The little girl knew lots of details about the story. Many names were given and Oswald wasn't able to remember who each person was. After forcing his memory to work, he could piece the long tale together and make sense out of it.
Ruth shown how much of an excellent memory she had and spent two, three hours talking about her favorite book. She was so smart she knew how to read.
Because it was useful only to read or write stories, Oswald thought it was of no use.
When he asked why she wore the cross that killed the 'good person' as a necklace, she answered. "I did not get that part either. I would've preferred a flower or something cute too."
"Is your book popular?" Oswald asked.
"Yes it is. Thousands of people know it by heart, there are even buildings to gather all of the believers. They have the same cross decorating their walls, it's called a church, though I don't remember visiting one."
'So not only do you need to like the story, but you need to believe what's inside. I can only agree with the existence of mystical creatures like talking animals, but ain't walking on water far-fetched? Hah!' He thought. His last memory about Stan was the one from the first night, for a reason he couldn't explain, he could not forget the man's voice nor face.
His marked skin obsessed him only because he wasn't sure of meeting him ever again.
"You can ask my parents if you want more details, they have even more knowledge about it than me."
"What can I tell them? Hi, I've been talking with Ruth in secret while avoiding you, I also stole your clothes mister..." He replied, by exaggerating the situation, he managed to make her believe it wasn't an option.
He played with the little handmade puppet she had. Few strands of straw and nicely sewn tissues made fine dolls for the young girl.
She was away few minutes for lunch, she said she wanted to be alone to her parents, her good manners owed her plenty of merits, but because her mother liked the time she could spend with her husband, she was left alone. Oswald's stomach was perfectly fine contrary to the previous morning. 'That's odd...'
Back to her room, Ruth asked for Oswald's story. She wanted to know how he ended up naked in her garden.
"I ate the teeth of a giant goat and ever since, I've been sleepwalking."
But it was too short for her. So Oswald kindly pointed at the changes on his body.
"Maybe you hurt your head the day before." She said. It could've been a great hypothesis if not for the blood staining the boy's house and barn. 'I'll spare her the details.' He thought.
Obviously, she needed more details, her three-hours long speech wasn't worth one lonely sentence.
"I saw a monster in my barn, with horns like a goat, but bigger than a bull. It had red eyes! And it made me eat its fang, like the guy in your story that makes people eat his body."
Ruth was upset, she rebuked. "It's not the same! It was bread and wine! An image to make his followers understand what miracle they were believing into." Thankfully she did not speak loud enough for her parents to hear her.
'An image? For a miracle?' He couldn't relate his story further, the matters were too different and he gave up on his example.
"My believing process is broken then! Along with my memory, I lost half of it. I'm not sure I slept enough in the past three days, but I feel great."
She wanted proofs. Curiosity was the worst of all flaws.
"I'll close my eyes, you go touch any object in your room, I'll tell you which it was after you count to ten. Here, I'm not watching." He said, shoving his head between his arms.
Amused, she did as tasked while walking backwards, making sure her opponent wouldn't cheat. But after taking a deep breath he guessed right, she was impressed but his story was creepy.
"Do another!" She asked.
So Oswald had the great idea to draw on her wooden wall with his thick nail. He drew it longer on its top, making the little girl flinch.
"No, this one is wrong, it's upside down." She frowned.
"Then scrap the wall and correct it! If I'm not that strong, you can do it too, right?"
She tried, but the wood was too dry and her small hands couldn't arrange the symbol. "Why did you draw it like that! That's wrong! Wrong!" Panicking, the little girl's tone rose, so the boy corrected it rapidly before she attracted attention.
"Don't shout! Calm down Ruth. I saw a man with two like this on his head. He said it was cultural, that's why when I saw your necklace, I wanted to hear more about it."
The will to chase Oswald from her room came, but her loneliness softened it. "That's the bad believer. Don't draw this, ever!" She lacked information about Saint Peter's cross, but the many beating she had received along the unholy sermons she had to learn were engraved in her memory.
His ears picked up the steps in the corridor behind her door. The boy rushed to the window, winked at the little girl and vanished, running as fast as he could to his house.
His shoes in his bag, his feet felt every pebbles he landed on, every root and sharp rock he used to go faster, he felt happy anew. His problems vanished for the short period during which he ran, invisible to everyone's eyes.
He managed to reach his house early in the afternoon. Hunger begun to corrode his stomach with the usual pain. The fact his headaches were gone along with the full moon annoyed him, not remembering why both of them vanished irritated him.
Before he brought back the herd to the barn, he inspected it with his over-sensitive 'color sense'. His nose and brain managed to mark scents, both organs could literally picture places where animals had been. It was pretty hard to distinguish anything from the monster under the goat-sheep atmosphere of the barn.
He focused on a dry drop of blood on the wall. A place he hardly imagined reaching when the monster grabbed him. He saw a colour he wasn't able to forget, a golden one.