Standing, seemingly happy, in mud up to his knees, a letter was tossed into his heavy hands. When he saw there was no return residence listed, he shivered, as if spiders were crawling up and down his spine.
He tore it open, tense. Only six, shudder-inducing words were on the plain paper. “Your wife and daughter are dead.” No signature, only spectral space.
The pondersome paper fell from his hands. He sank, sullen, to his knees. All the other men quietly slipped away.
A hellish holler was heard. Revenge was being plotted, painfully. He didn’t want to do this. But those who had wronged him must be taught a lesson.
Rising, rueful for the wrong that he was about to inflict, he sighed, sadly. He cared not for his own loser life anymore. His only tantalizing thought was for sweet surrender from those who wronged him.
His men never trusted his orders again. Eventually, his time in the service ended. He was sent home. And then the horrifying hunt began.