The fog and the lost village
The fog was gnawing at the sky, sopping up the sun with glee and leaving the world murky and sallow. Stanley felt the burn from the iron bar prickling under his shirt as he slowly made his way along the river bank. He glanced at the bridge, limping toward the General with only rage about his soul; he knew what had happened to the girl….the poor, poor girl and the flames….
Incredulously he roared through gritted teeth, his shoulders tightened as if to spring into some violent act……Could no one see the coincidence? Could they not yet connect the events? He had to become rested; his breathing was violent, his heart pulsing and pushing him on. In years to come they would talk about the lost village and the swollen black river, but only he would be able to fully appreciate the sweetness in his revenge……
