At first, the people of Vale Sangora struck me as deeply superstitious. Shepherds would warn me to stay away from certain slopes and ravines, miners spoke of terrors dwelling in abandoned shafts, and everyone had a deep, almost primeval, fear of the dark. As soon as the setting sun grazed the mountaintops, I would hear the rattle of shutters and the metallic clink of padlocks – and then, deafening silence.
What did they fear so, I wondered? Then, walking the streets of Svartrau one early morn, I stumbled upon a body mangled so badly it was barely recognisable as human…
