stopped,” Willow said sternly, “If not for the trouble he has caused us, for the hero he is painting himself as. The Mitran’s are regaining their hope, we cannot allow this to continue.”
“Agreed,” Pellius nodded firmly.
“We need-
A screeching cry from beyond the parlour walls silenced Garvana’s response. The sounds of metal clashing, painful screams and panic from within the dining room had the Forsaken drawing their weapons and quickly heading for the doors.
“If those men are fighting again,” Garvana growled, “I will kill each one of them myself to set a damn example!”
With blades clutched in hands, they stormed to the dining room and threw open the doors. What they found, was not a mere squabble between the more rowdy of their men. It was a scene of carnage, straight out of the gates of hell. Six devils, each standing over seven feet tall, layered in bristling spines that protruded from their bodies in ever changing lengths as they struck out and retracted continuously. Slick wet skin of the darkest green, lined with bright blood that dripped between the hundreds of barbs upon their frames. As the doors opened, six pairs of hungry shining black eyes slowly turned towards the Forsaken. Bodies of their men strewn about the floor, pierced with punctures that littered across their flesh. Two men still stood, one cowering behind a table and another held in the grip of one of the devils. In a feral and bloodthirsty display, the devil grasped the man and yanked him closer, the barbs striking out in unison. The man was skewered through the face and neck, killing him within moments, as the blood poured in cascade from his skin.
It was not a fight the Forsaken could possibly walk away from unscathed. Each time they carved their weapons forward, their hands and wrists were bombarded by razor sharp spikes, barbs that tore shreds through flesh and punctured holes through their skin. But they had no other means of banishing the foul fiends. Willow leapt forward into the fray, slashing and slicing at the leaned muscled creatures beneath the guarding walls of spikes. As lightening flew from Traya’s fingers, it’s white blaze arced between the devils, searing the scaled flesh. Willow struck out with her vicious blades, thrusting forward with all her might, shrieking through clenched teeth as a barb tore straight through her hand. But she could not let the pain overwhelm her as she continued her onslaught, her eyes ablaze as the agony fuelled the anger within her. How dare these devils enter her home. How dare they think they had right, or might enough to take the Forsaken down. What was clear, was that they were here on Thorn’s orders. As she tumbled out of the path of the devils craning claws, she leapt forward with a callous swing and cleaved his bestial head from his body.
“You defy the will of the Lord of the Nine by attacking us!” Garvana growled fiercely, “You will pay for such insubordination!”
The snarling devil that launched his cruel claws towards her laughed, a feral and savage hiss.
“The Hamatulan Host will drag you to hell,” he snarled in the infernal tongue, “And you can complain to the Undying Lord himself…”
He lunged towards her, gripping hold of her shoulders and wrenching her towards him. Garvana struggled to free herself, but threw her hands up in front of her face as his blood ridden barbs struck out. As both hands were impaled upon barbs, she cried out in bitter agony, ripping them free as she reared back and plunged the spikes of her mace deeply into the creatures torso.
As the second last standing devil was swiftly dispersed by Pellius’ vicious blade, Hellbrand eager to taste the blood of any sentient creature, the last devil saw his chance to take one of them with him. He charged upon thin almost insectile legs towards Willow. He swiped his claws and tore shreds from her chest, before attempting to leap over her head and grip her from behind. Though her strength was weakening, and her consciousness began to falter, she was still quick enough to react. As he leapt into the air, Willow snapped her hand upward, gripping hold of his razor sharp tail and yanking him back to the ground with every ounce of strength she had. As he fell, his barbs shifted once more, plunging into flesh and ripping long and agonising lacerations along her arms, neck and chest. She screamed a frightening and feral cry of outrage, her eyes blazing a hellfire crimson. As the devils body crashed to the floor, she plunged both of her blades into his skull.

As Willow clung to the last shreds of undeath, her sight flashing with a mix of white light and utter darkness, the sprayed blood of the once living men riled the ravenous hunger within her. Suddenly, the thundering heart beat of a living being became the loudest force within her mind. Cold black eyes turned upon the poor soul that had managed to avoid the death that had met the rest of his men. When Willow saw him, his name vanished from her mind, his existence became nothing more than the blood that ran through his veins. In the blink of an eye, with a sound no more than a whisper, she appeared behind him. As her hands gripped his head and shoulders, her fangs plunged deeply into his neck. He had survived the battle, but he did not survive the aftermath. The only consolation he was offered, was a quick and painless death as the blood was drained from his veins. As his body slumped to the floor, the doors to the dining room flew wide open. The armed and ready ranks of the Forsaken guard charged into the chamber, led by the stern faced sergeant.
