[Saurreg]

The ride from his farm to the eastern edge of Bree had taken Loudewater an entire day’s time. The sun was setting and the farmer was still on the road riding on the small little mule that seemed to be buckling under his master’s weight. Not that Loudewater was very heavy, but the little beast of burden was too young and too small. It hadn’t occurred to Loudewater that he might have been procuring an unsuitable animal for his plan that morning at the market square, but then again he hasn’t been thinking sensibly at all since the previous night at the Prancing Pony’s.

The evening air grew cooler as the sun waned and Loudewater wished for a warm place beside a fire. He knew how to make fire out in the wild but was not in the mood to do so. In fact the entire novelty of the trip did not seem to be as grand as when it was first conceived and Loudewater found himself yearning for a thatched roof over his head.

Nothing to worry about, he thought to himself, Whittleworth’s just ahead, around the bend where the Bree Road ends and the Great East Road begins.

The Great East Road, where it ends before the red mountains that touches the sky…

As Loudewater neared the bend around the road, he anticipated the sight of a plume of grey smoke rising above the top of the trees and further on, the sight of a thatched roof and finally Whittleworth Cottage itself. He heard that old Whittleworth had made quite a sizable earning from his prized wool shavings and knowing the fellow livestock breeder well, Loudewater was sure that he would reward himself and his family with good provisions for the next few days to come. Loudewater just hoped that Mrs. Whittleworth would not mind an additional mouth at the dinner table that night.

Filled with eager anticipation, the farmer gave encouraging twin taps to the side of Killer so that he would trot faster.

*************

There was no smoke coming from behind the beeches and firs.

At first Loudewater thought that the sky had turned so dark that he couldn’t see the distinctive sign of a homely place in the distant. But as he neared where he thought Whittleworth Farm was, a forboding feeling clumped his chest. As unreasonable as it was, Loudewater felt that something was amiss. Something had happened.

The farmer rode on still and reached the spot where the skyline of the thatched roof and its brick chimney could be seen, but it wasn’t there. Onward he rode and yet he could not make out where the cottage and its adjacent farm buildings where.

Perhaps I have misjudged the location of the place, I haven’t been to Whittleworth’s for quite awhile. the farmer assured himself mentally. But even then, the doubt in his heart grew and he knew fear would follow The cry of large black crows was unnervingly deafening in the quietness of the night air.

He was nearing the spot where he thought the cottage itself stood and yet nothing distinctively familiar caught his wide-opened, darting eyes. It would seem that the farm had simply vanished into thin air.

And then Andas Loudewater saw it…

The cottage had collapsed and the entire roof was flattened as if some immense palm had cruelly pressed it down, overturning the side walls and crushing the rooms within. There were bits and pieces of shattered wood and broken bricks scattered throughout the vicinity. The barn was in better shape, but then from a distant, Loudewater could see that its front doors were missing.

And then there was the smell, a sickly stench that permeated in the air around the destruction. It was a stench Loudewater’s as a lifestock breeder was all too aware of. The smell of death and decay.

The hideous cawing of the crows was near unbearable. Loudewater could only imagine too well why they were here and what they were feasting on. A particularly large scavenger perched on a piece of exposed timber that was once a beam of the cottage, eyed the farmer with its lifeless dark eyes and sent a chill down his spine.


All doubt had dissipated with the discovery of the remnants of the farm. Fear had taken its place in Loudewater’s mind and it overwhelmed him. The panic stricken farmer kicked hard at the sides of the startled mule which broke into a wild gallop pass what was left of Whittleworth’s and onto the Great East Road.