Nicolaus, draped in his cloak of fur, trudged through the snow-laden woods, each step he took sinking deep into the thick blanket of snow. The sharp crunch of frost beneath his boots broke the eerie tension in the forest.
Behind him, his retinue followed at a cautious distance, careful to give him space. As much as it was for his solitude, it was for the knights' safety as well, for they all knew better than to breathe loudly when their lord was in a bad mood.
"..."
The men exchanged looks but none dared to say a word. Today, Nicolaus was more sour than usual. His entire presence oozed irritation: his patience was stretched too thin, ready to snap at any minute. If hell broke loose, the season would see blood and mercilessness.
Nicolaus was a ticking bomb, ready to detonate at the slightest spark.
And if someone would ask the source of his rage?
That was the hunt for the fucking, slippery crow.
