Eirich didn't look back. He feared that if he had looked back, only once, at the face of the sleeping Larise, he would have changed his mind.

Such was the power she held over him - not one of magic, but of more earthly force. To be without her was constant ache, even if he was just out to gather water from the well.

The only respite was to be with her; watch her smile - or pout, she did that a lot - to stroke her hair; to listen to her breath; to watch her chest rise and fall. Make love.

And yet all of these things brought with them their own pains in a gnawing guilt. Guilt for having abandoned his call. Guilt for living a sinful life. Guilt for looking away and staying silent in the presence of evil - worried not for himself but the woman besides him. Guilt, ultimately, in the face of God.

So in the dark of the night he had dressed quietly, and strapped his sword around his waist. He had left the armour behind - it had been neglected and had rusted. More guilt.

He walked away from the small white-washed cottage that had been home to the two of them for the last year. The night was clear and cold, his footsteps crackling against the snow as he walked. A pale halo of light surroundered the waning moon, promising more snow.

He trekked through the dark forest, headed towards a place he knew. The only place he knew, except the cottage. She would find him there, but then she would find him elsewhere too. As a witch that was in her power. Eirich hoped he would be stronger then.

It was an evil forest he walked through - enchanted and deadly. Wicked and old things hunted there; not always for meat. Tonight it was silent and still, the hunters letting the lone man pass. Perhaps it was the sword at his side. Perhaps it was the silver effigy of a man being crucified that hung around the man's neck. Or perhaps it was some glean in his eyes. Few hunters will hunt that which is desperate.

He came to a road that passed by besides the forest. It was an old road, left from an empire only remembered in old books and the rhymes of children. There was blood in the road and magic - but to the young man it was only a road, going in the direction he was heading.

He shared what little food he had him with a traveller he met who was worse off than he. In return he was given blessings, given in the names of gods he did not know and wished no knowledge off. But that which is given in good heart should not be dismissed without thanks. So he give his thanks - for the sentiment if not the blessing - made the sign of the cross and bid Adieu.

He stayed for a brief while in a small village by the road. For two days he battled the troll that had settled nearby. When they fought, Eirich wielded the sword with a skill and strength he had thought forgotten, and with a ferocity all new.

For the reward the villagers gave him, he bought salve for his wounds and food to last him on the road. The rest, the greater share, he gave to a young widow, the poorest in the village.

When the young knight had left, the rich men of the village came to the widow, and took the coins for themselves. Little fortune followed. Plague found the village the following summer, sparing none, poor or rich alike. The young widow had perished already, taken by a fever as winter turned to spring.