for those standing amidst the fog, the world appeared utterly different: the contours of trees dissolved into ethereal wisps, leaving only dim, blurry shadows that floated before the eyes like spectres. The bewildering sight made steps hesitate, and time and space lost their significance within this dead silence, as if everything were steeped and melded within the enigmatic mist.
Even though it was only September, the morning air retained its chill. Only a hunter would venture out at such an early hour.
As Lucas Garvan pushed open the door of the cabin, he wrapped his cloak tightly around his body, suppressing a shiver that coursed through him. Not far from his dwelling, the hunter''s eyes were captivated by a fiery red hue amidst the whiteness of the fog.
Approaching closer, he recognised that it was a young lad dressed in the red uniform of the British army, lying on the roadside amidst the wild grass, seemingly bereft of consciousness.
Lucas had seen British soldiers before. Just this summer, a group of British stormed into his house, searching for rebels hiding within. They found nothing in his home, but caught two guerrilla boys in a neighboring house, and, along with the homeowner, shot them on the spot. Before departing, they ripped up the belly of the young girl of that family with their bayonets.
However, this small young man before his eyes made it difficult for Lucas to associate him with those British soldiers. His features