Jeremy Frost
With a shout, Derwen darts to the rock cliff. His hand slips when
he tries to look down, dreading what he will see next.
However, as he scans the rocks, only the shimmer of the moss
greets him. In the pool at the waterfall’s base, there is neither
floating white dress nor hair weaving below the surface like reeds.
No gash of blood stains the rocks with a wetness familiar from the
farm. Cupping his eyes, he even checks the meadow before his
shoulders slump.
The bubbling of the waterfall echoes in his head as he wonders if
he is hallucinating. No one could possibly believe him. The parents
will declare him mad, a conjurer, a murderer who makes his bodies
disappear.
A babble of children’s voices floats across the water. The family
is returning to the coach, the footman is holding the door open and
standing to attention.
Cardiff, Derwen decides. He will say that Eirwin escaped from
him and tricked a ride in the carriage, the footman her accomplice.
From the city, she could travel anywhere before they could check.
However, at the waterfall, she will always be his.
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