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An owl hooted in the twilight and watched the man limp sluggishly through the moon lit snow. Joshua's ribs burned like fire and he could feel the warmth of his blood running down his leg. In the cold, his breathe came out in bursts of white mist as he struggled through the woods. He hunched down into his coat when a gust of icy wind attacked his exhausted body. He couldn't feel anything except for that damned hole in his side.

His eyes darted from side to side. Scanning the tree line on either side of him. But he saw nothing, only trees. He knew they were looking for him. Knew they would kill him once they found him.

He hissed in pain when more wind whipped around his body, making his side burn. He couldn't go on. He had been walking in the thick snow for hours. He was exhausted and his warmth was fading along with the blood that was pooling in the footprints trailing behind him.

Suddenly the ground came out from under him and he landed on his injured side. An agonized scream came out of his mouth before he could stop it. God knows how many creatures he attracted with that sound, or worse, the men that were trying to kill him. He had to go on.

He pushed himself up to his knees but even that took great effort. God he was so weak. Taking a deep breath he braced himself for the pain. Pushing himself up to his wobbly legs, he tried to hold on to the hope that he would survive. Would he go to hell for all the horrible things he had done? Would he meet all the men he had killed in the name of someone else's sense of Justice? Had God truly abandoned him those many years ago when he took up the profession of doing Death's work?

No. No more of this. No more thinking of death, no more wondering if he would survive, he forced himself to hold that hope. He had to go on. To survive. Then he smelled it.
The most glorious smell he had experienced in two bloody days: cooking food. His stomach rumbled angrily, telling him it had been too long since he had last eaten. Hiding from the man he was hired to kill. Now that same man was trying to kill him.
"Don't think. Just survive." he ordered himself as he made his way toward that wonderful aroma, hoping to God he wouldn't have to kill that only person who could help him.
That would be a waste

Emma inhaled the concoction she was brewing in the pot over the hearth. Closing her eyes, she relished the tendrils of the delicious aroma coming from the cast iron cauldron. Dipping the potion into her ladle she gently blew on the

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