The Secret History of Vale Sangora III

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As a native of Turin, I was no stranger to mountains and their many dangers, and so, in my arrogance, I thought myself well-prepared for crossing the Carpathians. God saw fit to punish me for my hubris. Throughout our passage, we were followed by packs of wolves, as hungry as they were cunning, and plagued by avalanches.

Our guide, a rugged man named Gheorghe, insisted on making an offering to ‘the mountain folk’, who, he claimed, were behind our misfortunes. I laughed off what I saw as pagan superstitions. Had I known then what I know now, I would have acted differently.