The room felt like a grave. It was not due to the bodies lying on the old stone, the smell of blood and burnt flesh in the air, or the darkness that seemed to emanate from every corner. The quiet made it feel like a tomb.
No one said anything, and no one even moved a muscle. They all just stood there, frozen in shock, trying to understand that the peaceful blacksmith who had made them farming tools and kitchen supplies had just killed a man with his bare hands.
Greg stayed on his knees where Bork and Felix had pulled him off Elias's body. His hands were still raised a little, as if he couldn't believe they were his own.
Slowly and steadily, blood dripped from his knuckles. Each drop hit the stone floor with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the suffocating silence.
