Two days later.
The moon, during the day, was Oswald's main interest. It was the object he had craved for two months now.
'How magnificent.' He thought, looking at it in the early morning.
The sky had no cloud to hide it from his sight. He was obsessed by the white sphere. Its deep craters, the shades of white on its surface, the shine it reflected, nothing was ignored.
Every days until now, he was anxious to see it anew. What if there was something preventing him from seeing its full brightness? Its mightiness? Now way! Would he fight to see it, floating above everything?
Yes.
As his mother wouldn't talk to him, he entrusted an inarguable task to her.
"I'm off for today. Take care of the herd. Don't go in the forest, there are steel wolf traps around. Don't expect me for lunch nor dinner." He was gone before she had the time to say no.
And there we was, going south, the same direction as the stream passing through Revel. He knew, down the valley, there were plains, no trees around to obstruct the flawless moon. But it was far away.
He told no one where he was going, a couple of tangerines and dried meat in his pouch, he ventured forth, running to the wind. Even though his breakfast had been short, he was brimming with energy, his body was filled with his desire to see the most beautiful spectacle of his life.
Thanks to the moon's craters, he could tell which direction he was following, he was usually reading the stars, but none was to be seen in broad daylight.
He passed next to deer, boars and foxes, but no wolf. Their smell was nowhere to be seen. The snow was practically melted and the water it generated amplified the flow of the temporary river.
Still a little high up in the mountain, he could see the plains. It was midday and he was glad to add wild berries to his lunch.
From the side of the hill, he looked at the plain. There was something quite atypical coming from the cloud he was starring at. Indeed, it was generated by fire! Its dark grey color was too dull to let the light or his enhanced sight in. 'Strange.' He thought. There was no nearby village here. Last time he went out of the valleys, years ago, no house in the landscape stood.
He still had around twenty kilometers to run before reaching it, he was afraid to not make it in time. Because he knew nothing of the distance-time relation, he departed soon after he finished eating. He came upon old trees, oaks that saw centuries passing by. Their roots strangled everything nearby , making the trees sparse in the old forest area.
Oswald was agile enough to not trip on them, every step, as fast as he could run, he landed perfectly as planned. His last pair of shoes shown how unappreciative it was each time his feet hit the dirt. Although they had an excellent sewing keeping it tight to the foot, he couldn't afford buying footwear, yet.
About an hour later, he finally made it to the plains. He chose to walk further in the flat land to have a greater sight of the moon. The trees at the border of the forest were all cut down, as if someone had enlarged the plain.
He saw a shape moving from afar. Few kilometers away, coming from the cloudy village, three horsemen charged at him.
Now that he was closer, he couldn't tell where the village started nor ended. It extended from the left to the right, impossible to tell if it continued in the woods or not.
He patiently waited for the three men to come, they wore heavy armor, a red-feathered helmet and spears. As long as none of their weapons pointed at his direction, Oswald wouldn't mind.
"Whoa! Whoa. Stranger! What are you doing here?" Asked one with a narrow-waist armor.
The one behind had his horse circle Oswald, he asked a question that he couldn't entirely understand. "Qué estás haciendo aquí?" The boy couldn't help but stammer while attempting to answer the first question. Their horses were nearly two-meter high, and their riders couldn't display any emotion because of their large visors.
"I-I am but a mere villager, w-what about you?"
They nodded at each others. They agreed on something obviously planned before. "Come with us. You are to be kept until next round. Do you know how to ride a horse, fellow villager?"
"Barely my second time seeing one, sorry to disappoint you."
"Then trot along ours. It is an order." The third man said, lowering his spear, followed by the two others, making Oswald understand he was forced to follow them.
"Excuse me, I have something to attend. May I follow you next time? It is really bothering me to say so, coming all the way here must've tired your rides and-."
"Correr o morir." The one with a strange accent spoke again. Once more, the strange language rung a bell to Oswald, but because he was uncertain of the word's meaning, he simply followed them. 'I've done nothing wrong, those people better have a good argument to have me run again.' He thought.
Keeping the same pace, they reached a fort with thick logs well positioned to create a wooden fortress. Hundreds and hundreds of tents. Weapons hanging on never-ending racks. Thousand of men walking in it, lifting the dust that created the cloud.
It was too late for Oswald to realise he had entered one of the war camps.
The tallest building, a thirty-meter-high tower with men patrolling at the top of it, was the reason why the horsemen came to him.
The boy was forced to enter a tent with an entangled coat of arms embroidered on its side.
"What is it?" A frowning man in his late thirties asked. He was behind a table with multiple maps displayed, grey and red marbles decorated it.
"Commander, we brought someone who claims being a villager. He was found in the east of the plain, we suspect he's a Spanish spy."