Right and wrong, truth or lie, good and evil. 

Who decided about it?

A shepherd and farmer knew certainly that also a wolf only hungered and had to eat. He knew that behind the hunting instinct of a wolf nothing EVIL might lie, but it might be nature. Just as also the fox hunted the chickens or hares. And nevertheless, it remained in the end: Wolf and fox were dangerous for the animals of the shepherd which meant HIS life. And every man would probably always put his life before that of another - especially his survival before that of those he did not understand.

No matter how 'useful' to the creatures their senses, their form might be - it meant danger and death for those who did not belong to them. And at the latest, when the torn child was in the arms or from an animal of the herd was not left more than bloody scraps of wool, ended any will of the people to understand. And with it also any consideration.Curse or blessing. It didn't matter to those who feared for their lives and the lives of those they loved. It was all the easier to stir up and exploit that fear. 

Of course, there were other dangers. 

Of course, there were also bad people. And even a simple man or woman could end a life with a knife or other weapon. 

But reason or logic was always sought in vain when fear ruled the hearts. When they were afraid, people were denser like sheep.

Indeed, the hunters were little considerate in their aim. Child, mother, father, and old man. It did not matter who was cursed. The one would die when they found out. It was always like that. And probably - even if they tried to avoid it - one or the other innocent villager would also lose his life in this hunt. Collateral damage was usually unavoidable. But they had to take this risk. And none of the people present had any idea of the dangerous and ambiguous situation that lay ahead of them. On the momentary chessboard, it was not sure who would take which role.

"Don't worry - you make a better impression than many others in the village." "And you can rest assured - the innkeeper here has good beer and the food will warm you up again." (Asta)

Between the beard, which admittedly looked wilder than normal, the white rows of teeth showed as Hawk grinned broadly. The prospect of a bath and hot meals - with meat! - seemed to elicit a distinct glow in the features of all the riders, reflected more or less clearly in their posture. No wonder, because the next capital one was on horseback with appropriate rests for one or two weeks.With the impassable path and the winter weather, perhaps even longer, since the cold had an aggravating effect on both horse and man. Fuchsbergen was in the middle of nowhere, at the foot of the mountains. Where the fields and pastures were already getting stony and dragging could get lost in the foothills. Around Fuchsbergen there was nothing but forest and wilderness and only more than a day away, the next small village was found. 

"I think there is almost nothing now that could lift our spirits more." He admitted openly and at least received approving murmurs.

They were all exhausted. Lying between the cold and the clammy snow made their bodies toss and turn between freezing and sweating. The long ride was exhausting and Hawk could already tell that his butt and legs were not thanking him for it. However, these little gripes and complaints were nothing a hot bath couldn't fix.

"Well, you guys were lucky then. I'm sure it could have been worse, no one got hurt, right?" "Yes, there are some. But I don't know them well... after all, it's dangerous out there and who knows what all is waiting in the caves."(Asta)

"There are worse things than a wolf," Hawk said, and it couldn't have sounded more succinct. The young woman surely didn't notice - or wouldn't be able to do anything with it - that he gave a nice little side blow to Lysander, who then gave him a warning look. "We're all unharmed, nothing to worry about." He hastily waved off her concern. Inside, the whole group was probably laughing. 

Wolves? Hrmph. Simple wolves were no match for them, even a pack would have to surprise them for it to get tricky... and that was next to impossible. They were drilled to be ever vigilant, and by now night was an almost more familiar friend that day. They slept irregularly and so already didn't really have a fixed sleeping rhythm. Lysander was their best guard and he had become - whether everyone in the group saw it that way or not - a strong ally.

When the small group finally reached the forge, Hawk handed over the reins to Thorn for now. The giant could probably stop both horses from running away even then, just by tightening his fist. 

"And we have to wait in the cold now?" asked Frederik, casting a longing glance toward the door of the forge. The heat from inside had melted the snow in front of the door and gate, turning it into slushy dirt. The thought of a warming fire, however, beckoned them all. 

"Don't be so fussy. It won't take long." replied Hawk, patting the youngest of the seekers on the shoulder, "You'll be able to warm yourself by the fire or a woman in the tavern soon enough." He murmured to him conspiratorially and winked sympathetically.

Frederik had always been fond of women and had yet to leave a village without a sobbing maiden. The young beau of the group knew how to flirtingly butter up the women.... and Hawk could swear that Frederik had slept more often in strange beds than those of the inns. However, he also had more enemies in the cities than Hawk could count on two hands. Many a lord had little sympathy for this kind of 'amusement' with his daughter or fiancée. Sometimes he and Thorn would bet in the villages on whether Frederik would get through the mission without a black eye from a vengeful man...
'I wouldn't bet a coin on you this time, my friend,'  Hawk thought, laughing to himself as he politely escorted the lady inside. 

The forge was spacious but, compared to the large forges in the capitals, smaller than average - typical for such a small village. Here it was not only warm but almost hot. But instead of sighing comfortably at the sensation, the hunter knew it would only make his wet cloak feel more uncomfortable and his later step into the cold more biting. Some dry straw lay on the ground, probably to trap the last of the moisture. A man was pounding a red-hot piece of iron on the big anvil, beads of sweat shining on his forehead and his leather apron covered in soot and burn marks. When he saw who entered, he paused his work and pushed the glowing metal rod into the blazing forge.

