The next two weeks couldn't go quickly enough for Ahren. Falk noticed Ahren's impatience and upped the practice tempo considerably in order to distract his apprentice. The practice ball was constantly flying here and there between them. His master would deliberately throw it off course forcing Ahren to hop, duck, dive, or throw himself around abruptly so that he could catch the wretched thing in mid-flight. And he was picking out more difficult terrain. They had to creep through undergrowth, clamber over fallen trees and climb up and down steep slopes.

Ahren was shattered every evening, such as he hadn't been since the early days of his training. But with his new found knowledge in the herbal arts he was able to help himself and his body prepare for the following day. Soothing compresses, healing teas and strengthening condiments did the trick.

Falk never commented on this but Selsena could sense the master's pride, bright as a beacon in the dead of night. She often stood there in the darkness and kept watch over them both. Something old and dark had come into the forest again and soon blood would flow. She was determined to buy them as much time as she could.

At last the eve of the Autumn Festival was upon them and even the Forest Guardians were caught up in the village preparations for the coming festivities. Falk had gone hunting and, unusually, left Ahren alone in the cabin so that he could learn from the old book of herbs Vera had given him. It was true that the boy couldn't read but with the help of the pictures he could go over what he had learned.

But Ahren had other plans today. His master was hardly out of sight, when he raced off towards Vera's cabin. The old woman would be far too busy for him but that didn't matter. It was what was waiting for him behind her house that was important. He carefully made his way through the undergrowth to the back wall of the cabin. Yes, lying neatly there for him were a dozen boards and two thick ropes. During his last lesson with the herbalist he had made sure that a message requesting these things had been delivered to Master Velem.

The Autumn Festival was also the time when all villagers became a year older officially and so everyone gave each other presents and wished each other another a healthy winter so that they could experience the next summer.

Ahren was determined to make his master a present. The old man was a slave driver, a curmudgeon and sometimes a man-made thunderstorm, but in spite of all that he had saved him from a bleak future and was investing a lot of time and effort in Ahren's education. The problem was giving him a present that he would like. His master lived very frugally. The present would have to be practical and of everyday use.

Ahren gathered together the items and could hear lively chatter and laughter coming from within and in front of the cabin. Half the village seemed to have gathered here in order to honour the old woman and to collect herbs and spices for the feast dishes or to get tips on how to prepare them. Suddenly the remoteness in which he and his master lived didn't seem so bad and with a grin and a shake of his head he started heading back to their cabin.

The trees had started shedding their leaves in the previous few days and a cold wind was spinning a red and gold kaleidoscope among the trunks. A few birds were stubbornly holding on to their memories of summer and whistling their defiance to the world at large. The boards were heavy and the ropes cumbersome but Ahren was now in top condition and it didn't take long before the cabin was in sight.

He checked quickly that Falk was still out, carried the paraphernalia into the house and began putting it together. He had worked everything out already in his head so the construction wouldn't take long if he could manage the Elfish knots. The same sort he had tackled with his teeth for two months on the ribbon tree. It had transpired that the blue ribbons that had comprehensively got the better of him on that first day had been knotted in the Elfish manner and were extraordinarily difficult to unknot, especially with one hand. The one positive from his months of frustration was that he had now mastered these knots perfectly. It took him less than an hour to tie the beams and planks together into two platforms, one above the other and supported by struts. Then he placed the sleeping mats, his own and his master's on the two platforms and his simple bunk beds were finished. There really wasn't enough room for two sleeping areas in the cabin and so he thought this was a really practical present made with the simplest of materials. The only flaw was that he had to ask Vera for the materials.

But she simply smiled and said, 'this is my autumn present to yourself and Falk'.

Ahren spent the rest of the day sprucing up the cabin, polishing his leather gear and looking forward to the evening. Every now and again he ran to the window so he could catch his master at the door. When Falk appeared at last coming from the trees with an enormous stag on his shoulders Ahren ran towards him to help him with his load.

'Thanks, son', gasped the Guardian. 'He's a big morsel, and I had to drag him further than I would have liked. Something was frightening the animals and hunting was a lot harder than usual'.

They put the booty down in front of the window and Ahren stood so his master couldn't see inside. His hands were sweaty with anticipation and he was surprised at how much he wanted to cheer up this grumpy old man. He must have become fonder of his master than he cared to admit.

Falk entered the room and Ahren called out, 'a healthy winter and a merry new summer', the traditional greeting when you handed over an autumn present.

His mentor stood there and stared critically at the wooden construction for a few heartbeats. Then he walked up to it and examined the knots carefully, tilting his head all the while as if listening to something. Then he turned around and said, 'that's a very good present and I'm very proud of you'. He sounded a little stilted as if somebody had fed him the lines. But Ahren knew that this wasn't his strong point and anyway he was far too happy to take any notice. Falk turned to the wooden bed and said, 'you sleep on top because your young bones could do with a bit of climbing'. After a few seconds he continued with a grumble, 'If I'm lying there and the thing collapses, you're going to spend the next two weeks climbing the ribbon tree…and you'll sleep on it'.

Well, that didn't last long, thought Ahren but answered with a smile, 'yes, master'.

The wooden bed had held together, much to Ahren's relief, and so now he sat with a full stomach beside Likis in his parents' sitting room and enjoyed the happy, unforced conversation with his friend. Two dozen candles were situated around the room, filling the space with a warm glow, and the candle scents intermingled with the aromas from the opulent feast that they had all had just finished eating.

The adults were talking about some feudal lord in the Knight Marshes who had been trying to claim a small border area of Hjalgar for himself. They were so deep in conversation that the two boys were completely undisturbed. They glanced at the large sand timer on the mantelpiece from time to time. The autumn presents were traditionally handed over during the night before the Autumn Festival, and that's why there were these enormous sand glasses which were turned over just before dusk. Once the sand had run through a few hours later it was time to thank the THREE for another year lived, and it was also time for the presents.

At one point in their conversation, Likis became very serious and whispered to Ahren, 'are you happy out there, alone with that curmudgeon. I sometimes ask myself if you've just jumped from the frying pan into the fire. We heard nothing from you for ages but Vera assured us you were fine so we didn't interfere'. Likis gave Ahren a questioning look but his friend gave him a reassuring smile.

'There's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be'. And he added in a whisper, 'I've even mastered a few tricks of the Elfish trade'.

His master had expressly forbidden him from mentioning this as he didn't want the rumour-mill to go into overdrive, but he really had to tell his best friend.

He squeaked in surprise, 'elves?' And the look Falk shot his apprentice suggested an awkward conversation later.

Ahren quickly steered the conversation into safer waters and asked what Holken, Sven and the others were up to. He'd probably run across them during the Autumn Festival and he wanted to be forewarned if there was anything in the air concerning the village boys. And so he discovered that Holken had transformed himself and was now a model youth under the bailiff and was getting lots of praise heaped on him. Sven, on the other hand, had somehow managed to take over control of the boys and their pranks were getting meaner and more dangerous.

'There was even a fire in the old barn last week but no-one could tell who caused it. A horse was killed and the matter hasn't been closed. I think Sven and the other good for nothings were behind it but I've no proof so I'm going to stay mum', said Likis, finishing the conversation. The two boys were silent for a while until they noticed the adults stirring. One look at the sand clock and then everyone was on their feet.

The sand had run through and Velem and Falk stepped through the door into the antechamber only to return shortly afterwards with a heavy bundle each. Ahren felt a thrill of anticipation as he watched Likis unpack a blue velvet cap with yellow braiding and then joyfully thank his parents. This status symbol showed that he could now make small transactions on his own in the name of his merchant's house, something which made him burst with pride. He put the present on his head and turned to face Ahren, who had to control himself in order not to guffaw. The thing looked completely ridiculous. You'd be spotted two miles away in the forest. Ahren realized that Falk's personality was beginning to rub off on him.

