The town had felt easy and open when Gove had arrived; now the fog made it seem like an endless maze of narrow bridges and docks, many still clogged with craftsfolk. She couldn’t find the bridge to the shore; no matter where she turned, she kept ending up facing the river. The third time she nearly ended up in the water, a familiar arm caught her across the shoulders.
“Gove, you need to stop.”
Miter was breathing hard, and he still had that condescending look on his face.
“I’m not sticking around to get arrested! I know what that’s like!”
“You didn’t hear her! She said he fell into a northern ravine – wait, you what?”
Gove stepped away from his reaching hand, suddenly lost. “He died in a ravine?”
“Gove–”
“Miter, how could he have died in a ravine?”
“When were you arrested?
“I killed him. I saw the ax connect.”
They paused, staring at each other. Miter sighed, staring up at the sky for a moment. “I told you already. It wasn’t a person.”
Gove was bewildered. “That doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense!” The fog suddenly felt claustrophobic, haunted. “I’m going home, whether or not you think I’m going to get arrested. This isn’t worth it.”
She pushed past him, and Miter didn’t try and stop her this time; he simply called after her: “No one here is out to get you!”
Gove turned back to have the last word – and her ears caught the mist-muffled sound of footsteps – fast footsteps, running footsteps –and before Gove could react, someone burst into view, running full tilt for the end of the dock.
They collided – the stranger slammed into Gove, who fell backwards into Miter – and then all three were on the ground, blinking away the shock.
Gove was buried underneath something – something heavy, soft, musty – furred? She pushed heavy pelts away from her face as the person above her was shifting their own weight off of her ribcage – and then she was staring into the eyes of someone impossible.
The woman paused as they made eye contact, and Gove held her breath – she was ageless, a long face with striking eyes, an intense amber, and her black and silver hair fell to pool amongst the furs. She blinked, slowly, eyes narrowing, and Gove desperately fumbled for an appropriate greeting – but footsteps rattled the boards of the dock, approaching quickly, and in a flurry of motion, the woman was standing, grabbing the fallen pelts with a ferocious focus.
Gove was still staring at the strange woman as the footsteps turned into voices – people were shouting at her to stop, put down the pelts, something about how there was nowhere to go – but all Gove cared about was watching her turn to her pursuers, give them a smile that was all teeth, and then before anyone could do anything, she ran and leapt off the end of the dock. The fog muffled the splash.
Behind her, someone spat “Shit! Shit shit shit.” Gove turned around and there, holding one pelt between them, stood three of the north circuit guardsen.