Since Hawk was a stranger, he initially stopped a step away from the broad-shouldered fellow Asta was addressing. Hawk seemed calm, smiled kindly, and then shook the blacksmith's hand. He returned the firm squeeze with an underlying firmness as he took note of the posture, memorized the features, and took a quick look around the forge. This place, too, would surely become their abode more often later. In the course of cleaning and hunting, they would often enough need to have their weapons repaired or sharpened.

"We'd like to talk about housing our horses." Hawk began, and the Schmid nodded in understanding, even as he eyed him with a steely expression.

"How many are we talking about exactly?" he asked, and Hawk recognized in that the underlying question of how many strangers they were.
'You should be glad someone is coming to your aid,'  Hawk thought, refraining from sighing. Instead, he kept the dull smile on his lips, but it wouldn't reach his eyes.
"Six horses." he, therefore, answered truthfully. "We will pay generously for proper care." he continued, seeming to have found the key to the conversation. 

"Bring them in, I'll find a seat." the man immediately agreed, and Hawk glanced briefly at Asta before nodding and then briefly putting his index finger and thumb to his lips. The whistle sounded all the way outside and now the double-winged door opened with a rattle.

Welcome to the warmth, the others now also got off their horses - and Frederik could be heard groaning audibly as he rubbed his butt and thighs. He visibly had to hold onto the horse for a moment, and Hawk laughed softly. The poor boy was not used to such long rides. Thorn, of course, as usual, didn't flinch.

Lysander also swung off his horse and let his fingers glide through his dark hair. From the icy humidity, the longer strands had curled into light locks. The half-length hair framed his face, which indeed had a stern, extremely tense look... but it was not only due to hunger, even if this certainly contributed to it.

Nevertheless, he tried not to forget his good upbringing, while he wiped the snow from his shoulders, which would otherwise have poured over his shoulders in a flood of water after they had brought the horses into the warm stable. As the one most likely to be articulate, he finally approached the blacksmith to negotiate the details. 

"We want dry straw and oats for the horses. The best quality straw and grain, because if we find it is moldy or doesn't agree with our horses, we will hold you accountable." Lysander let the man know. "They are used to being challenged. Therefore, they need enough exercise." 

That made the Schmid cross his arms now.
"I am not a horse farm." the Schmid now returned in a much shorter voice. 

"Of course," Lysander relented, "Find someone to do it for you. The person will be compensated for his efforts. See to it that the horses are unsaddled, rubbed dry, and decently groomed." Lysander reached under his cloak to his belt into a leather pouch, and Kilian at that moment jutted his angular chin in more interest.

"See to it that they are saddled early every morning without exception, and not unsaddled until one of our party directs it." 

"What?" Apparently, this request made no sense to the blacksmith. Or he assumed the mercenaries just wanted to make a quick getaway. "That's just-" he continued, then was interrupted by the jingling of a money cat. 

Lysander poured some matte silver coins into his hand and the Schmid stared at the polished precious metal as if seeing it for the first time.

"Six horses. I suppose normally you receive coppers for your trouble. Because of the circumstances, we think a silver a day is appropriate." Lysander said without looking up as he counted out the money and then placed seven silver pieces in the man's large paw. This payment was more than reasonable. 

"Should we stay longer, you will always receive payment for three days in advance," Lysander clarified, "should we leave earlier, you can keep the rest. That's assuming the work is done properly."

The hunter pulled out an extra silver and flicked it to the smith. "And in return, you will have the saddlebags delivered to the inn intact and unopened."The Schmid nodded, all at once much more open-minded, and clutched the silver pieces in his hand as if his life depended on it. Probably he had never held so much in his hand at once.

'Enjoy your pleasure while you can,' thought Hawk pityingly, who had been watching the scene. Meanwhile, he detached a leather bag from the luggage on his horse's back and slung it over his shoulder. The more private things - that is, the things the villagers were not supposed to get their hands on - they each took for themselves. Lysander's belongings Thorn slung over his shoulders. Hawk knew the poor guy had lost at craps three months ago, and now he was in for half a year of hauling. Well, tough luck. With a slight shake of his head, he loosened a mount for his crossbow and slung the strap over his shoulder. 

The crossbow in the specially made bag was nobly crafted and the elaborate carvings on the shaft and engravings in the iron testified to the fact that it was certainly not the work of just any craftsman. The head of the crossbow ended in an iron falcon, meticulously cast and finished, while the bow arm was etched with a wing pattern. The wood itself possessed a dark, stained tone of ebony and mahogany. The trigger was in a curved shape perfect for large hands under the belly of the long barrel. He then released from the side of the saddle, a large quiver. In it were differently fletched bolts. Both normal, consecrated, and some with silver cast into the steel. After picking up the essentials, he patted his mare's neck once more. "Indulge yourself," he grumbled to her good-naturedly before turning his attention back to Red's waiting friend. 

"Thank you for waiting." He said and was polite enough to open the gate for her to step out. "Well, after you lady." He then said and gestured for her to step forward to the tavern. Out into the cold, the snow... at least for today hope for the last time. Unfortunately, he knew that it could be a vain hope. Would Roman waste a night? And tomorrow at dawn at the latest, he would wade through the thickets of the adjacent forest, searching for tracks, gathering herbs.... and maybe thinking about where they would lay the first traps. His gaze dropped to the side, and Hawk noticed that Asta seemed to have noticed that Lysander... well, little fit into their group. 

"He's an aristocrat," he commented - as if that explained everything.