His Hardest Mission

Ark placed the small box within the pocket of his torn and tattered cloak. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

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The old farmer nodded. Despite his age, years of working in the field kept his body strong and capable. “I’m absolutely certain. If there's anyone that should do it, I'm glad it's you.”

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“Alright. I promise I won’t let you down.”

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He nodded once more. “Good luck. She’s visiting the graves. I’ve got to tend to the fields, but come back when you’re done, alright?”

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“Of course.” As he spoke, Ark turned away, waving with his hand.

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The village was quiet. Ark’s boots crunched in the freshly fallen snow as cold powder drifted down from the heavens. The setting sun painted the white canvas in hues of yellow, orange, and red.

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Following her trail of footprints, he found himself standing before a small field of graves. Inscribed on each one was the name of a beloved family member. Hunters and their beasts alike lay at rest together. They were treated as lifelong partners, even in death.

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Among the graves, one stood out in particular. A bouquet of pale, blue flowers sat atop it along with a small bag of sweet, white grains. Anyone in the Glaewood would recognize the engraving. “Here lies Sweetsnow, Glaewood’s lost hero.”

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Sitting in front of it was a woman. She looked down at the grave with her back to Ark. Her coat was made of an ice wolf’s pelt and her bow hung loosely at her side...