Wolf Moon

Chapter 2.3 - Hawk

The game of puppets and figures could be interesting. Who moved whom, who became entangled and stumbled over their own pitfalls? Who was entangled, used, or did not even suspect that he was serving the enemy? Schemes, intrigues, double games... that was not his world - it never was. One could claim it was because he was a simple mind. Formerly a simple man from a small nest like this. In fact... he preferred to leave such things to others. He found all these things too exhausting. His talents lay in things other than cobbling together double bottoms of lies and deception.

Roman was a master of these matters. Spinning intrigues, plans that reached not just around three but countless corners. Anticipating how who might react, and what to do when this and that happened. Roman could wear a mask that even other hunters or even inquisitors shook in vain. For his part, he mostly did not want to know what was bubbling behind the facade of the cold hunter. Hawk had met enough fanatics in his life. Those who stood roaring in the marketplaces and front of them small clusters of people who quickly and gladly shouted 'burn them!'.

Some of them could be dangerous. Especially for more reclusive people, red-haired women, or an unfortunate neighbor who happened to own a pretty woman that one of these men might covet. Nowadays, accusations were always made very quickly - and when he looked into the future, he feared to see countless pyres there. Not so long ago, they had stood with the horses on a hill not far from Aschernfurt - and the sky had been dark with smoke, the air heavy with the smell of burning flesh. No, nothing he liked to think back to.

But the really dangerous ones - he thought - were the ones with the watchful eyes. Those who could carry ice and fire in their eyes at the same time: The fire of fanaticism and hatred and at the same time the cold of mercilessness. Those who firmly believed that their actions and everything they did were unimpeachable and perfectly right.

Hawk was a hunter. He HAD to have a certain ruthlessness. A willingness to sacrifice and kill for the good of society. The Reds stained their hands and their souls in blood to save others from choking on their own and being killed - or worse - corrupted by the accursed. They had to remove the rotten apples from the basket before they spoiled everything in it. For - as the Bible had probably also taught - a rotten apple could wreak havoc. And it didn't matter who was cursed. No matter whether man, woman, old man, or child. They were the sword of God in this world. That was their task. Unlike the lambs, who were too fond of adorning themselves with white-grey woolen garments.

However, those were nothing but hypocrites in his eyes. People who were happy to abdicate responsibility. They were quick to build pyres and blame someone - as long as they could take comfort in the fact that someone else decided and carried it out. Few wanted to be the ones who lit the pyre or wielded the sword to enforce a sentence.

Faith... could lift you or bring you down. And yet it was an indispensable part of society and as deadly as it could be, it could no longer be imagined to be gone. Especially in these difficult times, it lifted many people. Nowadays, people were brought up with it, just as children were taught to eat. They were taught prayers, just as they were taught to hold a knife and fork. And those who did not believe? They were treading a dangerous path that could quickly end badly if they came into contact with particularly devout communities. Or... hunters. Such as they were. Hawk couldn't imagine what it was like to return to the home village they had turned away from after so long. More than once, in the last days of the journey, his gaze had lingered thoughtfully on Red. And now those attentive eyes were on her friend, who had embraced her as tumultuously as if there were no years between them.