It was a cold autumn day with the smell of wet and decaying leaves in the air. Deric was busy shopping in Ploermel. The smell and sights of the city can be a little overwhelming for the young man growing up in a small village in the woods. However, Deric, despite their excitement, was not paying attention to the time, and it was starting to get dark. Going into the woods at night is dangerous, but he spent his whole life in the woods and knew the dangers, or so he thought.

Deric put on his pack with his supplies to return to his mother and little sister. It was a long walk back to their homes near Arthorne. “I should only take an hour or two as long as I stay on the main roads; this should be fine.” he says to himself.

The walk was fine as he got on the path going north along the lake. A fog started rolling off the lake. Snaking its way around the trunk of the tall Oak and Ash that make up the Brocéliande forest. As he gets into the woods, what light is left from the sun is snuffed out, and the darkness overtakes the path head. However, the hair on Deric's neck starts to rise, and he feels uneasy in his gut. He hears footsteps behind him, and a sense of dread grows within; then he stops and listens to the footsteps, which also stop. Deric slowly turns around and only sees the fog wisping behind him. Deric heard of bandits on this road, and the Blue Sash Gang has been getting violent late. “Shit, I'm going to get robbed.” He mumbles, “Ok, come out, might as well get this over with.” Shout out to Deric. He looks around; nothing has changed, just a light breeze dancing within the treetops.

He takes a deep breath and continues into the dark foggy path. Soon he gets the feeling he is being watched, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a silhouette of a man just watching him as he walks by. The overwhelming dread sinks into him as he picks up his pace.

Then he hears it, the footsteps behind him. However, looking into the woods from the corners of his eyes. His silhouette figures are all staring at him. The feeling of dread transforms into terror quickly checks over his shoulder. This time was seeing a hooded figure standing in the fog. Deric bolts, running as fast as he can almost blindly through the path dark and windy road. After what seems like forever, he comes to a stop and catches his break. Only a distant owl can be heard in the dark empty forest.

Deric starts to laugh. “Is it just the shadows in the dark? The Watching men aren’t real,” he says as he regains his composure and is only a few minutes away from home. Then, he hears the footsteps again. He looks up to see this silhouetted figure breaching through the fog. He looks up and tries to get a good look at the face; however, the darkness, fog, and hood obscure the face, but he swears he sees a smile.

The next day is bright and sunny. The air is cold and crisp, and the frost melts and streams in the sun's warm rays. The older woman is at her bread bowl kneading the dough for the bread and is about to wake her children once the bread goes into the oven. She was then interrupted by a knock on the door. “Who could that be this early in the morning?” She thinks to herself. She gets up and opens the door to see the Sheriff at her door.

“Oh my, Constable, I did not expect you or anyone this early. How can I be of help, sir,” she says, a little bewildered.

The Constable nodded, “Morning to you, ma'am; however, I am here on business, ma'am; when was the last time you saw your son Deric?” Said the Constable.

The woman, a bit shocked, shakes her head and says, “I had not seen him since last morning when he went into the city for some things. So figure he got in late… Oh no, did something happen?”

The Constable lowers his head, “I am afraid so, mam; we found him this morning on the road. He looked to succumb to the elements last night, but his face was twisted as if he died scared. It was foggy last night, and several people claim they saw them.”

The older woman was now in tears trying to piece together everything in her head. “Saw who, the people murdered my son?” she asks.

“No, mam, worse. The watchers.” Says the Constable.