He beamed for a second at his friend to show how much he was there for him today, then hurriedly stood up straight and faced his master. Without saying a word Falk presented him with a long bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Ahren pushed the heavy material aside with trembling fingers and a slender curved bow appeared along with a buckskin quiver containing a half dozen arrows. The boy whooped for joy and would have thrown himself at Falk were it not for the stern look and the warning furrowed eyebrows of his master.

'You've made excellent progress until now so it's time for us to teach you the basic skills in shooting with arrows, hunting and stalking'. At which point he brought down one of his calloused hands on Ahren's shoulder so heavily that the boy balked. 'The bow will only be used in my presence and with my express permission. Or it will be turned into firewood'. Ahren nodded and stroked the smooth wood with his fingers. It was shining in the candlelight and you could see how carefully the surface had been polished. A faint, undulating pattern ran the length of the bow, disappearing behind the handguard, only to reappear on the other side. 'That's the Elfish sign for the apprentice bow', whispered Falk before placing a conspiratorial finger on his lips.

The boys spent the rest of the evening mostly just looking in silence at their presents until the lateness of the hour brought proceedings to a close. They promised to meet each other at one of the tables on the festival square and Ahren and Falk stepped out into the night air. The wind had calmed down and it was cold but clear. The waxing moon was in the sky and a few wisps of cloud were visible, drifting by. The forest was bathed in pale moonlight, giving a hint of the varied colours playing off each other in the fabulous autumn landscape. Ahren glanced quickly at the squat house of his father but there was no light to be seen. Then with a shiver he followed his master, who was taking the direct route through the forest to their cabin.

When they reached half way, Falk stopped, stared into the darkness of the forest and said in a loud voice, 'a healthy winter and a merry summer'. Then he tilted his head sideways for a moment, smiled and went on. Ahren asked himself if this was perhaps an Elfish tradition or if Falk wanted to pay his respects to the forest. He had also heard that old men could become strange in their ways. He shrugged his shoulders and trotted behind, hoping he would learn all the important things from Falk before he became too strange.

The following morning Falk was awakened by the clattering of wooden bowls and the smells of a herbal stew. He opened his eyes a tiny bit and smiled under his blanket as he secretly watched his apprentice preparing everything for breakfast. The rucksack had already been packed, Ahren was fully dressed, his bow and quiver standing by the door. He'd intended stringing the boy along for another while, after all it was another hour until sunrise, but Selsena gave him a mental nudge and so he opened his eyes and swung his legs out of the bed.

'Good morning, Ahren. You can hardly wait, as I can see'.

The young boy glanced guiltily at the bow beside the door but then he pulled back his shoulders and said, 'if we're going to the Autumn Festival this afternoon, we just have a couple of hours to practise. I wanted to get everything ready here so we could head off as soon as possible'.

Falk was afraid that Ahren would choke on his breakfast, he was gulping it down so quickly. In the end the old man gave up, pushed his half eaten bowl to the side and said, 'alright then. Tidy up here, I'll get ready quickly and then we'll be off'.

Soon they were trudging in the early morning light and Falk picked out a clearing that was far enough from the village so there would be no fear of accidents. Then he began teaching his protégé how to handle a bow and arrow and the ground rules of archery.

Ahren devoted himself to the job in hand with full concentration and what Falk had suspected that time on the village square was now becoming crystal clear. The boy really had a natural talent with the bow. First Falk pointed out the most common beginner's mistakes but within an hour he was hitting a tree trunk four out of five times from twenty paces' distance. It was thirty paces by noon, and by the time the old man suggested stopping, Ahren was in sparkling form. His arms and chest had strengthened considerably due to the climbing of the previous months, so tensioning the bow was effortless. His muscles were aching now but he felt he could go on for hours.

He asked cockily, 'master, may I give your bow a try?'

Falk thought for a moment. 'Why not, nothing would surprise me today'. He handed Ahren his bow, which was considerably higher than the boy's head, and one of his long arrows. His apprentice struggled mightily until eventually, with trembling arms, he managed to extend the bow about half way. But his arms were too short and when he was finally forced to let the arrow fly from the bow string, it flew uncontrolled and awry off into the trees.

'Well, we won't find that one again'. Falk scratched his beard and took back the bow. 'You should really only try a long bow again once you've grown a head, both taller and broader'. Ahren nodded hesitantly and picked up his own bow again.

'I think we should go back now. I'll let the others know this evening that this is now to be called the practice zone, and tomorrow I'll bring a few targets that will be more difficult to hit. Then you can come here whenever you like and practise on your own. You're very good with the bow but you still need practice. I'll give you the hard lessons once you're able to hit all the targets without thinking about it. Tell me when you think you're ready and then I'll have a look'.

The happy boy followed his master with a spring in his step as they left the clearing, and he looked around him so that he would remember where his practice area was. He was imagining where Falk might put the targets, when something attracted his attention. There was something large and silver-grey on the other side of the clearing and between the trees. But when he looked more closely, the phenomenon had vanished. His master cleared his throat and turned around, and Ahren ran to catch up with him. He kept looking back over his shoulder but the forest lay still and deserted. The being had disappeared.

That afternoon the whole village was gathered on and around the festival ground and the tavern was filled to overflowing. Tables and benches were placed around the oak tree and a large fire was blazing to the left. Groups of revellers were sitting together and there was much to-ing and fro-ing between the bar, the attractions and the benches. It all resembled a complicated dance.

Ahren watched the confectioner spinning candy floss with the help of a bellows, and the blacksmith with his anvil had hammered some horseshoes out of shape. Some of the revellers were testing their strength by trying to get the horseshoes back into shape with as few hammer blows as possible. Two competitors would take up the challenge each time, egged on or mocked by the excited spectators.

Or you could take part in arm-wrestling, apple bobbing (for the small ones), ring tossing, and of course drinking competitions.

Ahren steered well clear of the tavern, where his father probably was, and wandered past the stands, exchanging pleasantries with the villagers and keeping an eye out for Likis.

At the ring tossing he squeezed past two revellers who were unsteady on their feet and promptly crashed into a delicate creature who was just composing herself before her throw. The wooden ring clattered to the ground without having touched one of the stakes around which it should have landed. Ahren quickly mumbled an apology and to his surprise found himself looking at the daintily featured face of Lina, the miller's daughter, and sister of Sven. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with a mixture of indignation and curiosity. Ahren found himself drawn to Lina's finely worked festival dress, and as he gazed at it, it dawned on him that the person standing opposite him had also gone through some physical changes over the previous months – and somehow this made him more nervous than he already was. He wanted to disappear into the crowd when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of a laughing voice. 'Not so fast, my little friend!'

'You owe me a throw'. Lina looked him up and down unashamedly. Ahren felt as if his head was as big as a watermelon and his face went a deep red.

'You're Ahren, isn't that right? I didn't recognize you at first in your leather outfit. You used to be smaller and a lot weaker'. Her statement may indeed have contained a compliment but her merciless description of his earlier self was hardly flattering. He mustered a heroic 'ehm...' and stared at her.

'I wanted to win this cute little stuffed monkey, and now you've spoilt everything', Lina complained with a twinkle in her eye. 'So, what are you going to do about it?'

Ahren was far too inexperienced to understand the rules of this particular game but he could certainly handle the ring tossing. Relieved to be on familiar territory, he turned to the carpenter who was in charge of the stand that day. He'd been following their conversation as cool as you please and a grin spread across his face with its bushy whiskers.

'The first try is free, any ones after that are a penny'.

Suddenly Ahren remembered that he hadn't had any money in his hands for months, nor needed any. Falk looked after the shopping and almost always paid with game or plants. He'd have to be lucky, first time out.

'Which stake do I aim for to win the monkey?' he asked, all the while feeling the rings. He was looking for the smoothest and best balanced one. The carpenter winked at him.

'That one over there, second from the right'.

