315
~Fridolf's POV
I woke up to the sound of the wind hitting the roof again. The house creaked like an old man's bones, and I sat up slowly, every part of my body aching. My wound still burned, but I was healing , slowly, painfully. I looked around at the small wooden room that used to belong to the old man. Poor fool. He had no idea what kind of beast he'd given shelter to.
Now he was buried up in the mountains, under the cold rocks where no one would find him. I didn't enjoy killing him… but I had no choice. I needed this place, and he saw too much.
I pulled the blanket off me and looked at the bandage on my ribs. It was soaked through again.
"Damn it," I muttered, ripping it off. The wound had started to close, but it still stung every time I moved. I had to live. I had to get strong again. I had revenge to take.
I dragged myself to the small table where I'd laid out some herbs I'd gathered the day before. "Let's see," I said under my breath, mixing them in a bowl.
