The Hike

Prologue

Her body lies broken on the mountainside. It rests on a bed of dark rock, a thin pillow of green lichen beneath her cracked skull.

Her irises hold the reflection of the sky, clouds traveling across unseeing pupils.

Her face is undamaged—almost unnervingly so—her skin pale and clear.

The breeze carries the scent of earth, salt, blood.

It toys with a wisp of hair at her temple, then worries the collar of her top. Other than that, she is still.

Blafjell mountain towers above her, an impassive, brute witness. It saw everything but tells nothing.

In a few hours’ time, the first person on the scene will check her pulse. Radio in.

They will speculate about what went wrong. Question why her pack is missing. Why there are crescents of dried blood beneath her fingernails. Why four heartlike bruises kiss the top of her left arm.

Police will want to speak with the witness who last saw this young woman alive.

Locals will ask why a female hiker was found on the mountain alone.

Loved ones will pilgrimage to the spot, feet pounding the trails in their search for answers.

For now, her body lies alone, undiscovered.

The mountains give away none of their secrets. Yet out there, hidden within their granite folds, someone knows exactly how this woman died.

And why.