Ahren was relieved. It was hardly two paces away and the stake was a little bigger than the ring. According to the rules, the wooden ring had to come to rest sitting on the stake. The hardest part would be ignoring Lina's presence. She was standing right beside him with an expectant look and a mischievous smile on her face.

Ahren took aim and the ring landed effortlessly on the stake. Pleased with himself, he handed the stuffed monkey to Lina, who smiled back at him. She linked arms with him and asked him questions about his education and about Falk as she strolled with him across the square. Ahren was so taken by her that he forgot to be sensible and started to prattle non-stop. About his training, about the elves and the Dark Ones, anything that came into his head and that would make him look good. The effect on Lina was enormous. There were plenty of juicy anecdotes in what he said. The rational side of his brain, meanwhile, tried unsuccessfully to make him focus on the fact that Sven had been watching them for some time and was looking daggers at Ahren. Ahren's master didn't seem happy about his indiscretions either and Likis could only shake his head sadly as he saw his friend parading around without a care in the world. The bell for the devotions finally ended the young man's boasting. Lina parted from him with a light kiss on the cheek and ran back to her family while Ahren floated in seventh heaven to his master.

Suddenly Likis was beside him, intoning in a loud voice and with sweeping gestures, 'and then I slew three dragons with one blow of my sword, while strangling a manticore with my foot…' Ahren heard no more of his friend's teasing for he suddenly felt a rap of his master's knuckles on his head. His pride severely dented, Ahren looked from one to the other and was asking himself what he had done to deserve this treatment when the bell stopped ringing and Keeper Jegral stepped in front of the fire where all the villagers had gathered.

The priest held his autumn devotions but Ahren heard only the half of it because he was too busy trying to see Lina in the gathering. He knew where she was standing but every time he caught a glimpse of her, Sven would push himself in front of her and stare darkly at Ahren. When the prayers were over and everyone had drifted away to continue their festivities, the Keeper approached the two Guardians.

'Ahren, Master Falk, may the THREE be with you'. Falk nodded and gave him his hand, and Ahren gave a small bow. He was still in awe of the priest. After all, it was his miracle cure that had changed everything, including the direction of his life. The Keeper looked at him kindly at first before raising an eyebrow thoughtfully. 'I could always rely on your presence in the past. You did promise me, don't you remember?'

Ahren cowered and gave his master a guilty and pleading look. He too looked contrite and answered on Ahren's behalf. 'That's partly my fault. He did tell me about that, but I forgot. Although he should have reminded me'.

Once again Ahren had drawn the short straw. Why did it always end up the same way? The boy was just apologizing with a sigh when Falk interjected. 'Now that we're on the subject, my apprentice is unable to read and he's missing a bit of education. Could he attend the Godsday School? Then he could go to morning prayers and take part in lessons afterwards'.

Jegral beamed and said, 'what a wonderful idea. He would be welcome of course'.

The two shook hands on it, the Keeper smiled warmly at Ahren and continued on his way, to remind other young lambs of their spiritual responsibilities. Ahren thought about this new development with mixed feelings. One day's training less per week meant, in all probability, the other days would be an even harder slog, and that would mean less time for archery. But when he saw the stony reaction of his master all thoughts of protesting evaporated.

'From what I saw earlier, you urgently need to mix with your peers. If every tomboy makes you lose your head, then a Wind Whip or even a Grief Wind will kill you in a second'.

The mention of Dark Ones deflated Ahren completely. Falk had explained to him in one of his brief lectures that these beings manipulated the feelings of the Adversary against them. Ahren couldn't figure out how this worked exactly. But now that he thought about it, he had to admit that his flirting with Lina earlier wasn't a shining example of steadfast behaviour. And so he nodded, resigned to his fate.

'Good. Go off and amuse yourself now', said Falk cheerily. 'Although I'd advise you against any further amorous adventures today or that scoundrel over there might attack you with a knife'. He pointed over at Sven, who was standing barely ten paces away with two of his cronies, watching Ahren's every move. The apprentice agreed, 'good idea'.

He turned quickly around to look for Likis when he spotted Holken. Ahren may have grown but Holken must have been stretched on the rack! His muscles were more impressive than ever, and now he was approaching. The would-be Forest Guardian looked for an escape route in panic, but the big boy was already in front of him. He wore the bailiff's uniform and he had a dangerous looking truncheon on his belt.

'Hello Ahren, I was hoping to see you here today', he began, and Ahren instinctively flinched half a pace backwards. His blond counterpart stuck out a hand and took Ahren's in a vice-like grip. 'I couldn't apologise that time for the blow I gave your injured hand, and I wanted to do that now. You just didn't want to give up and the rules were clear'. He shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment.

Ahren studied his face to see if this was just a mean trick but he only saw genuine regret. Surprised, he shook hands, partly because he hoped Holken would let go again. And he answered, 'Forgive and forget. To tell you the truth, that blow opened doors for me. I don't think Jegral would have just healed a sprained hand in front of everybody. And then I would have failed Master Falk's challenge.

Holken did let go of Ahren's hand, only to lay an arm across his shoulder and pull him along. Ahren might as well have been fighting with an ox, so he gave in.

'Come on, let's look for your wiry friend and have a drink. I was paid today, the drinks are on me'.

The idea of a drink was tempting and Holken's presence would guarantee protection from Sven and his cronies.

'Sounds good, let's go', said Ahren with a bit more enthusiasm than he actually felt, and the two made their way between the tables.

Later that evening, Ahren rose from the table at which he, Likis, Holken and three other boys from the village had been celebrating and made his way unsteadily to the toilet. He had over indulged on the wine and now he was feeling the effects. His master had left an hour earlier but given him permission to stay on. And so he had carried on celebrating and come to realize that Holken was much friendlier now than in the past, even if he was still a bit slow on the uptake.

Ahren stepped out of the light and between the trees in the forest. Falk had taught him the best place in the forest to pass water without leaving any traces, and Ahren was making use of this lesson now. He giggled over this creative use of his education, swayed and buttoned up his trousers when suddenly a sharp pain exploded in the region of his kidneys.

As if struck by lightning he collapsed with a scream to the ground and felt several feet landing kicks on him. He rolled up into a ball and protected his face with his hands but his attackers kept finding places he couldn't protect. It seemed like an eternity before Ahren heard worried calls and hasty footsteps approaching. Some of the revellers must have heard the commotion and his tormentors finally stopped kicking. Someone spat in his face, and the battered boy could just make out a silhouette looming over him in the darkness of the forest. Then the attackers were gone and within a few seconds the first villagers arrived. Ahren's whole body ached and he could only stand with the help of others.

And so Holken and Likis held him under his arms and hauled him home. As soon as they'd entered the cabin, Falk was up and questioning Ahren's friends but they had seen nothing. So he thanked them and sent them home.

Falk helped Ahren get undressed and carefully examined his wounds. Then he clicked his tongue and said, 'A blessing in disguise. You have so much flesh and muscle on your ribs that there's nothing broken. You'll be right as rain soon enough'.

He spent the next hour putting on bandages with herbal essences, always asking Ahren which herb he should use and why. His protégé was shocked that he should be asked these questions in the condition he was in but he understood that he would not forget these herbs and their medicinal effects for the rest of his life.

The rest of the Autumn Festival was very boring for Ahren. He had to stay in bed and rest his ribs while Likis and Holken would drop by from time to time and bring some of the Feast Day roast or treats from the baker's. Witness statements proved fruitless and of course Sven claimed not to have anything to do with it. The boys were convinced that he was behind the cowardly attack but for the moment their hands were tied. And if that wasn't boring enough, Falk became even more reticent than before and hardly came into the cabin.

When Ahren complained to his friends about this, Likis answered, 'I think he's blaming himself for not having been there to protect you'. That seemed plausible somehow, seemed to fit with his behaviour and that reassured the young boy a little.

