The night wind howled loudly. Clouds fogged the sky, prohibiting the stars from making their shine to reach the earth below. Tree branches screeched in the dark night, making a symphony of eerieness with the songs of night fairies luring strayed villagers to their traps.
An owl, perched on the hole of a tree trunk, turned its neck a hundred and eighty degrees. Its wide eyes were fixated on two hooded men who had just appeared out of thin air. The men walked silently on the grassy field, making their way to the village.
He knew the territory very well. It was the outskirt of Voltaire before the vast forest that separated the country from other countries at the far north of the continent. Willow Village was the poorest village that Voltaire had. The nobles in the capital called it The No
