Lorelei

Night crept from the forest, dragging long shadows over the empty camp. In the valley below, mist rose from the dirge-singing river, for the evening was chill and the water warmer than many of the folk who had fought along its banks. The mist clung to the river folk, mingling with their sweat and licking away dried blood as it ran in rivulets down their faces. It glistened on fallen weapons and darkened the stones the survivors heaped upon their fallen kin.

A few listless stars dotted the sky as the exhausted river folk trudged up the hill. Among them was Hronulf the Cooper, an unassuming little man who had not expected to survive the day's battle.

He eyed the summit, where fires promised warmth and comfort...