Beyond the lamplight of Ingver Town was a lesson in nothing.
Flatness stretched to the horizon—a vast, unbroken plate of empty earth and brittle grass under a vault of cold stars. Only a forest on the other side. Here, there was nothing—no forests, no hills to break the line of sight, only an immense and open exposure.
Here and there, solitary mounds rose like the buried backs of buried beasts.
Dark stones stood sentinel, their shadows were cast long and lean under the moonlight.
It was a landscape that offered barely a place to hide.
And because it was late, the plain was still like it was holding its breath.
No chirps of crickets, and no calls from night birds.
Only the wind that moved alone, sighing over the stones with a sound subtle, cooled breath.
But tonight wasn't that empty.
On a particular spot a mile away from Ingver Town, there were movements.
"Harghh… Bastard…"
Backed against a boulder was Agnar.
