"..."
The delicious wind goose stared at the elder who had died days before.
His body was skinny as firewood, yet his belly was slightly bulging.
It was cold here, and underground, so there was no buzzing of flies, yet one could still see the grey-white moths covering the old man's face.
The delicious wind goose felt as if something was stuck in his throat.
Was it sorrow? Or was it fear?
He didn't ponder over it much and turned his head back as if nothing had happened.
"... Yes, I've made up my mind. There's no need for me to waste time here."
He turned back, answering Claus respectfully and humbly, "Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you everything."
"Very well."
Claus nodded slightly, satisfied.
There was still caution in his gaze.
Standing outside the cell, he began to inquire, "What do you know?"
"That 'Tan Juan Geraint' from Frostwater Harbor, our lord, is not the true Tan Juan Geraint."
