Thus he continued down the road, making his way slowly towards Ashtan.
His child's corpse hung down from his shoulders, her head bouncing
gently against his arm with each step. The hours turned into days as the
man finally drew near to his destination. The air around him hummed with
the eager, beating wings of a thousand flies. Vultures circled overhead,
attracted by the pungent smell of decaying flesh. Brave crows landed
upon his daughter's corpse, tearing away bits of flesh in their sharp
beaks before taking off into the air. Turning his face to view his
daughter, a deranged smile upon his lips, the man said tenderly, "Don't
worry, dear, we'll find someone who can restore you."

A cold gust of wind brought the man back to reality. As eddies of frosty
air whipped past his body, he pulled his tattered robe tightly around
him. The man gazed about as if for the first time and realized he was
completely alone on the road, sliding into madness, holding the rotting
corpse of his dead child in his filthy hands. Falling to his knees, the
man began to weep bitterly, his shoulders shaking with emotion and
despair.

With a start, he heard a stranger's voice echo nearby. "Cast her down,"
came this booming voice from the roadside.

He cast his eyes about, looking for the source, when a cloaked figure
slowly materialized before him. The figure gestured towards his
tear-streaked face with a bony finger. "You have suffered long and it is
time you sought strength. Your sentimentality betrays you. This girl is
dead yet you permit her to burden you."

The man quivered as he turned to face his daughter's corpse. Where her
flesh was exposed, strips had been gnawed away, revealing gleaming white
bones underneath. The polished shine of her skull haunted the man as he
recalled a similar hue on the bishop's robe. The man began to laugh with
pain and anger, feeling a spark ignite within his being. The laugh
turned into a scream as this spark grew and kindled within him,
smoldering deep within his soul. With a sneer, the man threw her body to
the dust.

Seeing this, the cloaked figure smiled, placed his hand upon the man's
shoulder and pointed westward, to Mhaldor.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Lupar, in the year 377 AF.