The morning fog envelops W?n’s hooves as K?spar rides from Kesel’s-in-the-Vale. Freshly fallen leaves flake and crunch as they are trod over; the changing forest quickly replaces them. The crisp autumn air blows through K?spar’s hair and catches itself in the upturned collar of his overcoat. He takes a long breath in, savoring the damp, earthy scent of his favorite season—the riding weather was ideal, and W?n seems to know it too.

  The sun grows brighter as the tree line thins, slowly giving way to large rolling hills in the distance, whose shadowed deep green valleys look abyssal against the verdant tops. The trail rejoins the Kr?wn? as the river emerges from the forest; K?spar slows W?n before an old, uncovered wooden bridge, which spans the river before it weaves its way through the hills towards Styd?n.

  Before K?spar, a small group has gathered on the shore beneath the bridge; between them, their topic of discussion is the pale corpse of Iven Bōsc?: the man's body had been dragged through the rapids of the Valerun and now lies prone, beached face down in the earth, legs and torn trousers still partially submerged; his woolen jacket, stiff and well-kept just hours ago, is now torn and gashed from the river rocks, damp and darkened by the waters; what was visible of his face is waxen, slightly glistening in the sunlight and speckled with dirt, and a large gash runs up his exposed cheek; his blonde hair matted to his skull, mixed with the river's vegetation, hides the initial blow from his fall; his hands are now blue, stiff, and riddled with small abrasions. His drunken confidence of the night prior had been swept away; now halfway to the inland sea, it leaves a husk behind on the riverbank.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  K?spar takes in the faces of the group; he recognizes the expression of some. He is well acquainted with the expression one shows when grappling with their first encounter with human fragility.

  W?n returns to a canter on the other side of the bridge, K?spar has no desire to be recognized by either of Iven's friends. He quickly leaves the spectacle behind him.

  He rounds the top of the hill; Styd?n’s silhouette and the smoke of its many chimneys sit just a three-hour ride away.