“My lords!” the man called, quickly scanning the scene of carnage.
When he saw the scattered remains of his men, and the still bodies of the barbed devils, he looked over the Forsaken and their wounds before bowing his head.
“We were not quick enough,” he said shamefully, dropping to one knee by Pellius’ feet, “It is my failing, I offer my life as punishment.”
“That would be a waste of resources,” Traya said dryly, shaking her head.
“Get up,” Garvana spat, “There is no need for punishment, you are naïve to think this was something you could have prepared for. Double the guard around the manor, this may be the first of many.”
“Yes, mistress,” he nodded curtly in all professionalism, before barking orders to his men, “Clean this mess up, take the bodies out back and burn them!”
The Forsaken watched their men work for a moment, before moving to the hall outside of the destroyed dining chamber.
“Gods be damned,” Willow cursed, flexing her fingers under the wincing pain of skewered flesh, “Thorn truly wants us dead.”
“He will keep sending killers until he is successful,” Garvana snarled, wheezing through a chest that had been pierced by dozens of barbs, “We must not delay any longer.”
“We must leave for Chargammon’s lair tonight,” Pellius said sternly, “The sooner we stop Havelyn, the sooner we can retrieve the phylactery and put an end to this pathetic betrayal.”
“What of Jeratheon?” Willow frowned, “His loyalty was assured only as long as his sire lived. With his death, there is nothing holding him to his service.”
“We best speak to him,” Pellius nodded, “Confront him now, rather than having him on our tail later.”
“Traya,” Willow beckoned, turning to the woman, “Will you send him a message and tell him we wish to speak with him?”
The sorcerer had been quiet since the last of the devils had fallen. It was only as Willow looked to her now that she realised why. She could hear the heart beating within the womans chest. She could hear the blood coursing through her veins. When death was upon Willow, she had turned on the closest living being, the bloodlust had overwhelmed her completely. The need for blood, the need to survive had become all that had mattered. What would have happened if Traya had been closer? Would she have turned on her ally, or remained strong enough to resist the call of the blood? It was clear in the wide eyes of the sorcerer that her thoughts were aligned.
“Of course,” she replied cordially, inclining her head, “At once…”

As darkness fell heavy overhead, after the Forsaken had healed the worst of their wounds, they made the quick ride through the farmlands to the edge of the forest that bordered their land. With their steeds tethered to the nearby trees, they awaited the black dragon. Though far larger than most beasts, Jeratheon was lithe and quiet for his size. The barest hint of flapping wings sounded before he dropped to the ground in a billowing wave of dirt and debris. While Raiju calmed the horses, the others approached the vile creature.
“You bring me dinner?” the dark and malicious beast snarled towards the horses, a feral grin alight on his maw.
“We bring news,” Willow said coldly, brows arched in distaste.
“What news?” Jeratheon hissed.
“Your sire is dead,” Garvana said harshly, wasting no time on pleasantries, “He was slain at the Adarium.”
The great dragon threw his head back, laughing a rasp of bitter and bile.
“If you believe that,” he grinned, “Then you are more foolish than I had thought.”
“We saw him fall,” Garvana replied, lip curling, “We saw his lifeless corpse.”
“He will be back,” Jeratheon hissed viciously, no question to his words.
“That may be so,” Willow replied darkly, “But the Mitrans do not believe it. They have sent a band of men to Chargammon’s lair to retrieve his horde.”
“They would not dare!” he snarled, “Vile sub-creatures! Have they no fear?! I will teach them true terror, they will pay for their insolence!”
Willow smiled as she looked upon the great winged beast, “How fast can you fly there?”
The answer she received was swift. Within seconds Jeratheon had launched himself high into the sky, disappearing within a blink beyond the cloud of dirt and dust he left behind.
“Shall we wait for him before we teleport?” Traya asked, a sly smile lifting her lips.
“No,” Willow laughed, “If he wants his revenge, he shall simply have to fly faster…”