Ahren was allowed to take up his training again to a limited degree. The weeks passed with their normal rhythm except that Falk, with dogged determination, had moved on to training him in the art of close combat. The economical feinting movements and flowing attacks looked simple but were so difficult that Ahren wondered if he would ever master them. The second change to their daily routine was of course Godsday which Ahren, with newly starched shirt and linen trousers given to him by Keeper Jegral, now spent in the priest's charge. The Keeper taught him about the entity of the THREE and especially about the love of the MOULDER. He also taught him reading, writing and simple arithmetic. Ahren could always relax at this point, for through Likis' friendship he had already learnt everything the priest knew about numbers.

Reading was another matter. Ahren just didn't understand why anybody would go to the trouble of writing things down when he could speak the story so much more quickly. He asked the Keeper about this and he responded, 'you are right there, it does go more quickly. But think about it: the other must listen and understand everything correctly – or some of the knowledge will be lost. He cannot alter what he has heard for his own benefit – or the knowledge will be falsified. And the student must pass on what he has learnt – or it will be forgotten about. There is knowledge in these books that has survived for centuries, unfalsified and unforgotten. That's a miracle in itself'.

From then on Ahren looked at the texts from a fresh perspective and developed a thirst for knowledge that filled the Keeper with happiness. He rewarded Ahren in the best way he knew how – by willingly answering every question as well as he could.

Time passed and winter set in over Hjalgar. The days were shorter and Falk began to introduce Ahren, in the early morning and the long evenings, to the arts of the Forest Guardian that didn't need daylight or much room. He learnt how to pack a rucksack without water, dirt or little animals getting in, which food you could bring with you and for how long, and a dozen other practical things.

But most of the dark hours of the day were taken up with the study of 'the Void'. During the autumn Ahren had learnt how to hit fourteen of the twenty targets Falk had positioned in the clearing. His master had rammed a stake into the ground at one end of the clearing. This marked Ahren's shooting position and he had drawn small white circles of varying sizes and at different heights on the trees opposite. Most of the targets were no problem but some of them were the size of an apple and more than thirty paces away.

When it became clear that he would make no further progress without instruction, Falk lit a candle and told Ahren to sit with legs crossed in front of it.

'I want you to breathe in and out for as long and as slowly as you can and just concentrate on the flame. Think of nothing else, place all your concentration on this one spot of light'.

The wick of the candle had been pared back and the flame was small and weak so he couldn't blind himself. Strange as it seemed to Ahren, these exercises proved the most difficult of any he had done in his apprenticeship. He always thought of something else: of the following day, the lessons just completed, or how pointless it was to stare at a candle. Sometimes he managed to persevere for a few minutes but then horrible pictures would push their way towards his inner eye. His father and the way he had beaten him, the battering he had experienced at the Autumn Festival.

When he told Falk this, he responded, 'that's normal. When our reason is at rest, it loosens the bonds with which we control the conflicts that badger us the most. The elves call this phenomenon 'the Spirits of the Void', that's a rough translation. Everyone has to come to terms with the Spirits in their own way. Some learn to ignore them as one would the rustling of the leaves. Others confront their conflicts and try to get rid of them. The third way is to let go and make peace with them'.

'Which variation have you picked, master?'

'You don't have to decide on one. Some conflicts cannot be resolved, some cannot be ignored, and inner peace is by no means my speciality area'. He tilted his head and smiled weakly. 'I have confronted each vision individually and overcome them in whatever was the most suitable way. In the end you are fighting with yourself, so you have to decide the best way on your own'.

Then he left Ahren alone again with the flame and his thoughts.

The shirt collar pinched his neck horribly, the plain wooden bench was too small for his legs, as was the wooden desk he was squatting in front of, with the leather-bound book on top. Ahren was in a sweat, bent over his book of exercises in the overheated priest's study. He looked around furtively. The heavy bull-glass panes were free of ice although icy cold was lurking on the other side of the wall. Deepstone hadn't experienced such a cold winter in years.

Sweat was running down Ahren's face. The others didn't seem to share his problem. Likis obviously felt as fit as a fiddle and Holken used his spiritual inertia to his own advantage. Lina sat beside him at every lesson in order to help him with his reading and to make eyes at him.

Ahren turned to his book again but there was the Keeper, standing in front of him, looking at him with friendly yet reprimanding eyes, something he was particularly skilled at.

'Now, it seems Ahren wants to read something out to us, isn't that right?'

This was the priest's preferred punishment for lack of concentration. Ahren sighed inwardly. The only good thing about this was Ahren could always pick out a text he had questions about.

He leafed to the front of the book and began hesitatingly, to read aloud.

'At the beginning of time there were three gods: HE WHO IS, SHE WHO FEELS, AND HE WHO MOULDS. They argued with each other about who could create the most splendid things. Their pride prevented them from working together and so each of them began bringing their own creations to life. But each of them was incomplete without the other and in no position to create something harmonic.

HE WHO IS created the Golems: beings without feelings, coarse in form and lacking intuition.

SHE WHO FEELS crated the Wind Whips. Beings consisting of thoughts and emotions, without substance or constancy.

HE WHO MOULDS created the Transformers: beings without a core, many-shaped and fickle in spirit'.

Ahren stopped at this point and asked his first question. 'Keeper, if these beings were so incomplete, why did the gods let them continue to exist?' A murmur of agreement filled the air and Ahren realized he was not alone in wanting an answer.

The priest nodded and smiled as he always did when one of his students asked a good question. He answered with a counter question. 'Ahren, do you consider yourself perfect?'

As always, his gentle mocking hit the spot and even Likis nodded his head silently. Jegral could, with few words, awaken humility in anyone. Ahren wished he knew how he managed that.

The bald-headed man continued. 'So, you are not perfect. Or one could also say, incomplete. Would you like the gods to put an end to your existence?'

All the students shook their heads energetically in answer.

'That's what I thought. Those first beings may not have been complete but they existed now. They weren't to blame for their nature. And the gods knew this. If you create something, you are also responsible for it. You should make note of that'.

He turned to Ahren and said, 'carry on'.

The boy cleared his throat and continued. 'The gods saw that their attempts were not whole and complete and none of their creations reflected their dreams. They saw that they would have to help each other and so they laid their disagreements aside.

The union of the THREE was born.

A coming together of the gods, three wills with one goal. Each awakened a people according to their plans, supported through the powers of the other gods. For it was only together they could give their creations a harmony through essence and stability.

HE WHO IS created the dwarves: a people of unbelievable strength, stamina and stubbornness. Hardly flexible but firm and clear in form and with deeply rooted feelings.

And HE WHO IS was pleased and thanked his brother and his sister.

SHE WHO FEELS created the elves: spiritually adept creatures of fragile form, adaptable and instinctively seeking harmony with their surroundings. Alone of the peoples, they tried, of their own free will, to make friends with the first incomplete beings.

And SHE WHO FEELS was pleased and thanked her brothers.

HE WHO MOULDS created the people: creations of adaptability and creative spirit which far surpassed their substance and ability to feel. And so they did not live long and were volatile in their actions but were capable of great beauty.

And HE WHO MOULDS was pleased and thanked his brother and his sister.

Inspired by their success, the gods now wanted to create a world in which their creations could grow and flourish. Their joy and desire were so big that they created a world of enormous size, far larger than planned. They constantly had new ideas and could not stop themselves.

HE WHO IS placed himself in its core and gave it the foundations, from which a part of himself and his substance would flow into every living being.

SHE WHO FEELS became at one with the wind and whispered to every living being their task and their place in the world so all would be in a harmonious whole.

HE WHO MOULDS laid himself in the water, formed through his strength mountains and rivers, made the land fertile and gave to all creatures of the world the desire to change.

They determined to call the world JORATH, which means perfect in the language of the gods, for that is what it was in their eyes.

But the creation had exhausted them.

They wanted rest to replenish their strength.

And so they created the Custodian, who would guard their creation as long as they were resting. The Creation was complete and the long sleep of the gods began'.

