Marek stepped into a puddle. The stench coming off it spoke of a crime being done.
He looked down. A chewed bone was poking out of the water.
"Oh? Goblins?" He grinned. No one missed the goblins. He could eat his fill.
The Boliarin picked up the pace. He ran down the deer trail. Didn't even need to look at the ribbons.
The first thing he noticed was the smoke—so putrid that it must have come from burning human remains.
Marek was not wrong. Pyres littered the outside of the village. Pyres piled high with bones.
Marek passed them by as if he didn't even see them. The village was done for. The humans must have been looted if goblins were involved.
But the footprints on the ground were too big to have come from goblins.
He observed the traces. Looking at the village as a whole. Now, if he were anyone but a Boliarin, he would have buried the dead.
But he was a Boliarin. So, he asked himself, why leave excellent material behind?
