The remains of the corpse were fresh. From just below the eyebrows to the bottom of the dead man's breast, the flesh and much of what was underneath had been yanked away and strewn about the road, leaving white bone behind. Giles knelt down beside it to gain a more detailed understanding. The eyes were missing, and the jaw prided open to reveal no tongue behind the teeth.
The brightly colored robes and chain suggested that the remains of some sort of priest lay before him, although he did not recognize the symbol upon the end of the golden chain, nor the leather bound book gripped within the corpse's left hand. The blood crusted along the furthest reaches of its first splatters upon the loose sleeve of his garment. Giles lifted his head and scanned the surrounding grounds for any trace, eventually spying a line of stomped grass fading into the dark overhanging branches along the right side of the road. He watched the shadowy depth of the forest, eyes fixed for spying any movement within.
"If you're coming back," he mumbled, gripping the handle of a spear he leaned upon as a walking stick. "I'd better not be here to greet you."
Before rising, Giles pondered the clothing upon the dead man, and thought better of it. "Too much blood. Couldn't work." Doubling his pace, he continued down the road, every few moments glancing over his shoulder until the spot of the mutilation had become obscured.
The countryside had been dry for the past two days. While the clouds had gathered overhead at miraculous speed, only two days before, they refused to release their moisture upon the world. So the dirt beneath his feet continued to powder and puff with each step he made.
Twice travelers had come up the other direction. The first he avoided, dodging behind a fallen oak where they passed without stopping to check. The second, his luck abandoned him.
Giles had not seen them first. Around the bend in the road they came. Two men riding a wagon full of barrels. They smiled and nodded when close enough, touching finger to forehead in greeting. Then their smiles faded. Looking closer at his attire and weaponry, they exchanged a look between themselves and moved along without stopping. The whole time they passed and until they were out of sight, one of them made sure to keep an eye on him. Giles returned the gaze, heart bounding and legs locked, as they went up and over the hill. He decided that he would have to find new clothes.
Until then, he made great effort to keep himself off of the road, obscured within the trees until he found himself coming to the end of the wooded area where he had found the dead priest. Trees thinned out to tall wispy stalks of wheat and Sun finally shown down upon his tanned skin once more. On either side of the road the wheat stretched, going down and up until it disappeared behind the rolling mounds. Their stalks, having begun to cry, glowed orange against the setting red sun. The road wound down along from the higher point of the forest, snaking its way into a valley of golden wheat. Giles' eyes followed the dirt path until it came side by side with a stone house.
A pillar of smoke came from a stumpy chimney poking from the furthest wall, wisping away into the reddening sky. A thatched roof hung far over the sides, halfway covering the oak door and window. Across from the home stood a barn, sounds of farm animals coming from within. Between the two structures, a dogwood grew slender and white. Where are you? Giles thought, as his peering eyes panned back and forth between the two structures.
Noticing the sun sinking lower by the minute, Giles ducked down, and cut a path into the field on his right. Like a swam through water, he split through the golden stalks, weaving his way down the slope, never stopping until the only thing blocking eyes from seeing him were three feet of stalks.
The world surrounding him buzzed with insects hidden within the vegetation. The day's heat brought a drizzle of sweat down his spine. The scent of soil dominated his nostrils. Spear in hand, he kept his eyes fixed on the barn.
Animals made their noises within. That of a horse and cow. Nothing spectacular to Giles. The sounds of horses and their nature were nothing new to him. And he had some experience with cows once, although mostly on plates. However, while the horse's uninterested soundings did not catch his mind, the whaling of the cow stung his ears. Like a babe suffering neglect. No matter how long he waited, no one and nothing ever came out from the barn.
He sprang forth and dashed around its backside, keeping himself and the spear low. He looked about the wall until he spotted it. One of the stones dislodged leaving a narrow hole at shoulder height. Peeking through, glaring brightness coming from the entrance on the opposite wall. He leaned back and forth to gain better views, only catching a glimpse of a bushy tail flicking away buzzing flies.
He pulled away, and knelt down running his free hand through curly black hair. The sun nearly lowered behind the trees. With a sigh Giles stamped his spear into the ground where he left it, drew the blade from his belt, and crept around to the front of the barn.
Keeping a watchfulness upon the house, he made his way to the barn's entrance and peered in. One horse. One cow, whose tail flicked back and forth. He craned his neck to view the other half, where tools and a pile of straw took up much of the remaining room.
