Loose Ends

The moon peered over the crest of the Forlorn Hills as a dark, non-descript figure slowly climbed from the boat and up the banking. A woman stood near an ancient oak tree gazing out towards the flickering orange glow on the horizon. “Why is the pumpkin farm ablaze?” she enquired, her hood protecting her features. “Long story,” offered the other figure in a hushed tone that betrayed his maleness.The hooded woman paused for a moment, raised a quizzical eye, became impatient and: “Well, do you have it?”

The other figure produced a small locked chest and in exchange a small bag of gold. “I think you have other places to be,” said the woman. The man weighed the coins carefully, shrugged, turned and began to walk away. He was sure he heard hissing, stopped and turned just long enough to see the blade piercing his throat. As he reacted slowly to the sudden change of events, the bag of coins was lifted from his hand, But he had other things to worry about now.

Thankfully that worry only lasted a very short time.