"If you keep following me," Ludwig said, his tone dry, "you'll probably end up dead."
The Hunter offered a grim smile. "So far, I've seen death everywhere but next to you, Sir Davon."
Ludwig didn't respond. For a moment, he didn't even know how to. The irony of it burned at the edges of his awareness, because if there was any place more associated with death than Ludwig, it had not been named.
He was Death's favored. His apostle.
And that was not a comfort.
"Just keep up," he said at last, his eyes already sweeping the edges of the glade for an exit.
He moved fast, skirting the perimeter of the Queen's floral circle, tangled thorns, fleshy blossoms, pulsing vines thick with fluid. The others followed. The Knight was quiet, sword sheathed but ready, keeping pace. The Hunter's steps were less sure, but his will held.
"Got any plan on where we're going?" the Hunter called as he ducked under a whipping branch.
