The morning was cold in the valley. The wanderer breakfasted on the last of his hard-tack, and was weary for having little more, so he drank from a nearby stream to allay his whimpering hunger. Impatience and a dull anger replaced it instead. He had not seen a soul for days, and on foot would see himself at his destination too late for his liking. So he continued on.
He hiked for a long while until the sun was above him. The day warmed quickly, accompanied by a cheerful westerly breeze that sounded the coming of spring anew, but the wanderer paid no attention to these tidings. It was then surmounting a small hill did something catch his eye—a creature stirring in the distance. It was a man, a mounted Reichspost messenger, laden with his bundle. The wanderer paced astride the trail and flagged the man down at a fork in the road.
"Good day, messenger." The wanderer's words were plainspoken, and without much cheer.
"And to you, sir." The figure on the horse was really a boy, barely a man, who wore his uniform under the Kaiser with a pride and dressed his speech up the same.
"Would this be the way to the Village Hidden in the Leaves?" asked the stranger, pointing towards the empty trail and beyond.
"Aye, it is."
"Do you know of a Maria there? She is short with fair hair, the widow of a merchant."
"I do not think I do. Many live in that village."
"Are you sure? Did you pass the village?"
"I had not yet," replied the boy, whose courtesy had been run through and was beginning to see irritation in the stranger's constant questions. "I may have or may not have seen the woman you speak of. Why do you ask? What is your business?"
"I am her husband."
In a swift motion that bewildered the boy, the wanderer dragged the messenger from his mount, and strangled him in the dirt. Once the dust settled and the boy was dead, the wanderer stripped him of his clothes, and hid the body amongst bushes far from the trail.
The postman came late to the Village Hidden in the Leaves that day. A traitor would be dead by nightfall.