The trees in the forest stood like skewers, piercing the fog that loomed over a circle of men gathered in a forest clearing. At their center lay the pale, lifeless body of a young woman. She was hardly nineteen, yet her athletic build, broad shoulders, and strong arms spoke of her strength. She couldn't have been dead long—her eyes, still wide with intensity, seemed to fix on the distant fog as she lay on her side.
"My poor dear Isabel! AGHUUURkhhhhh…Ha…Ha…HARAAAAA!" Bartholome knelt down beside his daughters and let out a cry of sorrowful rage, his face tensed in pain.
Kyhaber approached, placing a firm hand on Bartholome's shoulder. "There, there, old friend. Whoever did this will surely face justice. But I'd wager this spry young woman didn't go down easily." He gestured toward a hand axe embedded in a nearby pine tree. "See there? She must have put up quite the fight."
Straightening, Kyhaber strode over to the axe, examining it for a moment before turning back to the body. He knelt beside Isabel, his leathery brow furrowing as he scrutinized her still form.
Without hesitation, he cupped a hand under her chin, pinching her cheeks between his thick thumb and forefinger. The gathered men stood frozen, watching as he forced her mouth open. A moment later, he withdrew a wadded piece of cloth from between her teeth.
"Well, gentlemen," Kyhaber said, holding up the cloth for all to see. "It seems we have found some evidence."
The assembled gnomes murmured among themselves, their eyes fixed on the scrap of fabric. Barogey, standing apart, frowned deeply.
Kyhaber's gaze swept the group, scrutinizing each man's attire until, at last, his eyes settled on Bartholome.
"This matter," he said calmly, the cloth held discreetly behind his back, "can't be solved by evidence alone. Each of you no doubt carries both honest traces and clever lies. That's the way of things now."
Oinos stepped forward, his voice low and cold.
"Kyhaber," he said, each word sharp as flint, "tell us who the fuck killed the girl. Right. Now."
The air drew tight around them.
"Very well, then…" Kyhaber said, brandishing the torn scrap of cloth as he stepped forward. "You all saw where I found this—in the girl's mouth. And after comparing it against the clothing of every man here, I can only conclude… it belongs to Bartholome."
A sharp silence cut through the gathering, followed quickly by an angry voice:
"Horse shit! You saying the man killed his own daughter?!"
"I've known Bartholome for years," another shouted. "Man's never hurt a soul. Works honest, pays his dues. His folks are tight with Pastor, for gods' sakes!"
"Maybe she was using the cloth in a prayer ritual," someone else chimed in. "To call her father, or protect him!"
Kyhaber raised his hand for calm. "Gentlemen, I'm not accusing. I'm stating facts. Do I believe it myself? No. That's why I say this: the murderer is among us—but he planted this cloth to frame Bartholome."
He paused, scanning the crowd with a frown, searching their faces for a spark of agreement.
A voice finally broke the tension. "Could've been a ghoul, I say," muttered an old gnome, biting down on a worn pipe as he dug for a wad of tobacco.
Kyhaber shook his head. "No, good men. Enough of fantasies. We can no longer pretend. The killer is here, among us. And this—" he held up the cloth—"proves someone wanted us to believe otherwise."
"I say you're wrong," a voice called out. "This world's crawling with strange magics and darker things. What probable cause does anyone here have to do something like this? I can name ten—no, twenty—reasons why a ghoul or witch would've gone after the girl instead."
"Damn right," someone added. "I heard those of us who came down the river from the north were set on by river spirits. Auntie Looli lost her boy to a river spirit curse just last week."
"Matter of fact, I heard that too," another muttered.
"You all know it's the forest," a deeper voice cut in. "She went out there alone. Would you let your daughter do that, Oinos?"
"No. Never," Oinos snapped without hesitation.
"Exactly. And let's not forget—this forest's got a man-eater named Bugulitz. Could've been him."