Through Mud and Blood

The weather had been growing steadily cloudier over the past few days. A prelude to the months of overcast skies waiting in the wings as the harsh Greypeak winter slowly closed its jaws around. In a few more weeks, the passes would be snowed in, and no one else would be entering the valley for the season. And no one would leave.
It was towards this beige, drizzly sky that the dead Dwarf’s eyes stared unblinkingly. A singular fly crawling lightly over his retina. Blood mated his long braided hair and had dripped into his close cropped beard. The back of his head had been caved in. I couldn’t tell by what. A rock? A mace? His body lay twisted half in and half out of a narrow ally. Perhaps he fell after a long night of drinking? Judging from the armor, he was one of the caravan guards. Certainly known to consume ample amounts of alcohol. He wasn’t one I had met, though.
I knelt down next to the body and my kneecap shifted uncomfortably with a sharp pop, nearly giving out. Planting a hand in the mud to steady myself I looked around once again. Good, no one was around to see this old man struggle so. I wiped my hands off on my shirt and patted down the Dwarf, looking for more blood or telltale signs of other injuries. Bruises lined his hands, and his forearms were rubbed raw; clear defensive wounds. Whatever happened wasn’t quick, but I would need more time with proper instruments to figure out exactly what. And then…
I peered back out of the alley, one lone figure trudged through the mud away from me, their long coat turned up against the cold. Fewer and fewer people had been venturing out since someone poisoned the town guard captain. And those that did risked ending up like this Dwarf here. Emptier streets were fine by me, though. Especially when an opportunity like this could arise.
Once again bracing my hands in the mud, I struggle to my feet. Someone lowers the ground every year. And the Dwarf still stares. An autopsy would reveal much about his death, and all longtime residents of Mythrite start to amass mithril dust in their lungs. This was exactly what I was looking for. I wouldn’t have to make a midnight trip to the cemetery after all.
I reached down to grip the Dwarf under the shoulders and began to pull. I strained against his weight and with terrible grunting I dragged the body several feet, carving a deep indentation into the mud. I could already feel my back twinging with the effort. This wouldn’t work. With a heavy sigh I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding and let go of the body. Stepping out onto the main street I looked from side to side, taking note of the buildings around. I knew the general store was in the vicinity. I simply wasn’t sure I wanted to leave the Dwarf unattended for someone else to stumble upon. Maybe I shouldn’t bother, the risks might outweigh. For the first time in over a decade, I shifted my weight from foot to foot, with an apprehensive pit in my stomach. I had been so confident for so long.
I couldn’t risk one of the guard coming along, I had to move quickly. I hustled out of the alley and towards Mythrite’s general store. Halfway there I had to slow from my brisk walk, my lungs shuddering, exercise hadn’t agreed with me for some time now. Pushing open the door to the general store, I shuffled inside, heading straight to the counter. Sprick Grimmer , the store’s owner, was tallying some kind of list. He looked up at my entrance and said “Cormac , here for more thread?”
“It holds up well.” I replied, “It knots easily and doesn’t tear. You have quality supplies.” Finding that Sprick  carries the light silk thread I needed for any kind of surgery was an enormous blessing. And for such a price. “But no, today I need a wheelbarrow.”
“Oh? Looking to get in on the Mithril haul?” Sprick  quipped, setting down his list.
“Nothing so crass,” I said, starting to think I should have gone for a less talkative store owner.
“I’ve got a few in the yard out back, we’ll see if you see one you like.” Sprick  said as he slid out from behind the counter and made his way to the door. I followed quietly.
The yard was not much more of a fenced off section of scrubgrass jutting up against the back of his shop. A couple of wheelbarrows, some discernible barrels, and few larger tools lay strewn about with the appearance of halfhearted organization. Sprick  walked over to one of the wheelbarrows and inspects the wheel, muttered something to himself, and then moves to inspect the second one. “The other one’s a bit rusted, this’ll run you say, three gold?”
“That is a fine deal,” I replied. The ‘rusted’ one didn’t look that bad to me, but if Sprick 
“You wouldn’t happen to be in need of a shovel too? To load it?” Sprick  shouted after me.
“I’m not moving dirt.” With that, I hauled the wheelbarrow around the corner and started down the street. Did someone find the Dwarf while I was gone? I needed to hurry. Picking up the pace, it took several minutes to return to the alley. The body was just how I left it. Cautiously, I looked about one last time, thankful for the empty streets, and then bent to haul the body into the wheelbarrow. It was unfortunate what happened to him, but he would serve all of civilization in death.