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"Well. Now you know a little more about me", the Black Wolf said to the Friesian, yawning. "Namely, that some nights I sleep like shit and stupidly even scream occasionally while doing so", he alluded to his most recent dream. At the last words, however, he paused and thought. The horse, meanwhile, was blithely munching on crunching frosty grass. "The last dreams...", he eyed his raised left hand. It was in a leather glove that merged into a bracer. "...that must be about a year ago now, since Akira and I were in Falcon's Reach Fortress so we could deal with her father and...well". He clenched his left into a fist so that the leather creaked. "No one but the two of us must know", he reminded himself as his gaze travelled to the still chewing Assar: "Well, alright. He probably won't blab it out so easily either". It was a name he had given the horse a few days ago. He felt it was appropriate after it had already allowed itself to be used as a pillow several times now. Patting the animal

They sat together by the fire in the evening. Over the crackling of the flames, the wanderer finally asked: "Do you have a name?". The child just shook its head. "None that I want to remember", he looked up at him: "How about you?". At that, the man smiled wearily. "It's much the same with me". The wanderer had been hearing the boy's stomach growl for a while. But the latter did not say a word. "Are you hungry?", he finally asked him. Crickets chirped. "Do you want something to eat?". "And what if I do? What do I have to do for it?". "Catch it". "Wha-", already the wanderer had pulled a piece of dried meat from behind his harness and tossed it to him. The boy had not only caught it: As soon as it was in his hands, he went for it like a ravenous animal. Again the wanderer felt the pain in his chest. "I'll tell you what you actually can do for it". "Too late", the boy replied, hastily continuing to chew. "Stop gulping it down like that. You need to enjoy this. Chew on it for a while.

[a. D. 1179, 23. April] Between thumb and forefinger, the Black Wolf had crushed the flickering flame of the candle. Now it was dark. At first he still had to feel his way around with his hands, but soon his eyes got used to the darkness and he had found his way along the ramshackle wall out of the broken hut. Satisfied, he closed the door and turned to Assar, who was waiting for him by a bush. Next to the animal, the boy was kicking up a pile of leaves with the toe of his boot. The Black Wolf had barely taken a few steps when he heard a creak. Looking over his shoulder, he could only watch as the just-closed door fell off its hinges and crashed to the floor with a dull thud. Shortly after, the cottage gave a relieved squeak and collapsed altogether. "Wow", the boy commented waving his hand in front of his face after the dust had settled to some extent. "Destruction seems to follow you everywhere". The wanderer answered nothing to that, just rolled the reins off the bush and took the

The wanderer had a very uneasy feeling about this. As he looked out of the window, he saw an orange-red streak on the horizon. They had walked all night and now it was already dawn. The rays of the sun reached far into the night's firmament and made it gradually fade. "You are looking out of the window?", he heard the woman behind him ask. He looked at her over his shoulder. She was staring in his approximate direction. "How do you know?". She smiled and took a cauldron from a cupboard here in the kitchen. "One doesn't just see with their eyes, simple wanderer", so far she had consistently called him that. "I'm not very comfortable around cities", he remarked, looking out the window again. There was a great wall on the horizon, reaching higher than the hut they were in. White and gold banners of the Consecrated Blade hung down from the towers, swaying lightly in the wind. From here, the guards on the wall were nothing more than black and brown streaks, framed by the glow of the rising

"Möchtest du wirklich weg?", fragte die Frau ihn und lehnte dabei an einem der zwei Pfosten der Überdachung vor der Eingangstüre. Sie standen alle zusammen draußen. Der Wanderer hatte die Arme dabei vor der Brust verschränkt. "Mich ruft die Welt!", antwortete der Junge begeistert und schlug sich dabei einmal mit der Faust gegen die Brust. "Euer Freund dort mag sich hier vielleicht wohl fühlen - u-und ich hab' ja auch nichts gegen die Bleibe - nur - ach, es juckt mir halt in den Füßen bis hin zum Zeh!". Die Frau schmunzelte für sich, als sie hörte, wie der Junge den Wanderer ihren Freund nannte und der sprach: "Vergiss aber nicht, dass ich nicht mehr kommen können werde, um dich zu retten, Kleiner", er grinste bei diesen Worten. Der Knabe grinste zurück und meinte: "Als ob ich das notwendig hätte. Ich hab' dich doch nur ein Stück aufziehen lassen, damit du das Herz der Dame gewinnen kannst! Ganz wie in den Büchern eben!". "Natürlich". Der Junge warf mit der Hand nach ihm ab. "Ach du

"The blood trail ends here!". "But he is nowhere to be found around here...". "...I’m telling you, it’s because this guy is a monster!". "He probably just bandaged his wound". "On the move?". "It’s the Black Wolf! Already forgotten what else they call that scumbag?!". "No...it’s only hard to believe". "Well then pay attention, because -", he listened up. And not just him. A scream not to far away reached them. When they looked in the direction from which it came, they saw the torches, that had just lit up the forest there, go out. Nervous whispering began to break out among them. "Has this shithead got friends here?", the voice that had previously called out deep into the forest for the challenge was now little more than a whisper. "Something like that has no friends". "Are you telling me then that that was him alone who just flattened half a dozen?". "Don't talk like that about our comrades of the Consecrated B-", suddenly a blade tip protruded from the man's mouth. The rest stared

[a. D. 1176, 25. December] "Why am I always the monster in the story? It always starts the same way. The birds succumb to silence. The air gets chilly - so much so that you think bony fingers are scratching your skin. Eventually it feels like someone is stealing your breath straight from your chest. You can try to breathe in, but that only makes your throat jump. If anyone asks me how it feels to lose your soul: That's probably it. Someone sticks their hand in your chest, grabs on and...pulls." ⁂ To them he strode through the forest with an absolution, as if he were the messenger of death itself. Blood was dripping from his blade onto the frosty foliage at his feet. The leather armour he wore was black. The cloak, the hood, the mask. All these outlines only glided from nights darkness, when the glow of the three moons, peeping through the dense cloud cover, allowed it. They had left Torvald behind. They knew they were leaving him behind. But their reason succumbed to panic. Much like