'That's enough for now', said Keeper Jegral firmly. 'Some parts of this story shouldn't be told in the dark part of the year. We shall continue at the Spring Ceremony'.

A heavy silence had descended on the room and Ahren was disappointed. The important part was yet to come and he had so many questions.

'Off home with you now and think about what I have told you'.

All the children said goodbye to each other outside the chapel and quickly went their various ways. Nobody wanted to stay out in the cold any longer than necessary, partly because the Sunday wear under the heavy winter coats offered little protection from the cold.

But Ahren was in a ruminative mood. He looked at the chapel in its stillness with its covering of snow which covered the shingles that adorned the building. The wooden walls were painted white, the precious windows were warmly lit by the bright fire that burned within. The large engraved symbol of the THREE over the double doors seemed to look down on the boy who realized much to his own surprise that he really looked forward to the Godsday visits in spite of the lessons and the uncomfortable clothing. The sense of community was particularly strong at these times and the other boys were at last treating him as one of their own.

It had begun to snow again. A fine, light veil of crystals, which lent an air of peacefulness to the fading light of the winter afternoon. Thick heavy blue-grey clouds hung low in the sky and promised a heavy snowfall in the coming night. Ahren pulled himself out of his reverie and stamped with crunching steps through the blanket of white which almost reached to the top of his boots. If he went carefully he could avoid getting his impractical linen trousers wet. He went through the silent village cautiously, his classmates having long since disappeared. Nothing spoiled the dreamy picture. Smoke was rising from the chimneys of the wooden houses, and Ahren could see light flickering through their closed windows. In the past these images had made him melancholy but now he was happy to be going home.

Home. When had he started seeing the Guardian's cabin as home? Lost in thought, Ahren walked past the back of the tavern to take the short cut through the forest when he saw a black bundle on the ground, about as big as a man. It was lying motionless a few paces from the back door at the foot of a tree. Ahren looked around carefully and approached it cautiously. He'd learnt his lesson about treacherous ambushes and wasn't going to fall into that trap again. As he approached it, he realized the bundle was a man, who had curled up and fallen asleep. He was already covered in a fine layer of snow and it wouldn't take long before he was completely covered. No-one would have noticed him – until it was too late.

Ahren bent down to help the poor unfortunate up but recoiled when he saw his father's sleeping face. He almost hadn't recognized him. The nose was laced with red veins, the pouches under his eyes hung heavily, his face was gaunt and he was covered in a stubbly beard which had been roughly cut into shape with a knife.

Ahren plucked up courage and bent over him to pull him up, only to be met by an unholy stench. Apparently, he hadn't had a bath in quite some time. He wrinkled up his nose and pulled the sleeping man up into a sitting position. He was so drunk that he barely woke. After a lot of effort Ahren finally succeeded in pulling him up the trunk of the tree until he was more or less in a standing position. He blinked but didn't seem to recognize his son. Ahren threw his father's arm over his shoulders and stumbled with him painfully slowly towards his family house.

His linen trousers were now soaked from the snow, his shoulders were aching from the weight of the drunkard, and Ahren had to breathe through his mouth because of the stench. After what seemed like an endless battle they finally arrived at the low cabin that had been his home for so long. Ahren shoved open the door and dragged his father to his bed. The house was extremely warm as always, so there was no fear of his father catching the Blue Death. He took off his father's wet coat and laid Edrik down under his blanket. He stoked the embers, put some timbers on it to re-start the fire, which would last a few hours. Then he went to the door, turned around again to look at the room and the sleeping person. He had saved his father's life today. The onset of darkness and the falling snow would have sealed his fate. A life for a life, Ahren remembered, quoting to himself the old saying about earthly judgement. He turned on his heels, closed the door and didn't look back.

Once he'd arrived back at the guardian's cabin he told his master what had happened. Falk looked at him earnestly. 'You did the right thing', he said, 'and I think what happened is partly my fault'.

'How do you mean?' Ahren was confused.

'I hadn't planned on telling you, but your father accosted me on the second day of the Autumn Festival. Said, if I was using the old customs against him, then I should really follow all of them. He demanded compensation. Apprentices used to be bought from their parents. He wanted a guinea'.

Ahren gasped in surprise. Guineas were made out of gold and were extremely valuable. A good horse would cost at least five guineas!

Falk continued calmly. 'I gave him three, divesting him of his pledge so he would never bother us again'.

Three golden guineas! Where did Falk get so much money? His father could live off that for two years without lifting a finger. No wonder he had drunk himself into oblivion. He had more than enough money for the tavern now.

Falk sighed. 'Well. Sometimes the quickest way to destroying a man is by giving him what he thinks he wants'.

Ahren thought about this for the rest of the evening and decided to be more careful with his wishes in future.

Bright sunshine and a crystal clear if bitingly cold sky had lured Ahren into the stillness of the clearing and away from the house. There was no breeze on this winter morning. The conditions were ideal and he could work on the targets that were still getting the better of him. He hung his quiver on the stake that marked his shooting position and looked at the strips of material he had hung on one of the branches. The red strip hung limply. No wind and a clear view.

Quickly and confidently he shot the arrows at the first targets. These had been as easy as pie for him for a long time but Falk's instructions had been clear. An arrow would have to hit every target before he would teach him the next lesson.

'Carelessness and hubris have killed more Forest Guardians than lack of skill. Nature rarely forgives arrogance', he added.

Ahren had learnt how to cut his own arrows in the meantime so he used these for the easy targets and kept the ones that Falk had given him for the more difficult exercises. He still hadn't quite mastered the fletching so he used the six perfectly balanced projectiles very sparingly and always retrieved them if he missed the target.

A few minutes later and everything was ready. Fifteen arrows had reached their targets. Five had yet to be hit.

Ahren took one of the good arrows confidently and breathed in deeply. The spirits of the Void had become a lot fainter since his last encounter with his father, and he found it easier to briefly inhabit the trancelike state before his subconscious would distract him and he'd have to start again.

But two seconds were an eternity in archery and he wanted to use them well today for his purposes. He concentrated on the image of the faint candlelight with his inner eye and emptied his thoughts while breathing slowly and regularly. He looked at the small, head-sized circle that Falk had painted on the trunk between two stems. From where he was standing, he calculated he would need to shoot the arrow perfectly through the gap between the two branches or the arrow would ricochet off one of them. As he felt his body relaxing and his eyes focusing exclusively on this small white target, he extended the bow, aimed and shot. The Void vanished immediately. Tension, the thrill of anticipation and fear all combined within him as he watched the arrow nearing its target. He let out a cry of joy as the tip bored into the upper third of the circle. Not perfect, but good enough.

Satisfied he reached for the next arrow and took aim at the next target. This one he liked least. The chalk outline was big, almost as big as a pig, proudly revealing itself way up at the top of a conifer – like a white eye looking at him mockingly. This shot was treacherous because Ahren knew that if he missed the target, the arrow would fly one or two hundred paces beyond the tree and land in a dell that he would have to search. So far, the pressure not to fail had led each time to him doing just that.

Quietly cursing his dastardly master, Ahren tried to conjure up the Void. After three futile attempts he was finally ready. The arrow left the bowstring, went in a perfect arc, missed the target by a mere handspan only to sink into the valley beyond. Now Ahren cursed aloud and briefly considered the option of leaving the arrow to itself. But then he imagined how Falk would look if he noticed one of his presents had been lost and so he set off. Half an hour later he found the projectile, which had become trapped in a thorn bush. He collected it and was closing up his quiver when he noticed a red spot in the dirty white drabness of the forest floor.

Ahren was curious and went closer. It was blood, fresh blood. The trail led to another thorn bush, which looked quite battered, as if something big had run through it.

