A visitor at dawn

Jashon peered dubiously through the thick fog that wrapped itself around the summit. He couldn't see farther than two feet from where he was standing, and that wasn't good.
If anyone were to approach, he wouldn't know until it was too late.
Jashon leaned back onto the fence, waiting, as he had been doing for the past hour and a half.
The sun was still hiding behind the hills and the rooster had a long wait until it could crow.
Just then, through the stillness of the morning, came the creepy rustle of weeds in the pasture ahead.
Jashon nearly lost his footing as he tried to stand up a little straighter to greet his guest. A broad, cloaked figure made his way over to Jashon and held out his hand.
Jashon shuddered very notibly as he took the pale hand and brushed his lips over it.
"What news of my daughter?" a deep, raspy voice questioned from under his hood. Jashon hesitated for a moment then said,
"She has been annihilated, sire."
The cloaked man was still for a moment, then reached up to pull off his hood. He was an ancient, wrinkled man whose skin was as pale as parchment. His eyes were large, round, and completely black. Jashon was caught in the man's gaze and couldn't for the life of him look away. The man narrowed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
"..Who did it, Jashon?" he demanded, in a voice not as friendly as he had intended. Jashon's knees started to wobble, but he resisted reaching out for the fence to stable himself.
Finally, after taking a small gulp, Jashon said, "You killed her, my lord."

It was the man’s expression that awoke Jashon that morning. He sat up in bed, wiping the cold sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. Warm tears were escaping down his cheek.
Jashon sat until his shaking subsided, then swung his feet out of bed and stumbled out into the hallway to his daughter’s room. The pink, lacy curtains were shut tight and the princess lamp was still glowing, illuminating the sleeping girl’s innocent face.
Assured that his daughter was safe, Jashon made his way into the living room to lie on the sofa. He tried to block the haunting dream from his mind as he buried his sweaty, tear-stricken face into the pillow.
Hours passed and the sun began to rise up in the east, yet Jashon could not rest. Eventually, he sighed and pushed himself up. The living room was just as he had left it; there was no sign of an intruder. Books with the binding ripped, wrinkled papers, protractors and an old compass scattered the dining table, and continued onto the coffee table and a counter top.
Jashon glanced over at the table in the corner of the two couches that held a lamp and a few photographs. He reached over to the family portrait and stared long and hard at the woman with the long brown hair and wide, sincere eyes. Her hand was resting on his shoulder and also on the shoulder of the little girl.
The woman was smiling radiantly, yet she also stared back with such knowing eyes that he felt she knew what he was thinking.
“Jashon,” she whispered, and Jashon even looked up to see if she was standing there. But she was still in the photograph.
“It’s time to tell my father.”