Urraca wouldn't be fooled into venturing outside during the Harvest Moon. Color her skeptical, perhaps even paranoid, but she'd experienced enough in the dungeons to know when the air felt off... And she wanted no part of it now.

Crimson beams of moonlight cascaded from the sky, painting the entire kingdom in a swath of blood. It unsettled her to her core and left her feeling frazzled and jumpy. Urraca drew all the curtains in her quaint home. The woven cotton did little to halt the eerie glow but offered some minuscule solace as a visual barrier. If she couldn't see what was happening in the streets and fields, perhaps she could rest easy. Honestly, it did little to calm her nerves. If anything, it allowed her imagination to run wild. She was left in the corner of her one-room cottage, staring into the thatched roof as all manners of squalls and shrieks echoed in the night. She'd always been told the veil was thin, that the spectral dead could roam the mortal plane, but she'd always thought it was mere stories... until now.

What else was that haunting wailing? What manner of creature could scream like that? Her sage eyes clamped shut, trying to focus on some inner mantra to drown out the din of horrors outside. The Soul Harvest had been quaint in the dungeons, where gourds and pumpkins were the most offensive element. Outside? Underneath the moon? It almost felt like the labyrinth below her hooves was safer. In the darkness of her own making, she settled into the blankets and pillows that served as her bed. Slowly sleep crept upon her out of the sheer exhaustion of the wee hour. The dreamworld had its caressing hands massaging her brain when there was a thud. Urraca bolted upright, tensing and staring at her door. Another heavy thud, followed by the squelch of moist soil beneath great weight. As if the kingdom itself had been mourning the fall of warmer months it had been raining lately. Urraca could only stare in frozen terror as her mind raced through the plethora of possibilities.

Had some angry ghoul come to her door for libation? Could someone possibly be lost out there? The second had Urraca's ears falling into her golden brown tresses, eyes wide and cupped with white crescents. What if someone was trapped outside, lost in the dim and blood-red light? If that was the case, she didn't want to be the type of Courser that refused to offer help. With a deep inhale she strode towards the door. Her steps, while determined, were light upon the wood slats of the floor. As the dingy door - in much need of a stain and seal - hung on its hinges before her she strained her ears to listen. They orbited atop her pale head, eyes flicking towards whatever direction she thought she heard sound. Nothing... silence.

How could that be?

With a beetled brow, she pulled the dainty curtain hanging over a small square window set in the door. Moving into the field across from her home was a shadow. A great scythe stretched overhead and glinted in the sanguine light. It was old, dented, and scuffed, but there was no mistaking its sharp, gleaming edge. She dared not whisper the name though it nearly sprang forth from her lips. Instead, she dropped the fabric, scurried backward, and darted back towards her bed.