Although Eiren wanted to go outside, he did not feel particularly inclined to interact with anybody else. He stepped closer to the center of the grounds, hidden as they were from the front where the sculptor worked, and where the priest was squabbling.

Having only really walked around the area currently occupied, and now somewhere closer to the Abbey, Eiren was glad of the opportunity to view more of the grounds. He would have liked to see the nymph-like statues around the pond, but he did not quite remember where they were, so he stepped about without intention.

As he strolled, nibbling the last of his cookies, he shivered and looked up at the impressive display of the season on the Estate. He had read long ago of countries where autumn was called winter, and the notion had first struck him as wild and amusing. Now, as the sharp air burrowed into his coat and bit at his flesh despite his many layers, the idea of this extreme winter did not sound so far-fetched.

It occurred to him for the first time in his life how very odd it was, that no one in this sprawling, bland country ever felt the desire to leave, and explore those lands of several seasons, heathens, and religions. In fact, there was some sort of religious law - unspoken, but enforced nevertheless - that restricted it!

"I can't imagine why," he grumbled, shaking crumbs from his fingers and jamming them deep into his pockets. A limp gust of wind blew towards him, and in his haste to escape the brittle cold, he sped his walk up until he was tucked into a little grove of hedges. Resting against a scrawny tree that clung hopelessly to its last dying leaf, Eiren sighed deeply.

The cold was, not to be doubted, quite horrid against his thin lungs, but it felt wonderful to inhale something that did not remind him of Lord Van Wyk's bedroom. At least those bastards aren't any warmer, not for all of their laughter and so-called happiness, he thought of the Lutton's, though he did feel an ache in his chest that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. No, no!

He shook his head and stood taller, sniffing heavily. Such people did not deserve tears! Tears and regret, those were for family, and Eiren Adair had no such thing.

Incensed at his own emotions, he stalked off once more, scowling at this and that as he wove between bushes. It irked him beyond comprehension that here, where he had come to escape for a bit the heaviness of uncovering a series of murders, the Luttons, of all people, would come to the forefront of his consciousness!

He absently kicked a pinecone and watched with satisfaction as it bounced away. The rolling of the oddly-shaped seed brought his gaze up, and with a start, he realized how far he had walked.

Glaring from the other side of the gate were the thick woods of Kelfordshire. Officially named the Adelaide Forest, the dense collection of trees was heavy and brooding. Sentience seemed to pour out of the branches, and Eiren felt a simmering fury in the darkness ahead. He took a step backwards and pulled his hands up to his chest, as his heart had forgotten quite what it was supposed to do.

How Lord Van Wyk traveled and spent most of his time in such an oppressive environment, Eiren would never know. It was with a wavering breath that he turned around, eager to quit the presence of the woods, only to gasp, saliva and the frostbitten air causing him to choke.

A greyhound, thin and starved-looking, was lurking in the hedges Eiren had just walked out of. Its lips were curled in a tight, rigid snarl; its haunches were raised in such a way that could only mean one thing: the dog was prepared to attack.

Before his heart could fail him again, Eiren ran, not even daring to imagine why such a vicious-looking creature was on the inside of the grounds. He did not pay attention to where he ran, only that it was from the beast.

A snarl turned around a corner, and the wet, snapping nose of the greyhound soon followed. Eiren threw a look back and shrieked, momentarily losing his balance as he ran over a tree root. He pitched forward, but miraculously, his feet jutted out in front of him and kept him standing. As his arms whirled forward, he lurched and continued his run. The air that made its way into his chest - already compromised, as it was - found it would not be granted easy access.

His vision swimming before him and his legs aching terribly, he dove under a gnarled tangle of roots and shuddered most violently as the dog neared.

Trying very hard to lay still, in what he knew was a ridiculously futile effort to avoid the dog's detection, Eiren held his breath as long as he could.

A whine and a snarl sounded from outside the roots. Scratching, so close to his ears, drove at the dirt, and Eiren knew he was dead in a moment. Before he could beg for mercy or say any meaningful last words, he could just make out a harsh shout, and in an instant, the pattering of the dog had disappeared.

He lay still for several moments, wheezing and taking in a great mouthful of air. What in the deepest of hells just happened? Once his vision cleared and he could breathe without taking rapid breaths, he pulled himself cautiously out of the roots and sat up. Peering slowly over the tree, he scanned the area around him, but there was no sign of the dog or whatever it was that called it away.

