THE SMITH OF THE BANE MIRE

The clan judged the smith's son at dawn, because it was afraid it would change its mind by midday. They sent him to the Rust Mire, where cattle drown and mushroom-pickers vanish without a cry, and sang half a burial lament over him while he was still alive. But the water there runs red because the ground is holding iron, and his father knew that before he did. Now the men who take what they want by force are coming for the mire.