Virkyrrin rose, and with him, the sleepy village. The first thing they noticed was the figure slumped on the fountain, hand dangling in the water. Where the hand trailed, red was left. The only colour in the still grey and slowly rousing village. It jarred at their minds, striking them dumb and silent. No one knew who the figure was. The village doctor rushed up to it and began treatment.

As the village woke up to the ragged figure, an army halted at an invisible line at the top of the valley, looking down at the village in the early dawn light. One man detached from the group and rode to the solitary figure observing the valley bottom like Virkyrrin did the earth.

“Don’t worry, my prince, the witch will be found.â€?