Faith & Fiction

Gryphon squinted through the thick fog, muscles tensed at the hungry lapping of the river’s gentle waves against his dingy rowboat. A couple of splinters had already worked themselves into his hands, stinging with each rolling motion of the oars. The cloudy, brown water concealed any sign of the alligators surely lurking beneath the surface. It’s for the best. For her … The image of the young woman he had married flashed before him. Ebony hair tied into a low ponytail, she

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Firin knelt before the patch of bloodstained grass, dark brown eyes trained on the empty cabin a few yards away. “Y-you’re welcome.” the middle-aged man standing beside him shuddered. “I…need to get back, feed my pigs.” Firin said nothing, only nodded. The villagers of Arglas had not witnessed a murder for fifty years; their resident captain of the guard had not bothered to lift his bulk from his seat at the local tavern for a “farmer’s tale.