Meanwhile, across the hills and plains, a pale woman with raven hair gazes out an open window.
“Three of them you say?” She asks, taking a slow drink from a golden goblet. Crimson liquid clinging to her lips.
“Y-yes, my Lady”, a quivering voice answered from the darkened room behind her, “Two fighters, and a priest”
Amatheia licks the droplets from her lips, white fangs flashing in the moonlight. “Delicious,”
The peasant shuffles awkwardly, unsure what to do now. His hands cold.
She could sense his fear. Could taste it in the air like fresh crushed berries.
“You have done well. Now leave me” she commands without looking back.
“Thank you my lady!” Adrian bowed quickly before making for the door.
The woman’s icy eyes narrowed, as if willing them to see beyond the horizon.
“From the east…”, she mutters before taking another drink.
