Knowledge's affliction

As if the pain in his stomach wasn't enough, the arrow that was shot through his shoulder worsened his mental state.

Oswald couldn't think straight and jumped on everyone he saw.

Three, eight. Soon he couldn't count how many times did a blade cut through his flesh. His own blood was never shed, the flow stopped every time a wound opened, and the skin reattached itself. The monster never grew tired, only his enemies came prepared, more numerous.

Only after another event gathered the troops elsewhere did he manage to walk in the darkness.

After a few minutes, he found a blue track, his own scent. He followed it as guards passed nearby, not noticing him. In the panic, torches fell on a stockpile, unfortunately it contained hay for horses and lit up pretty fast.

Oswald reached the commander's tent, where his clothes were, as well as the man in his armor. Still leaning on his many maps, he knew the camp was in alert, he had to prepare a counterattack if the enemy came to them. He knew someone entered his tent so, without looking, he lifted a finger up, one gesture that meant 'wait until I let you speak'.

'You wanted me dead! You're worth as much as every person in this camp!' Oswald wanted to say, but an incomprehensible language exited his mouth along with a heavy growl.

"Spa...nish?" The commander asked while blood gushed out of his throat and nose. The monster's claws spread his ribcage like a red butterfly with a thundering crack, stretching the commander's guts on his precious maps and still raised finger. The spectacle lasted a second, but would always remain in the boy's memory.

Oswald was partially blinded by the many red particles in his eyes, yet he was mesmerized by the strength he displayed with each move.

'Ridiculous. This is simply ridiculous.' He thought about his situation, he compared the body that he couldn't escape from and the size of the clothes he held in his hands, for an instant he believed they had shrunk. He tied the whole thing with the commander's belt around his head and left arm before exiting the tent.

The agile beast slayed down everything it saw until it reached the border of the camp. With a jump, he passed over the rampart, leaving behind a beheaded watcher's corpse. It was his last snack for the night.

He had difficulties not turning back on his way, to get more to eat, with his grumbling stomach, the true torture started.

With an immeasurable speed, on all fours, he came to the sole place he could think about. Now that he saw how transformed his body was, the only acceptable place to stay was with the ones looking alike him, the wolves. Near their lair, when dawn approached, he saw a paw print in the mud, one that had been preserved under the snow.

The trace was deep, indicating the weight of the animal. It wasn't the most beautiful wolf paw, so Oswald, still having his flashbacks corroding his thoughts, put his misshapen foot in it.

It fitted perfectly.

The last leader of the pack had been obliterated a month ago, by him. Now that he understood why the wolves often came where he was, he decided to enter the lair.

There at the bottom of it, bones, skulls of many animals, and his chewed shoes, the ones he had lost few days ago. He walked, with the unusual height he reached on all fours, he got used to the strange move.

The whole pack of wolves came back altogether half an hour later. The first to arrive sniffed the place around before entering without bothering the guest.

Oswald waited for them, he was leaning in a comfortable position, fighting against his stomach, even with all of the blood he still had on his fur, the hunger did not increase when a new buffet came to him. It lessened with each ray of sunlight scorching the red sky.

He saw how starving was the pack. A few meters away, most of them had a bony silhouette, it was none of Oswald's concern until the youngest wolves, three of them, came to lie down against him.

He was shocked, he was shown affection and respect at the same time. There wasn't a word exchanged, animals couldn't speak. Yet he cherished the welcoming sensation they left.

Few minutes in the warm embrace, his body started to transform back to the human shape. No skin shed, no claw fell, everything came back deep inside of him. The reverse transformation was on par with the changes he experienced hours ago in terms of pain.

Now leaning against one of the rocky lair's walls, he banged his head repeatedly.

'Mother toyed with me. Stan... No Satan too. And tonight, I made the impossible, how many have died? Where did it all go?' He thought looking at his belly while the young wolves rubbed their head on his back to prevent him from hurting himself.

'If Ruth is right, then talking animals do exist.' He turned toward the cubs and said. "I'm sorry, I couldn't recognise you. I didn't know you had no intention to harm me or Tom. I'm sorry."

The whole pack looked at him with interest. They looked alike obedient dogs, with powerful jaws. Nothing dangerous to him compared to every people he had killed. None of them replied, he guessed how craving for someone to care he was.

Another torture started.

The three cubs started to clean off their guest, seeing how neglected was his fur. One lick after the other, Oswald wished he wasn't this sensitive to the touch.

Nonetheless, his clothes weren't damaged, only his shoes were in a miserable state. His gaze devoid of life, he exited the lair with traces of dried blood all over his body, he reeked death. Exactly what he could smell in his house after the night he killed Meryl.

He activated each traps he found on his way. The jaw upside down, the steel sunk into the dirt, making it inoffensive.

He reached his barn, he sniffed Adelmo's smell all over the place. The man came to spy on the boy, but never found him.

Another scent marked the path, a couple he knew. He decided to avoid anyone before being clean.