the evil eye has done its work;

Admittedly, it wasn’t hard to follow the sound of the stray traveler in the woods, both that Mordreaux was well-used to tracking, and that the traveler wasn’t particularly quiet. The way they parted the brush, the sheer volume of their thoughts, the snapping of branches -

- wait. The snapping was coming from behind Mordreaux.

He turned in his saddle as Gwynned followed the trail, his fingers tightening around the handle of his sword, and saw glimpses of things trailing after them, of gaping maws made of twigs and branch-like claws extending from the barren brush.

A moment of disbelief turned into a stifled chuckle, and he turned Gwynned’s lead into the brush. One fell easily to his sword, cut clean in half and squirming like twigs caught in the wind before its magic released. Two fell as simply as the third, but he could feel a trace of magic lingering in the quiet woods, whispering from one fallen copse of branches to a new pile, rustling viciously in growing numbers the more he cut down.

How wonderfully macabre, perfect for a late autumn afternoon that threatened a quick nightfall. He smiled to himself as he turned yet again. There had to be some witch hidden in the trees hunting after that traveler, and Mordreaux was more than content with going to warn them.

He followed the growing din of inner thoughts, its noise becoming clearer, if anxiously incoherent, and what he heard was a complete lack of awareness for their surroundings in favor of gold chains and a bemoaning over a runaway horse.

Amusement laced his expression as he crested over a leaf-covered hill and met the traveler, eyeing that prideful bit of gold around the young man’s neck, and before he could speak of what lurked in the woods, he was summarily cut off with both an insult to his attire and a curt dismissal before taking off and running towards the path.

Mordreaux couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. The lad had no idea he was being chased by an untold number of frights in the woods, dismissing the only help for miles around for a moment’s first impression, and the hilarity hit him hard as he bid Gwynned to follow him at a pleasant canter back down the hill.

“What are you in such a hurry for, my good man?” Mordreaux playfully grinned as soon as he caught up, riding along the running youth as he sheathed his sword for appearances sake. “Don’t you know how dangerous these woods can be? What with the sun about the set and all.”

He peered down the end of the path to where the lad was running to and spied the cabin he seemed so eager to reach. There was something floating about the entrance, making him squint to eke out what they were, for certainly the cabin wasn’t unoccupied. It could very well be the witch that was bringing all these wooden beasties to life, for all the lad knew, which would be an utterly humorous end.

But the things floating before the doorway weren’t will-o’-the-wisps or things in a witch’s nature – they were eyes.

He laughed again, this time in delight. He only knew one mage with an ocular motif, and it’d been so long since he’d last run into him. He glanced down to his erstwhile companion, then smoothly dismounted once they came somewhat close to the cabin.

He patted his mare to head back to his camp so she wouldn’t get caught up in what was to come, told Llyr to rise out of his saddlebags and come along, then wrapped a strong arm around the lad’s shoulders, taking them at a brisk straight line towards the cabin doors. To the lad, he grinned down at him cheerfully and said, “Don’t you know you’ve been followed by something quite frightful? I took care of a few on your behalf, but my my, you’re in quite some trouble, I fear. But don’t worry! You’ll be in good hands, so long as you don’t do anything too foolish like, say, run off again.” His hand tightened on the youth’s shoulder at that last bit, a tease on his part as they came within sight of those floating watchmen at the door.

“Aleister!” He called in a friendly tone as Llyr, his skull familiar, floated by his side. “Aleister, is that you, my old fellow? You appear to have guests!”

And more than three, if the groaning wood trailing after them was any indication.