The cow, spotting him peeking around the entrance's corner, jutted its neck forward and let out a wail that vibrated through the open space. Giles, too shaken, pulled away, hiding himself from the animal. The animal would not stop, and only seemed to grow louder with each cry.
Eyes now wide, he viewed the circle of space between the barn and house. The road ran directly through the center of the area, wagon wheel tracks and hove prints made clear distinction in a straight line down its center. Dusty as it had ever been, shaded by the large ancient tree stretching its branches far and wide.
Up the way he came, he watched. Then, down the way his path led. He spotted something walking down the road. Too far, and the world now too darkened, he could not make out the figure, though he judged it to be large. Perhaps a head or two taller than himself.
Giles felt a jolt through his body upon spying the figure, and the cow's horse cry doubled in volume. All chance of cover sat on the edge of being found out, if they had not noticed him already. Realizing no better moment would come, he leapt from his place at the barn and bounded across the circle, slamming his back against the walls of the stone house directly next to the wooden door. He held the short sword ready to strike. Sweat running down his face like translucent veins popping up through the skin.
Giles felt the grip he had upon the handle begin to cramp his hand, and the low bend in his knees strained them to the point of shaking slightly. He glanced about once more before deciding to reach for the door, and push it. It did not give way, even a bit. Damn, he thought, they had seen him this whole time. Probably watched him sneaking about the barn too like a stupid dog. The sun dipped behind the distant trees, and now the world only had a few more minutes of visibility.
"I know you are in there." His voice came out ragged and low, forcing its way through a dry throat. If the figure on the road walked in his direction, then there would only be a few minutes to act. "I will give you this one chance to come out. I won't hurt you. I just need some food." He did not move from his position to strike. "Can you hear me? Or are you just a fool? Come out, now." Each passing moment brought the world into a darker state of existence.
Giles knew that if he tried to open the door and force his way in, the farmer might exact his exact plan back upon him, waiting for Giles to attempt entry while he waited with some weapon raised just out of sight. So, desperate in the fading light, he crept around the side of the home, glancing down the road once more. The figure had moved on, and the road shown empty. Luck finally returned to him and he quickened his step, energy to act flowed through him.
Once he rounded the corner to the back of the house, he halted.
Behind the house opened a stretch of ground before reaching the fields again. Just before the wheat stalks a well stood. On the grounds about it, blood stained the dirt as if splashed about using a bucket. A crumbled heap lay in front of the well, obscured by the dulling evening light. Giles looked hard at the heap, particularly the many long shapes trailing out its side, stretched toward him. A stench of bowels struck the back of his throat, and his nostrils flared.
"Hello?" The word stupidly hissed from between his lips, breaking the stillness. The body did not move. Giles took a heavy step forward, as if finding balance upon a log. Then, another. When he had finally crossed half the open space, a thing caught his eye.
On the back of the house, directly across from the well, there a window had been built into the stone. From all sides the stones around it were pulled and pushed out of place, and the shutters smashed inward. Along the bottom, blood ran down the wall, melding into the dirt below, making a swiping path leading directly to the body.
Then, his gaze followed a new trail in the dirt.
Branching away from the heap, tracks paced their way along towards where Giles stood. He followed their history down and out from behind the house, and towards the main road. Sizable and bare. He would have assumed them to be the tracks of a large doe or perhaps a goat. Clearly something that had probably come upon the site and sniffed out the danger before leaving. Only, a single visual threw off his investigation. One next to the other. Perhaps he read the signs wrong. Perhaps he had simply not enough experience with animal tracking. In fact, he was sure of it. However, near where he stood, before the tracks, a hand had printed itself into the dust.
Giles, stooping low, splayed his own hand over his imprint. Its size doubled his own, and its fingers dug deeply into the dirt. around it, blood smeared. While it might be that the body had made its way over where he stood, no other sign fell about to suggest how it did. The surrounding dirt remained untouched.
Giles made over to the window, and observed the inside of the home. Shadows pulled back, giving little revelation to the objects within. Bottles upon the floor and broken cabinets splintered about. Once a home, now a glance into a horrific frame of the farmer's last moments.
A welcome invitation to Giles. Whatever had done this had now long been gone. If anyone traveling the road cared enough to check on this farmer, they'd have done so long ago.
And so, this would be the place he'd hide himself away until the light returned. He disappeared into the dark opening in the back of the farmhouse.