[dplax]

Raindrops lazily trickling down in rivulets from the scorched farm house utterly failed to catch Finger's attention. He only had eyes for the young boy making his slow way up the winding path on the hillside. So young and so... he heard nothing and saw nothing of the blade which slipped down between his shoulderblades, ending his life before he even knew it. He joined his seven companions in the afterlife.

Three hundred feet away the youth still climbed along the road, unaware of his life ever having been in danger. Another pair of eyes now tracked him, dark eyes from underneath a hood, raised against the drumming rain. The figure turned and disappeared behind the farm house.

Filth reached the ruins an hour later, after a climb that had taken four hours up the slippery slopes of one of the hills after which Three Hills had been named. Its name had been long lost and for as long as anyone remembered, it had always been called West Hill. It was the tallest of the three hills and offered a commanding view of the surrounding plains. The myriad of burial chambers dozens of feet under its surface had lain undisturbed for milennia.

The rain slowly evened off and the sun even decided to leave the cover of clouds and come out for a peek. Filth shook the rain from his hair and put down his pack. A pair of eyes still tracked him half an hour later when, having finished his meal, he set off down the other side of the hill.