The company set out at dawn, a company of twelve knights, including Richard and William, riding at the lead with Lady Sophia upon her dapple mare. They followed an old hunter's trail winding north through fields of waving grass toward dim forests stretching to the horizon.
As the day grew hot, they stopped to water the horses and shared bread and ale. While the others rested, Richard conferred with Sophia over maps, seeking guidance on their path. She traced graceful fingers over lines denoting obscure roads and vague landmarks. Beyond here lies the Darkwood, she said. Its trees are old and twisted things that hide nameless terrors within their boughs. We must ride swiftly and make camp before nightfall.
They pushed on at a brisk canter, the woods looming ever closer. Within its eaves, the shadows crept in almost tangibly, as if eager to swallow the company whole. When dusk fell, they had reached no suitable clearing, the forest alive with unnatural rustlings in the gloaming.
Make camp and light no fires, ordered Richard. They dispersed warily to secure the perimeter, Billy muttering darkly about the ill omens of this place. Only Richard seemed unaffected, praying quietly to ward off evil while the others rolled in their blankets, unable to rest easy beneath that unnatural bough.
In the dead of night, Richard started awake, sensing eyes upon him in the dark. A chilling howl split the air, joined by others in a symphony of menace. Wolves! shouted William, snatching up his sword and shield. The camp exploded into chaotic movement as the beasts attacked in a fury of slavering jaws and raised hackles.
Richard swung his blade, feeling it crunch through bone. His knights fought skillfully back-to-back, but the wolves came on without rest, sensing weakness. One beast lunged at William, sinking teeth into his leg. He roared in pain and wrath, plunging his sword hilt-deep into its maws. Another fell Sophia's dagger, her normally calm face a mask of fury.
At last the howls faded into the night, the pack slinking away with several casualties of their own. Panting, Richard and the others took stock of their wounds. William sat grimacing as Sophia cut away his armor to examine four deep punctures oozing blood. She cleansed them with whiskey, earning a sharp hiss, then deftly bandaged the injuries. He will recover if the infection does not set in, she said, meeting Richard's worried gaze. Now more than ever, haste is required on this quest.
At first light, they broke camp hurriedly and continued northward. The forest pressed close, as if to waylay their passage, but they pushed ever onward with renewed determination. As the trees began to thin, Richard inhaled deeply, sensing they had passed out of true peril. Onwards now, with a good heart and faith, he encouraged the company. Our salvation lies ahead.