The Hunter of Fallen Warriors
In the dark, primordial forest, two people from Terdun fled together.
They dared not light a fire or rest. The canopy that blocked out the sun made it impossible for them to tell direction—not that direction mattered anymore; finding a way to survive was what mattered most.
Still, they were caught up to; hounds followed their scent, and a dozen farmers surrounded them.
At dusk, the farmers returned to the village with two heads and other items stripped from the barbarians, carried on branches.
They did not go straight home but headed first to the village hall.
Wood crackled in the hearth, and outside the walls, winter was freezing cold, yet it was warm inside the village hall.
A middle-aged man, clearly not a farmer, inspected the two heads, furrowed his brow, and asked, "No helmets, armor, or anything else?"
The leading farmer, his cheeks reddened from the cold, replied awkwardly, "No, would hats work? And earrings?"