"I swear," he wheezed with a worried scowl, "this damned place will be the death of me!" He brushed off the dirt from his knees, and rested his palms heavily on his thighs. It was with grim irony that he recalled why he stayed inside, regardless of where he lived. You need a breath of fresh air for even a moment, and everything decides it wants to eat you. He had no clue how the dog, suspiciously similar to those guarding the front gate, had crept up on him so silently, much less onto the main grounds.

As he stood, Eiren realized he hadn't the slightest idea where he was. He had run right into the thickest of the mist and the fog, so desperate was he to simply escape the view of such a vile creature. He whirled around and nearly whined. Nothing looked familiar, especially not in this dire weather.

He stood still and felt his shoulders slump. First, he had been chased by a wild stray, and now he was lost on what was supposed to be his own estate someday. A soft, slithering sound echoed into the air around him, and he opened his eyes wide, paralyzed. What else was the estate hiding in the bitter cold?

This surprise was not, to his wildly immense relief, an animal. The mist shifted and Eiren found himself looking at what he could only describe as a lake. Spread out far into the fog, and disappearing from view around a typical series of hedges, the massive body of water sat silently in its contained shape. The slithering he heard was simply the occasional lapping of water, the wind nudging the dark water along.

Eiren gaped. He did not recall having heard that a lake existed on the estate, nor did he remember it from his past visits. He leaned forward and squinted at the water. The water looked back and seemed to sigh, a new ripple barely shaking its surface.

With a newfound source of contemplation, Eiren slowly walked around the lake. Though it was still and simple and appeared rather straightforward, he could not shake the feeling that the water was somehow alive, or at least aware of his presence. He looked back over his shoulder and shivered, the woods still very close, and just as aware as the water.

His breath now reduced to occasional withering inhalations, he went around the right of the lake, wondering how far it went into the fog. He continued thus for quite some time, not exactly thinking, and not exactly daydreaming. He focused instead on the vision set before him, listening to the wind and watching the water in an automatic perusal of the area.

So complete were his somber meanderings, that he noticed not the statue until he stepped out and kicked the stone with shoes ill-equipped for much more than walking.

"Damn it all!" He shattered the calm of the lake and cursed, hopping about on one foot as he tried to grasp his most woefully injured toes. "Why is there another statue here?" Once he had calmed his complaining down, he threw himself to the hard ground and stared bleakly up at the statue that had disguised itself so well in the fog.

Gazing down at him with a look of utmost pity was yet another familiar face. The subject was, of course, a woman, her hair hidden from view by a veil of sorts. Her hands were clasped over a well-covered chest, and the look of total piety was completed by several icons that dangled from her hands.

Eiren did not have the energy to be surprised that he had accidentally found Lord Van Wyk's second wife. Recognizing her from paintings so well done, he scowled at her dour face. Begrudgingly, he admitted that Severin Quilby had once again proven his skill with a hammer and chisel, though, this particular sculpture held none of the fantastic majesty of the one he had shown to Eiren. If the nymphs of the pond, artfully woven in with their natural surroundings, were based on a woman the sculptor was fond of, then this rendition of one of the Ladies of Kelfordshire could only mean Mr. Quilby found nothing at all notable in the existence of the second wife.

He pulled himself to his feet and squinted into the face of the woman. Her expression was cast at the ground, though, she just as easily could be looking into the lake. Eiren snorted as he considered how very much she appeared desperate to throw herself into its depths.

The other statues, four more equally dull depictions, were situated at even intervals along the rest of this side of the lake. A shame, Eiren thought, running a hand around the heavy dress of the third, that such detail could convey such blandness. Indeed, he felt unconsciously that this wife held none of the charm of her predecessor, or her successor. She reminded Eiren starkly of the priest, and wondered if she, too, was a fanatic, one of the sort who would gladly remove a hand or a foot to express her devotion.

The only statue worthy of a second look was the last one. She was twisted in such a fashion, that she physically faced the lake, but had turned her head to the woods on her right. As Eiren stepped closer, he could make out the sort of expression that looked as though it belonged on the depiction of Caelony's mother. The eyes were opened almost too wide, the mouth parted in a perpetual gasp of air. Though her hands were still clasped, they were knotted, curled in a tight grip.

Backing up suddenly - and hoping there were no more dogs and no more surprises behind him - he slowly edged his way back where he had come from. He had come outside to get away from the dreariness of death, and all he found was fear and figures of utter disgust!

Taking care not to trip and find himself soaked as well as cold, he turned around and shuffled in the opposite direction from the woods, marching back with a renewed sense of purpose. Namely, this was a desire to learn - and avoid - the fate of the Ladies, and find some way to quit these disastrous grounds forevermore!