Night falling upon Madrid, the three wolves looked for their first pray. In the narrow alleys they ventured, their eyes refracting the bit of light offered by the rising moon.
The thousand stars above the ochre roofs welcomed them in a dance with the nearby rainy clouds. The activity in the streets was much more present than expected, people walked late in the night and went for a drink next door. The ambience was cheerful, children played outside, a few ran around the place, after their friend or a leather ball, the overall mood contrasted well with the loneliness reigning over Revel and the manly one in the camp.
Tom, who had experienced so far only the depths of the hunger and the few throw-up parties, was eager to feel the relief of the curse. There was no whatsoever care for the person he was about to slaughter, just like Oswald had described his nights under the full moon, there was no spare time for any other emotion than despair.
Hunger. Eat.
