The old man sat on his battered carriage, anxiously rubbing his calloused hands as his cloudy eyes stayed fixed on the gray-white fog over the graveyard.
Evening was approaching, and the forest wind had taken on a chill, making his shabby robes flap around him.
"Something's wrong... something's very wrong..."
He muttered under his breath, his brows knotting tightly.
He looked up at the sky again, then counted on his fingers to roughly work out how much time had passed. His unease only grew.
"Normally, even if the lad really put his back into it, an hour should be plenty from start to finish. Even if they... cuddled and chatted afterward, took their time, an hour and a half ought to be the absolute limit, right? But this..."
He looked toward the graveyard, his face pinched with worry. "It's been nearly two or three hours! Why hasn't he come out yet?!"
Unpleasant images flashed uncontrollably through his mind.
"Could... could something really have happened to him?"
The old man's heart clenched.
The young man was a little odd, but he was a good fellow. He had even given him a gold coin to tide him over.
The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became. He began seriously considering whether he should whip the horse into motion and hurry back to the city to raise the alarm, even if he had to go to the City Guard...
Just as he hesitated, his hand already reaching for the whip, the weeds at the distant edge of the fog suddenly stirred.
A familiar figure emerged with difficulty from the impenetrable gray-white haze, his steps somewhat unsteady.
It was Greg!
He looked considerably more exhausted than when he had gone in, but at least he had walked out in one piece!