New encounters

Next day, it was time to train anew. He took out some tableware, old one, and used a hammer to flatten it.

Now straightened, he had three more throwing knives at hand. He continued his week with the same rhythm and the same abnormalities. Two out of the seven days were snowy, which allowed him to catch four more birds and four rabbits.

Their pelt was cleaned and for sale whereas the feathers were kept, Meryl's sewing talents were useful.

Came the day they had to go to the village. "I feel unwell. I don't want to walk all day. Spare me for this time. You can go alone, can you? Just don't get scammed." Said Meryl. She had mild fever and she was wrapped in bedsheet.

"Don't worry mother. There's isn't much to transport and the weather is friendly. I'll be back at the end of the day, it'll be fine."

With a primitive woven bag, he walked five kilometers on a wide road. The path was flat and no pebble was bigger than the other, it made his way easier.

Still not feeling the coldness of the snow, he wouldn't even care about his missing shoe.

Nearly reaching the village, he leaned in the snow, and marked the ground doing a snow angel. The few flakes that entered his vest were impossible to distinguish. With his hand, he observed the snow fading in his palm, the process was too fast to be natural, it impressed him.

'It's as if my body wouldn't cool down. It may be some sort of sickness, like mother has, but with less fever. Though I haven't seen much disease with benefits. I could be buried six feet under I wouldn't notice the difference.'

Three hundred meters farther, behind some scattered trees, a village of a hundred house stood. Constructed on the side of mountain chains, a stream, falling from its dense surrounding forest, passed through it and ice covered its surface.

There, donkey drawn plows and moved along crops with their respective farmer, they were preparing for spring. A multitude of stands displayed merchandise and tools he never heard of. The rustic houses were built with big stones and robust dark wood. The biggest vice of the city was its awful waste management. Every toilet and chamber pot ended up in the public alleys, making the whole place stink.

He had a hard time continuing toward the center of the village, he couldn't tell why.

Oswald passed by tens of houses to reach the market, but because his nose picked up too much smell, the stench made him faint on the spot.

He woke up in an inn, with two people in a worse shape than him. "You okay? Man! You fell like a trout on the bank!" One said, letting out his alcoholic breath fill the room. He was a short man in his late thirties. His nose was red and so were his cheeks.

"Where did you drink?" Asked the barman. "I wonder who can serve better booze than me!" He added as few rose their glass as an excuse to quench their thirsts.

The boy, still dazed from his fall looked for his belongings.

"Here, behind the counter. Don't worry little Bendis, we took real good care of you." The man said, pointing at Oswald's bag.

'Bendis?' It was a name his father bestowed upon his family, but one he rarely heard. Meryl and her husband, Victor Bendis were the two well-known shepherds of Revel, a wonderful village stuck in between mountains. The wool they produced was popular and Meryl, fervent needlewoman had dressed tens of women.

The valley offered plenty of space to cultivate and raise animals, but it was double edged. Everyone feared avalanches and the local fauna.

Wolves, boars, bears, snakes and scorpions had plenty of space to proliferate, and so had the peasants.

"What time is it?" The boy asked.

"Noon." One said. While the other shrugged. "Never too early to drink."

"I have to go then." Said Oswald, but he was interrupted by the barman. "Can I have them? The furs! I was waiting for wool next month but I'll have my stools repaired sooner and it'll be cheaper if I can provide the raw materials."

"How much?"

Oswald had a deal, he managed to sell everything he had faster than he expected. He was offered a glass of wine.

The drink had a fascinating shade of red. The dark color and the fermented deposit at the bottom of his glass woke up his headache. The high-pitched ringing he had in his ear and the fraction of memory that came back were somehow welcome.

Sitting in a corner of the inn, he held his head and focused to not faint.

He saw the gigantic beast, gently pushing away his sheep, and darting to catch his neck. He felt his jaw dislocating and his teeth getting caught in the horn's way. The tension of his throat was too important to let the air pass and oxygen soon lacked in his brain.

The blood from his gums and tongue flooded his lungs and stomach, the monster hadn't moved an inch for the whole minute, it patiently waited.

The next part of his memory were kind of blurry, straight structures wiggled to him, his eyes were devoid of water and he was border-lining consciousness.

After what seemed to last an eternity, his feet touched the ground, he was kept straight on his knees while the horn was pulled out.

The creature facing him had a smile full of sharp teeth and its red eyes wide open. Its tongue extended to his horn and licked the blood on it. The beast then opened its maw wider to let out a cry.

The atmosphere trembled. The deafening roar reverberated in the barn and Oswald lost his hearing momentarily.

The thing put its clawed hand into its own mouth to grab a fang. The black fur on its body stood and the muscles on its arm contracted brutally.

Crack. Crack!

The beast held its fang like a trophy, it was about the size of Oswald's index. It shoved it in the boy's disjointed mouth and pushed it down.