The voice comes from ahead, smooth and laced with amusement. A figure steps out from behind a broad oak, his blond hair catching the light, a clay bird perched on his shoulder.

Another presence, to your right. A hulking figure with a scythe resting against his shoulder, his expression twisted into something between boredom and contempt.

A third figure materializes from the shadows between two trees, his stride unhurried, his dark hair brushing his shoulders. His eyes—red, spinning—fix on your husband with an unreadable calm.