Anne Lothlorien

“Last year’s leaves exploded into rustling traitors under Haydn’s boots. Branches clawed at his cloak and he ducked, swiping away pale gray webs of moss. Gorawen’s fingers were wrapped around his left hand. A moonstone gleamed from his right. The dim light barely lifted the shadows as Haydn tucked the stone beside a log. Another flash of soaked moonbeams lurked on the edge of his sight. Half-covered, they’d not reveal their path to those following while marking a clear trail for his and Gorawen’s return and keep their own direction sure.”
― Hope Ann, Shadows of the Hersweald: A Hansel and Gretel Novella

“Haydn traced his fingers over crates of potatoes and apples. A splinter caught against his skin
and his breath hissed between his teeth. He yanked it out, then stuck the finger in his mouth, his gaze roving outward. Tempered blades, hanging from the walls. Bulging casks of wine. And there, tucked into the deepest shadows…
Haydn hurried over. He wedged the torch between two boxes and crouched down, rocking back on his heels as he examined the chest. The iron bands were cold to his touch. No dagger was going to spring this lock.
With a soft chuckle, Haydn sank to his knees and pulled a skeleton key from inside his cloak.
Bending close, he tilted his head and inserted the key into the lock. He gently worked it back and forth. A chink echoed in the silence, followed by a snap as the lid sprang up just a fraction of an inch.
Locks or not, Mathias really made things too easy.”
― Hope Ann, Mercy of Fate: A Shadows of the Hersweald Short Story

“His fingers brushed the outline of the bronze disc hanging beneath his tunic. Haydn jerked his
hand away, gritting his teeth as he tried to block the memories. The clashing of steel. The screams and cries of battle. They fled, replaced by flames. Shadows. Pleading and tears.”
― Hope Ann, Shadows of the Hersweald: A Hansel and Gretel Novella