Gerim was sore and tired when he crawled out from under the fallen tree. Plus, he was soaked to the bone, and his horse was still missing. Gerim gathered up some nearby fallen branches. It took a while, as he wasn't used to having to try, but soon a spark took, and a fire was started. As Gerim stripped his clothing, he paused to whistle, hoping his horse would return. Soon enough, he was down to his underpants. 

He realized that if his horse didn't return, it would take many more days to walk back to Merthild, then it would to get back to the blacksmiths. Gerim had a choice, continue to his fortune in Merthild, or hope the blacksmith and sweet, sweet Adelaide, would give him a new mount. For Gerim, it was a natural choice; as soon as his clothes were dry, he would head back to the blacksmiths and borrow a horse.

Just after the lunch hour, Gerim's clothes were dry, and he was on his way down a trail. Several trees had fallen in the storm last night, and the wind had tossed anything not tied down, making the path barely recognizable from the day before. At least that is what I assume Gerim must have been thinking. What Gerim didn't know is that he was on the wrong trail. This trail was leading Gerim both away from the blacksmith and away from his village. Dear Reader, the only thing this trail lead to was Gerim's timely death.