It took us another three days until we had reached the gap. In the midst of the night, we crossed the Isen under a pale moon and the dim fires of the Fort at the crossing. It was a barren land on the other side. Rocks and slim grass gave me and Ansgar little place to hide and so we struggled our way through the lands.
I could see the banner of the Westfold flying on top of the fort, and for a moment I was considering to approach it and ask for work or at least some hospitality and bread. I hadn’t eaten properly in more than a week and the last few days since we had crossed into the Westfold barely anything at all. Even Ansgar turned to be a bit of a grumpy dog, which for him meant a lot.
I loved Ansgar. He was a present from my father when I was nine years old, who had told me that since I was still incapable of fighting myself, it would be good to have a companion who could protect me. At the same time, I would learn responsibility. From that day on, the two of us were inseparable. It had been more than fifteen years since the day I fist held the little pup that was to become this massive 4’5” hound in my hands. I lost my only two pairs of leather boots within the next month and since he was my responsibility, I did not get any new ones. So for half a year I ran around with nothing but raddled leather patches at my feet, but at least I had a beautiful dog at my side, who would become my best and most loyal friend.
In the end I decided not to approach any of the forts or several mounted patrols that we encountered on our way, but to stay hidden and instead live off the berries, and nuts that nature provided, and Ansgar even managed to catch a rabbit once, which felt like a feast to the both of us.
It was I think the fourth or fifth day since our crossing of the Isen when finally we had reached the Gravenwood. I knew this place from the stories of my mother.
When I was a child she used to tell me the stories of her people. Legends and history were so intermingled I believe she did not know herself whether she was telling a tale or a true story. Nonetheless, I loved them, and always wanted to be a hero just like in the stories.
One day, I was asking my mother why she didn’t name me Wulf. Unfortunately, my father heard my words and I received a beating I did not forget easily. I heard my parents fight that night, and though my father would never have laid a hand on my mother, I learned that day when to keep my mouth shut.
