The Surveyor
“Here is right, and here is wrong.”
In the land reform of the early 1800s a surveyor took a farmer's silver and moved the boundary stones on midsummer night. He died that autumn and was buried on the chapel hill. The stones still stand where he put them, so every midsummer he walks out to measure the valley again. Until first light, whoever stands on the wrong side of his line is his.
In the mist
- Steps through the mist along his own survey lines
- Plants wisps, false lights that lead you off the path
- Puts lanterns out
- Sets survey stakes that catch a foot
What beats him
- Fire
- Cleared ground, where he is slower than you