"In the late night of the 20th day of 11th month in the year 797 of the Church's Calendar, or maybe the dawn of the 21st." Oscar put down his quill and blew at his hands. The night of the start of winter at Deiss had turned the tent into an icehouse. The heat given off by the charcoal was so negligible compared to the freezing weather.
"I met them after I passed through a forest that was burned by the sunlight. They did not like noises, so they did not live beside the faraway fortress that was filled with sounds of killing. They settled down in an uncultivated land, relying on a stream that only the horses knew about."
