I was fortunate to find him before anyone else did.
It was more a stroke of luck than any great planning or skill upon my part. I merely happened to be traveling along North Road when he came racing out of Gods’ Hollow. His initial form was that of a wolf, then of a bear, and when those did not cause me to falter or flee, he shifted to a man. Armed with rifle and sword, a decorated soldier of the Russian Empire, this Cossack fell upon me and gave me a terrible fight.
Most people believe fights to be long, drawn-out affairs where the combatants are noble individuals.
This is, as far as I am concerned, a romantic and fetid idea.
There is nothing noble about a fight for one’s life. Nor is there anything fair or just in the way it is fought.
He broke two of my fingers when I took hold of his arm, and I gouged out his right eye with my left thumb. It was this, more than anything else, which gave me the advantage. His howls, far more animal than human, echoed off the trees as he let go of me. It was then that I drove my knife first up into the soft underside of his chin, then into his heart. For good measure, I severed his head.
His corpse, I left it rotting in the tree-line. I carried his head a fair distance into Gods’ Hollow and mounted it on a branch to serve as a warning for any more of his kind.
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