Heavy rain had washed a tide of drenched soil over the steep path winding up to the remote graveyard. Now turned to treacherous mud in the downpour’s aftermath, it sat idly over loose stones, a trap for those foolish enough to risk passage to this lonely place.
As Hemlocke climbed, slipping and scrabbling at vicious branches and roots with her hands, she swore misery upon every Old One she knew from the domains and moons of water. It was their torrent that had been unkind to the shrubs, stripping away leaves to reveal sharp thorns and bristles that rubbed and bled her fingers raw.
The story continues with Part VII. (Check out the previous chapters in the Resource Vault.)