Perhaps an injured stag, Ahren thought excitedly. Falk would certainly be proud of him if he were to come home with some wild game. And an injured animal would have hardly any chance of surviving in winter and that way they could spare a healthy one. Ahren stood stock still and listened. He could hear faint breathing sounds from behind the bush. He moved forward very slowly and carefully, just as he had learnt, and tried pushing his way noiselessly through the thorny branches.

There was a light wind blowing down here and he was convinced that it was coming from the right direction, he was downwind. So far so good. The stag wouldn't be able to smell him. Ahren lay down on his stomach and the cold snow sucked the warmth out of his body in an instant as he slowly elbowed his way forward.

Finally, through the branches he saw a stag lying at the foot of an enormous boulder. There was blood everywhere and the entrails of the poor animal were hanging in shreds from the surrounding bushes and shrubbery. Ahren looked in shock at the scene and tried to comprehend which animal had attacked. Then a thought struck him. The deer was clearly dead, but he'd heard breathing coming from this direction. He listened intently but the blood was pounding in his ears with excitement and he could no longer hear it.

His heart was beating wildly as he stood there stock still, not moving an inch. Feverishly he wondered what animal could have done this damage and he could only think it must have been a rabid bear. This thought put the apprentice into a state of panic. He forced himself to take deep, regular breaths as he tried to reach the Void. He didn't quite get there but at least he was thinking clearly again.

He was slowly crawling backwards when the black rock, where the stag was lying, began to move! A huge paw became visible and the enormous black wolf, which had been curled up beside its prey, stood up in one flowing motion. The animal was at least one head taller than Falk and as long as a horse. Its fur was so black that it seemed to swallow all light. The monster stood up on its hind legs and stretched its nose into the wind. As it was sniffing loudly, Ahren noticed that its right front leg was damaged and the creature was holding it close to its chest. The boy could see a furry pattern running between the fore-paws, a strangely convoluted spiral of dark red fur. It stood out like a brand on the rest of the jet-black body.

The creature's eyes burned a fiery red, no pupils, nothing. Only two half-moons that stared at him as the Blood Wolf slowly turned its head – and looked him directly in the eyes. Ahren spun around, ignoring the thorns that were scratching his face and injuring him, and broke through the undergrowth. Behind him he could hear a blood-curdling howl, deeper and more ferocious than any wolf he had heard before. He redoubled his efforts. He had managed about ten paces when he heard the Dark One crashing into the thorn bush. Another eight paces, a quick look behind, and he could see that the monster would break free any second and have a clear run. For a split second he thought of using the bow, but if he wanted to stop it, he would have to shoot the beast through the throat or through one of its eyes as it was charging on him. That may have sounded exciting and heroic in the old stories but Ahren really didn't feel like betting his life on it. The surrounding trees were too small to offer protection, so he wouldn't be able to climb to safety.

The clearing! If he could manage to get there, there were enough trees that were high enough. The prospect of an escape gave him the courage to run on. The distance between himself and the murderous beast was at least forty paces once it had freed itself from the thorn bush and it began to run. It had a limp! It obviously couldn't move its crippled foreleg, and that gave Ahren hope. At least until he risked another look over his shoulder after a few more paces.

His hunter was gaining three or four paces with every one of its bounds and would catch him within a few heartbeats! Ahren raced as fast as he could, straining every sinew in his body. He leapt over bushes and ducked with agile movements under low hanging branches. His arms worked like pumps to keep his forward momentum going at full pelt. He practically flew through the forest and a small part of him now understood how his master's varied lessons were coming together to work as a whole. But most of his thoughts were concerned with the fact that he could only enjoy this realization for a few brief seconds until the Blood Wolf tore him limb from limb like a little rag doll.

His nerves were completely frayed by now. He tried to make use of his smaller size by constantly feinting in order to ensure there were as many tree trunks as possible between himself and the Blood Wolf. This tactic only slowed him down and the distance between them was shrinking mercilessly. A hundred more paces to the incline, and on top of that was the clearing with the practice targets. Ahren calculated that he would manage about half the distance before he felt the fangs of the wolf on his body.

Still he ran on. With sweeping strides he leapt up the hill but he could already feel the beast breathing down his neck. With a yell he stormed onwards, at the same time drawing his knife. Were the creature to grasp him, he wasn't going to give up his life easily. It was only a few strides to the top of the hill and the familiar edge of the clearing appeared before him. Any second and he'd feel the hard claws boring into his skin and the long teeth would finish him off. Ahren grasped his knife harder and was about to spin around to see his killer in the eye. But suddenly an enormous silver-white spectre appeared over the crest of the embankment and came hurtling towards him.

He flung himself to the side and caught a glimpse of horns, white fur and swirling hooves. With his nose in the earth he heard a deafening crash as the Blood Wolf and Ahren's mysterious saviour smashed into each other. He picked himself up quickly and saw a furious ball of black and silver-grey fur rolling down the embankment. He could hardly believe his eyes and not wanting to push his luck he ran on as fast as he could until he finally reached the safety of the cabin.

Falk leaped up when his apprentice stormed in, closing the door behind him with a crash. Ahren doubted that this door made of flimsy wood could really stop the Blood Wolf but for the moment he was happy with the illusion of safety. He collapsed into a heap and for the next few minutes couldn't stop shivering. He wanted to warn his master but his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He tried uttering 'wolf' a few times before eventually giving up. Falk knew a case of shock when he saw it and poured a beaker of calming tea out for him. But his apprentice still needed help in drinking it and managed to spill half of it. Once the brew had performed its task, Falk let his apprentice relate the story right from the start. At first he thought the apprentice had encountered his first wolf alone in the wild and hysteria had done the rest. But when Ahren began describing the animal, he became very tense. He had often experienced how victims of an animal attack would exaggerate their attacker's size and danger. But the boy had certainly not imagined the red eyes.

'Alright then, that must have been a Blood Wolf. Now we have to find out how strong the beast is' Falk began to put on his gear and took up the bow. 'Was the fur dark red or reddish-black?'

'Neither. The fur was jet black. It didn't even reflect the light', the young boy blurted.

'That's not good. The wolf isn't just fully grown but also very old. The more they kill, the redder the fur. Then the red becomes darker and darker and at some point it's black'. By now he was fully equipped and opening the chest. This, Ahren knew, contained his master's most prized possessions.

'Then at least it's not so mighty', said Ahren relieved. 'It had a red area between the fore-paws'.

At this Falk spun around and grabbed the startled boy by the shoulders. 'What a strange place. Describe it'.

'An elaborate spiral, thin and…bright red', blurted the boy.

Falk let his apprentice go and started cursing loudly.

Ahren stared wide-eyed at his master, who was letting forth a torrent of abusive language.

Once he had calmed down, he sat down on a stool, hung his head and said, 'I'm sorry, but that was necessary. If the monster is this size it must be at least four hundred years old. The patterns develop only over time and after countless victims have died. Don't get me wrong, but actually you should be dead' He looked at Ahren doubtfully.

'It only had three good legs. One foreleg is crippled', argued the apprentice.

Falk only grunted.

'But it would definitely have caught me if it weren't for the grey thing', Ahren added.

His master sat bolt upright. 'What kind of grey thing?'

Ahren shrugged his shoulders. 'It suddenly appeared and jumped on top of the wolf, something with horns and silver-grey fur. I couldn't tell exactly what it was'.

Falk leapt up so quickly that he knocked over the stool. All colour had drained from his face and he gasped, 'Selsena!'

Before Ahren could figure out if this was an Elfish curse or a name, the old man had stormed out of the door without saying another word. The young boy was torn between fear and awareness of his responsibilities, and sat frozen on his stool. After a few moments he jumped up with a 'damn!' and ran after his mentor and directly towards where the Blood Wolf might be lying in wait for them.

