In the dark of night, Ryheric had gone with Tarsorel to hunt a beast. A creature the local farmers called rabid. Or, they spoke of it like a demon. On hushed tones, making superstitious gestures.
There had even been a rumour or two it was an Enemy of the free folk. A man, a foreigner with a curved blade who guised himself as a bard, responsible. Rumours of bloodlust not natural for the peace-loving Breefolk. Someone had planted the idea. Tarsorel knew it. Ry knew it. It stayed unmentioned between them.
