run. Surely someone as intelligent as the inventor would be able to fill the gap in Veryth’s knowledge.
Interest piqued, Veryth made haste to the site where the birds had abandoned, and found it to be a farm that belonged to one Edvard Gondflier. Veryth had never visited this farm’s owner personally, as some of the older hunters had warned him away from the cankerous, middle-aged man. Gondflier had a tendency to yell loudly at visitors and throw things at them, but Veryth supposed that it may as well have been Gondflier’s way of saying hello.
Veryth sometimes did bring small gifts when he was nearby, leaving a pouch of collected berries, or a particularly shiny stone that Veryth found on his treks in the woods. Everyone needed a friend, and since Edvard Gondlifer lived alone and didn’t have any friends, then Veryth would do his best to be a friend to Gondflier.
When he arrived at the property, the old wooden door with its chipping brown paint was wide open. Its hinges were worn and rusted, flakes of orange red scattered on the porch. The entire thing, door and frame, seemed like a good rapping would cause it to fall to bits. Veryth decided against knocking because of this, and instead hollered in his most polite voice: “Hello, Mister Gondflier? Are you in? I’ve got some berries if you want to share!” His mother had always taught him that when visiting others, it was only good and proper to bring something in with you to share with your host.
Farlon’s soft cawing was the response given.
“Mister Gondflier?” Veryth called again, more hesitant.
He shouldn’t enter without permission, but what if Gondflier was hurt and unable to call for help? Veryth needed to check and make sure he was alright, in that case. But the implications of entering uninvited didn’t sit well with him.
Veryth, unable to make the decision, stood stock-still in front of the ruined doorway for an indeterminate period of time. He might have continued to stand there if not for Farlon, who made the choice for him, ducking in through the frame and settling on a small side table inside, cocking his head as though to say ‘Aren’t you coming?’.
It wouldn’t do to let Farlon loose in Gondflier’s home, Veryth reasoned. So the only thing to do would be to go inside to fetch him. Cautiously, he edged past the aging door frame and into the musty farmhouse. A thin blanket of dust lay over the floor and surrounding objects, colouring everything with a tint of gray. Veryth ventured further, Farlon leading the way through the hall and down a set of creaking steps.
Immediately upon entering Veryth’s nose was assaulted with the horrible stench of blood. Realization struck Veryth like a blunt force of nature. The musty, metallic smell from before had not been the smell of an unused home; it was the scent of spilt
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blood. With good reason for his entry and subsequent panic, Veryth stumbled down the last few steps, his stomach lurching in a sickening fashion as he realizedthe stairs were slick with the same red substance responsible for the smell.
He had almost reached the bottom when he spotted the dark shape lying at the foot of the stairs. A shape that, upon closer inspection, resembled a human body. Veryth made an involuntary sound of shock and horror, nearly falling backwards in his haste to back away from the still form. Across the body was an angry red line, the shredded clothes around it soaked through with dark splotches, the rest of the dark liquid pooling on the ground. A discarded lantern lay in the distance, shedding light on the face of a man Veryth didn’t know. In the man’s hand was a small blue book with silvery embossed lettering.
Something is wrong.
Veryth ran back to safety, to the open air and blue skies that lay outside this horrible, horrible place. He tore back the way he came, dashing across fields and not stopping until he reached the same hill he had sat upon only an hour earlier. There were fine scratches on his arms and legs where he had scrambled past bushes and trees in his haste to get away. Farlon, who sensed his master’s fear and horror, stepped closer, nuzzling his beak against Veryth’s arm in an attempt to comfort him.
There were no words to describe what he had seen... Veryth’s forehead scrunched itself as he tried to shake the image of the body lying in the cellar from his mind’s eye.
The whole scenario didn’t make any sense. How could such a thing have happened? What accident must have occurred for that man to have died? Where was Edvard Gondflier? So many questions unanswered...
The next, most important thing to do would be to report the incident to the royal guards. They would know what to do, how to ensure the situation would never happen again. They would ensure that the Veryths and Farlons of the world never had to lay eyes upon the aftermath of... of such an incident ever again.
Veryth didn’t know what to call what had happened to the man.
Still, he had to steel his nerves and be brave about it. All worrisome incidents such as the scene at the North Suscraw Farm had to be reported to the king. It was vital in keeping their kingdom as peaceful and beautiful as it was. That was what everyone knew to be true, including Veryth himself, even if he did not fully comprehend what had occurred. Hopefully this afternoon would soon be but a distant memory and all would be well again.
Hours later, when the king’s men came upon the grizzly, sordid scene, the body would be gone. The book would remain, its silver letters glittering dimly in the faltering light of the dying candle.