Branches were once again whipping his face and his chest was rising and falling like a bellows, but this time, the gods be cursed, he was running in the wrong direction! His master was a silhouette in the afternoon light and no matter how fast Ahren tried to catch up with him, he simply couldn't. Branches, roots of trees, bushes and twigs just seemed to slide off him, his every movement was efficient and precise, just sufficient to avoid obstacles without ever slowing his tempo. Ahren would have admired this sight under normal circumstances but at the moment he had neither the time nor the nerve.

Every so often Falk would cry out, 'Selsena!', and Ahren was sure now it must be a name. It seemed that he must know the creature that had saved him and was more concerned for its safety than for his own.

Or for my safety, thought Ahren for a moment.

Then he realized how selfish this thought was. This creature, whatever it was, had saved his life.

The practice clearing appeared in front of them and Ahren began to grow seriously afraid again. His steps became slower and more hesitant and he dropped further back. His master had reached the middle of the clearing and stood there, rooted to the spot. He was murmuring something so quietly that Ahren couldn't understand it. The Forest Guardian tilted his head sideways as his apprentice had seen him do so often in the previous few months. Then he nodded and said something again.

Ahren trotted over to his master and caught his breath by putting his hands on his knees. Luckily, Falk seemed to have calmed down, he didn't seem to want to run any further, but was looking intently at the far side of the clearing. There, only a few paces further, where the two creatures had clashed. For a few moments nothing happened. Then, an animal came slowly out of the undergrowth, and approached the two of them with its head hanging. A bloodied head and flanks and even Falk drew his breath in sharply. He took a step forward, tilted his head again and nodded. His shoulders relaxed.

Ahren saw his rescuer approaching, and now he could make out details. At first he had thought the animal was a large horse but now he saw the massive bone plate that covered its head and the three horns protruding from it. The top one was long and spiral with a tapered tip. The middle and lower ones were identical. Small and curved with a serrated edge. The creature had a broader chest than any horse he had ever seen and its fur shone a soft grey, emitting a mysterious silver shimmer wherever it hadn't been soaked with blood. A thick mane and mighty hooves rounded off the picture.

It came to a halt about a pace away and raised its head so that its silver eyes seemed to stare directly at Falk. He reciprocated the look, cleared his throat and said, 'Ahren, may I introduce Selsena to you?'

This information came as no surprise to Ahren at this point. He was sure this must have been the name of his rescuer. But one thing wasn't clear. What was it doing here?

He had a suspicion, but that was absurd.

'Is that a unicorn?' he asked in the silence.

Falk winced and the animal snorted scornfully as if it wanted to answer.

'Please don't say that', his master rebuked him. 'You sound like an idiot to her. The correct title would be Titejunanwa, which roughly translated means 'One horn, two daggers, three hearts, four hooves protect the forest' People made that into the word "unicorn'''.

As he was speaking he began to carefully examine the creature's head and flanks. 'I could just call you 'A' from now on because the rest is too complicated for me, and that wouldn't be half as insulting as 'unicorn''.

And another disparaging snort from the enormous nostrils.

'Just call her Selsena', said Falk as he finished his explanation while he gently stroked the bloodied areas with the flat of his hand.

The blood simply flowed to the ground and not a drop was left on the hide!

The animal was completely clean again within two dozen heartbeats. Apart from three long bruises on the flank where the Blood Wolf had injured it with a paw swipe.

Ahren looked in amazement at the pool of blood in the snow.

'Nothing sticks to her hide', explained Falk. 'And so, for example, she cannot be poisoned by the spittle of a Grave Frog'. He bent down, examined the cuts and continued, 'which probably explains the fairy tales about purity, maidenhood and all that nonsense'.

Ahren had slowly taken a step forward and looked Selsena directly in the eyes. A happy feeling came over him, just as if he were seeing Likis again, and he smiled, in spite of himself.

Falk stood up straight and said, 'they are empaths, and can sense feelings and transmit them. And let me make one thing clear: if a Titejunanwa gores you, then you're dead, virgin or not, whatever any of the stories might claim'. Ahren pulled back instinctively but a merriment immediately spread within him as the Elven-horse snorted.

'Is she laughing at me?' asked Ahren taken aback.

'But of course she is. She's more clever than you are', said Falk with a smile. He tilted his head and added, 'more clever than both of us'. He patted the animal's neck and another feeling of joy passed through Ahren. It was strange but fascinating at the same time.

The old man understood his look and said, 'you'll learn quickly how to ignore them, unless she wants you to know something. By the way, we can head back to the cabin now, she says. The Blood Wolf has fled'. His master turned around and went back beside Selsena and with a spring in his step, started walking towards the cabin.

This news was music to Ahren's ears and with a last, anxious look over his shoulder, he followed the pair. He stayed in the background on the way home and watched the unlikely couple. Falk stayed close by Selsena's side and from time to time whispered things into her ear. Sometimes he would tilt his head to the side before answering. Ahren could feel joy, excitement and sometimes annoyance coming from the animal.

'She can talk to you, can't she?' he asked. They both stopped abruptly and Ahren realized that he had asked the question out aloud.

He blushed but his master only nodded. 'Yes, that's right. A certain…situation…has made it possible for us to talk to each other. She can hear what I think and vice versa. Except that I'm a bit out of practice and I have to ask my questions out loud to muster the necessary concentration'.

'So, if you tilt your head, then she's talking to you?' Ahren was very proud that he had figured this out for himself.

'Do I do that? I never noticed', answered his master thoughtfully. 'Another crutch I can hopefully get rid of soon'.

'Why are you out of practice', Ahren wanted to know. Falk scowled and said, 'we had different opinions…about something very important. We didn't talk to each other for a long time. I was in the wrong. That's all I'm going to say'. Selsena snorted.

The rest of the journey passed in silence although Ahren was dying to ask dozens more questions. But Falk kept his head tilted the whole time and judging by his face he was on the receiving end of a long and detailed lecture from Selsena. Ahren was comforted by the irony that his master was getting a dressing down for a change, and he smiled to himself.

All thoughts of the Blood Wolf, which was lurking somewhere out there in the forest, were forgotten for a few precious minutes.


'I don't understand why I didn't notice the monster earlier. There were practically none of the typical tell-tale signs in the forest. No massacres of wolves and bears, no swathes of destruction in the undergrowth, no woodcutters ripped apart'. Falk threw his arms in the air and looked questioningly out the window to where Selsena was standing.

Ahren listened and shivered but didn't say a word. Talking about the Dark Ones wasn't half so terrifying anymore since he had faced the monster the previous day. Nothing could compare with the raw presence of the massive body with its black hide and muscles, which meant certain death.

Ahren got up and began to clear up the breakfast which had ended once his master had finished his exclamation. Speaking had been kept to a minimum the evening before. Selsena had settled down comfortably outside the cabin and Falk had assured Ahren that she would keep watch. It had been obvious to Ahren that he wasn't going to get any more answers that night and it seemed that they were safe for the time being, so he lay down and promptly fell asleep.

To his surprise he had slept well and deeply and without dreams. He had woken up refreshed and rested and not, as he had expected, bathed in sweat in a rumpled bed. He had then gone to the window and seen Selsena looking at him with her soft silvery eyes. A deep feeling of peace had spread inside him and he understood that the animal had guarded not only the cabin, but also his sleep.

Yet all three were restless now. The time had come for his questions so he ploughed on. 'Why didn't Selsena just kill the Blood Wolf? They did fight and she seems to have won'.

All the scratches on her flanks were almost completely healed and only recognizable as thin red welts on her hide.

Falk looked at his apprentice in disbelief and snorted. Then he thought better and explained the situation. 'Selsena caught him off-guard. An attack from close range with the main horn. Her speciality, if you like. She struck him on the shoulder and the two of them hurtled down the incline while the wolf tried to bite her on the throat'. Ahren looked over at the mythical creature anxiously. He vividly remembered the long fangs of the wolf and had no doubt at all that they could have torn apart the neck of the magical horse with one bite.

