“…Fog. It spread along the ground like a carpet, covering the young, but gray, downcast grass. Summer has not yet come into force, and darkness has already dried up this place.

Climbing out of a freshly dug hole, a tall man carefully looked around. Hearing the noise, could not figure out where it came from. Dead eyes peered into the whitish veil. There, a group of Hurons made their way through curtains of fog.

His masters led new victims.

As if the previous ones were not enough. The second hole has already been dug under the grave. Not everyone who was killed by his hand got up. The fog bypassed the magically empty people.

Having hesitated in place, the ghoul sat down on the ground and stupidly stared at his palm. There was a fresh scratch, but it didn't bleed. He generally tried to avoid even such injuries. After all, they practically do not heal.

- Northerner, - having heard his nickname, the man threw up his head ... "