With his axe, Oswald managed to cut a dozen of logs, the tree had a moist bark and its base was eaten by moths.
Once the job done, he trained knife throwing and then the axe flew across the woods too. He could reach his target six meters away seven out of ten times, the ratio was low but he was happy with his performances. Each day, his goal was to either add a meter to his maximal range or to increase his accuracy.
Cluck, the hen laid one egg per day. She had fluffy white feathers from her toes to the top of her head, concealing her eyes and comb in a feathery hat.
The boy made a four by four meter square enclosure for her, only one side was wired and allowed her to venture freely, the three other sides were to protect her from the wind. The new source of protein from the family was a blessing, it took Meryl only hours to call it a 'calm featherhead' because of her resemblance with the flower.
Once the evening fell, Oswald admired the waning moon, its decline left an important space for its dark side to take place. It impeded on its beauty. The splendid perfect circle Oswald saw once was something he started to crave for.
The whiteness, the shape of every of its craters, the projection of their shadow on the celestial surface, everything was a piece of art to him.
About a kilometre deep in the woods, he saw a young spotted doe, the question hit his mind before he had the chance to run after.
'How am I supposed to skin this animal? I've never worked on anything bigger than a chicken.'
His next venue to the village was a dire need. The best option he had was to meet the local butcher for explanations and methods to skin properly. It'd be a plus if he could learn how to treat leather as well. He couldn't remember if there was a tannery in the village.
He sat in the snow and put a handful of pine needle in his pocket, then, he awaited for his heart to pain him.
'The more I'll move, the less I'll have.' He thought.
The pinch in his head increased with the one in his torso, his diaphragm tightened and he expelled every bit of hair he had in his lungs to lessen the pain. It was his twelfth night as a night walker and expelling the air he had was the sole solution he had found so far.
There was a sudden increase in his senses, at the very last moment, he heard the whole forest as if it screamed in his ears.
Another morning where he woke up brutally.
This time he checked all over his blanket. There were a few pine needle, ten at most. But the other thing he found was multiple traces of blood, under his nails, the usual black traces. He cleaned them with his teeth, and cut himself, again.
'At least I hope that's because of me, not her.' He thought, looking at his mother.
His next trip to the city happened two days later, when his mother felt better.
He approached the village progressively. The stench was still intense, but because the heavy snow blanket covered the paved alleys, it was still bearable. Oswald managed to reach the inn without passing out.
"Lady Emilia, may I ask you if there's a tanner in the village ?"
The old lady wiped the bar, her hair wasn't as perfect as the previous week. "Yes. You're sitting next to him." She pointed at a man, slumped over the counter. He was the same person that sat at the same place the week before.
As if he hadn't moved ever since.
The man was filled with beer up to his nose. Oswald brought his chair closer to the man and took a serious tone.
"I'm Oswald, your future partner." He stretched out his hand and waited for a reply, although he was no patient boy.
The drunkard did not move at all, his snoring broke the awkward silence.
Oswald was furious. He pulled the man's collar and looked at him straight in the eyes, making sure their eyes made contact. "Listen, I don't have all day, you better wake up before I lose my patience."
His irises were slightly enlarged, the bulging vein on his forehead was visible and the fact he was not blinking for the whole scene made him more intimidating.
"Simon Simons, tanner during my spare time. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man grumbled while shaking the still waiting hand. Thanks to Oswald's grip, he was temporarily relieved from his back pain. He gave his full name in disdain, never had he heard of an associate with only a first name.
In a corner of the inn, people whispered. "Who's this boy? Haven't seen him before..."
"That's Meryl's son! I heard he's of the fragile-health kind, too bad he chose to become a hunter, his life is going to be hard." A woman replied.
"Oh! So he's the one who fainted in the snow last week? Despite what happened, he seems in a better shape than most of us."
Indeed, despite the recent change of diet he had, Oswald had more meat than usual in his plate. One egg per day made a lot of difference, and when his mother wouldn't eat all the food in her plate, he'd gladly add it to his.
While the alteration was new, the changes he experienced in his body evolved along with the one he had already witnessed. It meant his muscles grew faster because everything he consumed was transformed into resources to make his body grow in strength. His energy was depleted more easily because the time he spent awake was longer, fat hadn't got the chance to set in.
Simon and Oswald went to a shop, at the opposite direction of the boy's home. One had to use the other to walk straight, still the mind of the man in his late thirties was fuzzy and he struggled to open his own door. The entrance was forced by Oswald's impatience.