'She got free of him and got away from him. Had she engaged in combat for even one more second, then she'd probably have been killed'. The Elven horse gave a quick snort and Falk tilted his head, then said, 'No false pride now, you know that's the truth'.

Selsena looked away.

'The beast ran into the undergrowth, where it has an advantage over her, and for that reason she didn't give chase. We have to look for it', said Falk into the silent room.

Ahren nodded wearily. He had seen that one coming. After all, this was the main function of the Forest Guardian. Otherwise he would simply be a common hunter.

Falk proudly observed the stoic response of the boy and his look softened. 'The Blood Wolf is wounded and crippled. It is alone and there are three of us. Selsena can sense its anger if it's nearby. These advantages should even up the hunt a little'.

'Do you still think it's four hundred years old?' asked Ahren doubtfully. This was an unbelievable length of time that a young brain simply couldn't comprehend.

'I said at least four hundred yesterday. Based on Selsena's description and its quick reaction to her attack, I would guess that he had fought already in the Dark Days'.

Ahren was flabbergasted at this news. This creature had fought in wars that he had read about in the legends during his Godsday lessons!

Falk looked at his apprentice earnestly. 'It's important you understand we're dealing with an old and experienced brain here. Without Selsena's equally long experience in battle I'd have to drum up half the village, there'd be some massacre, and even then, victory would be far from certain. Think about it, the more blood it spills, the stronger it becomes'.

Ahren looked at the creature outside the window. She was just talking to Falk and the apprentice watched her thoughtfully. These eyes had seen things for more than seven hundred years. What wonders and sorrows must she have experienced?

Falk laughed out loud and the thought was gone.

'She says it's not polite to talk about a woman's age. Better that we change the subject. The first thing we need are battle arrows. Our hunting arrows won't even penetrate the Blood Wolf's fur. I'll take care of that. You run over to Vera and get the Earth Paste'.

Ahren nodded. This was a logical step. Earth Paste could camouflage individual human scents and made hunting easier. It was very difficult to make, expensive and was only used when hunting dangerous game.

Perfect for hunting Blood Wolves, thought Ahren grimly.

The old man continued. 'Selsena, you comb the forest and see if you can find its whereabouts. But in the name of the THREE be careful'.

She answered them both and a feeling of comfort filled the boy. Then she spun around on her hind hooves and disappeared into the forest in the space of two heartbeats.

Falk looked after her with concern, then looked over at his apprentice.

'What are you still doing here? She says the coast is clear but once she's gone from us we won't know where the wolf is hiding. So stop dawdling and get back here in double quick time'.

Ahren didn't need to be told twice. He threw on his woollen coat and quickly went out the door and into the silence of the drifting snow, which had fallen during the night and was now sticking. Within two hours he had two sealed jars of Earth Paste and was on the way home. Vera had asked him why he needed this expensive cream, but as Ahren wasn't sure what he was allowed to say, he didn't say anything but suggested she talk to Falk. The old woman could be very indignant if you kept information from her, so Ahren left quickly before she could grill him. He would have to spill the beans sooner or later.

Falk had already returned when he got back to the cabin. It turned out that Ahren could have told Vera about the Blood Wolf. His master had not only ordered three dozen battle arrows from the blacksmith but he had also informed the village council that entering the forest was forbidden and he had even sounded the bell in front of the Village Hall to lend his words more weight. The village would now be in a state of emergency until Falk rang the bell again. For the moment no-one could leave their house without good reason, and all activities in the forest were suspended.

'The blacksmith said the arrows would be ready this afternoon. I have something else to take care of and will bring them with me when I return. You look after your equipment and especially your bow. I want you to string it with as much tension as possible. It's not going to help us if you hit the target, but the arrow simply gets stuck in the thick hide'.

Before Falk could give an answer, Falk had disappeared again in a cloud of tumbling snowflakes.

He did as he was told and looked after his things. His master still hadn't returned by the evening, and the boy was becoming nervous. Selena wasn't back either and he began imagining the worst. What if the wolf had caught the magical horse? Or Falk? Or both? Once darkness set in, Ahren was in the grip of his own fantasies. With his inner eye he saw the whole village, lifeless and still. Doors had been torn off with brute force, the villagers slaughtered on the spot. Ahren was the only one left and a pair of red eyes were focused on his cabin, while in the darkness the Blood Wolf circled ever closer as he crept towards his prey. Ahren was beginning to flinch at every noise and caught himself holding on to his bow and arrow for dear life. He put both aside, lit the candle and tried to find the Void.

His master found him in the same position when he arrived back in the late evening. The candle had almost burned down, which meant that Ahren must have been there for several hours. The boy's head had sunk down to his chest and he was snoring. The old man closed the door with a frown, then carefully wakened the boy by placing his hand on the boy's shoulder and gently shaking him.

The apprentice looked up at him sleepily and said in a daze, 'you're back late'.

'The blacksmith took longer because he had never made battle arrows before. I decided to wait so that we're ready whenever we need them'.

Ahren noticed two bundles on his master's back. One was a fresh oilskin, slim in shape and undoubtedly held the arrows; the other was an enormous, filthy leather bag, lumpy in shape which made a clattering sound whenever Falk moved. He placed both on the table and sat down.

'Did it work?' he asked, indicating the candle.

Ahren nodded first, but then shook his head. 'Not really. I did calm down but I didn't achieve the Void. The spirits are strong now that the wolf is among them'.

Falk gave an understanding nod. The boy's subconscious would be full of images of the beast they would soon be hunting. This was down to what he'd just experienced. It was quite an achievement that he had been able to calm himself to the extent of falling asleep on his own.

'A start, said Falk and began unpacking the bundles.

One of them contained the reinforced arrows, as Ahren had predicted. He picked one up to look at it more closely. The shaft was stronger and broader than the usual hunting arrow and the tip was a dangerous looking triangle with its tip ending in a barb. The weapon was at least four times as heavy as the arrows Ahren was used to. He shuddered at the thought of being struck by one of these monsters. The idea that somewhere people would be shooting these at each other in a war was unbearable and unimaginable. He quickly put the murderous instrument aside and looked with interest at his master, who was now emptying the second bag.

Armoured neck collars, underarm protectors and leg guards appeared, everything made from a strange whitish material, and elaborately adorned. He reached forward to touch one of the pieces but Falk silently tapped him on the fingers and gave him a stern look. The master began to smear the pieces of armour with ash from the fireplace until they looked grey and dirty, almost like neglected iron that was just becoming rusty. Then he placed them carefully on a shelf and took the last piece out of the bag. Ahren gasped in surprise. It was a broadsword and scabbard. Broadswords were a rarity in Hjalgar, and as far as Ahren knew there were none in Deepstone. He never would have thought that his master possessed one.

'Left over from a war I'd rather not think about'. That was all his master had to say about the matter. The rest of the evening passed by in silence.

The snow fell more heavily that night. Selsena returned in the morning and informed Falk that she hadn't been successful in her search. He stood at the window and looked out at the white landscape with a frown.

'The snow is already knee deep. A hunt is out of the question for the next few days. The villagers won't be happy that work will be impossible during this time', complained Falk. 'But Selsena will keep on looking. The good news is that the Blood Wolf doesn't seem to have made its lair in the vicinity. That's certainly lessened the probability of immediate danger'.

He turned around to his apprentice. 'We'll spend the whole day practising with the battle arrows and when your arms are exhausted we'll practise stalking. I want you to be as prepared as possible'.

The whole of the next week was taken up with this routine. Now and again Selsena sensed the rage of the monster and began to encircle its hiding place. Meanwhile Ahren grew used to the new weaponry and his master taught him more about the art of stalking. The villagers waited patiently but on the fifth evening one of the most senior of the village elders came to their door and asked how long the danger was likely to continue.

Falk knew that this situation could not continue indefinitely and when Selsena reported on the evening of the ninth day that she had found the creature's lair, Falk announced, 'right, whatever about the snow, tomorrow we hunt the Blood Wolf'.