A chilly wind blew across the desolate moors. It stirred the cloak of the dark stranger who stood at the crossroads in the starlight. In the stranger’s arms languished a young woman; her blood-smeared body hanging limply in his grasp.
With a glint in his eye, the stranger lowered his head so that his face was hidden beneath the wide brim of his hat. Behind him he left the burning remains of the village and departed with a swish of his cloak. The chilly wind blew, the moon shown on the desolate moors, and clouds of smoke drifted by, obscuring the stars from view.
(Roggen Wulf, 2014)