Chapter 6 - The Displacement of Gravel
Far down the narrow path of the cemetery, the fog began to churn.
A new sound layered itself over the quiet dripping of the trees.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps.
The sharp crunch of leather soles grinding against wet gravel.
The sound was steady.
It did not rush, but it did not hesitate.
A tall silhouette separated itself from the wall of grey mist.
A man in a pitch-dark suit walked directly down the center of the path.
He wore no overcoat to protect himself from the cold.
His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the fabric stark against the hollow of his throat.
He wore no tie.
His dark, slightly curling hair was damp from the fog.
His hands hung loosely at his sides, the fingers slightly curled inward.
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With every step he took, the damp gravel turned to dust beneath his weight.
His eyes were fixed entirely on the patch of fresh black soil.
