A Marching Song for the Dead

Deep in a forest, that seems already more gray than brown, a three-eyed crow lands on a tree stump and chants a haunting song:

"Gravediggers, Gravediggers, go home to your hearth, go home to wife and child. For your work this month is fruitless toiling - the dead will rise again. No stone or earth will make them stop, so beg the sun to rise."

The crows rough voice fills the little clearing, it's breath fogging up in the crisp october air.
There is no but one listener and that man has been dead for a forth moon. His ghost however had been restless, scouring the earth for his killer, the remains of his mind clouded by hatred. Now he hears the crows song and feels his chance for vengeance.

While the half-rotten corpse starts to rattle and moan, the crow takes to the air and seeks for another bitter soul to call.

The wind picks up and howls, dancing the dry leaves in a waltz for the dead. Meanwhile the corpse twists and convulses trying to gather himself, finally stumbling on shaking limbs while the full moon parts the clouds. He disappears through twisted underbrush and looming trees on his way to seek blood, to seek revenge for his death.

The clearing is empty again, if not for the remains of a noose someone had once tied around their own neck. Some say his ghost now haunts the woods forever.