umm, something I noticed. well, you can't actually grow tomatoes in a month. I like growing things, and squash is about the fastest crop out there. not counting flowers, of course. Please forgive me!

Faithful, part three

Senor Sera lived between two bridges, at the edge of a cliff. The old farmhouse, and the Sera family themselves, had been around since before anyone could remember. Traditionally, they were expert trappers and tanners, and were well respected in the community for their work... even if it was illegal. The laws had been set, long ago, that none were to take game from the Salazar domain, or even venture onto it, but the Seras had been making there living where others dared not tread for decades.

Bitores often visited the Seras, the last of which being the old man Sera and his fifteen-year-old son, Luis. He owed them much, as they kept the burgeoning wolf population at bay, and they were more desirable company that that of Lord Salazar. Bitores crossed the bridge toward the house as the dogs began to bark, running out to greet him. Alerted of the presence of company, Luis emerged from the farmhouse. He was a smart, handsome boy, with dark, wavy hair and brilliant green eyes. His bronzed face was split in a wide, white grin. 'Grandpa!' he called into the house, 'It's Senor Mendez!'

'Hello, Luis,' Bitores said, waving as he neared. The dogs swarmed around his legs, jumping and pawing and yipping, tails in a flurry of movement, 'How are you?'

'I'm well, Senor. Grandpa is having me take more mail-order courses-- he still thinks I'm a genius, or something.' Luis whistled sharply, and the dogs abated, slinking back toward the barn.

'you're a smart boy. He only wants you to make something of yourself. More than what we are.' Bitores watched the dogs go.

'I'm far from ungrateful. I only want to get smarter to take care of the old bastard, you know.' He stepped aside, 'Won't you come in? It's starting to get dark.'

'Ah, no. I'm afraid this will only be a short visit, as I have to get back to the village.'

Luis looked at him seriously, 'It is wolf season, Senor. Unwise to be out after dark.'

'There are far worse things in these woods that wolves, Luis,' Old Man Sera said, at last emerging from the house, 'You know that as well as anyone. Better than anyone, even-- you're a Sera.' He stood behind the boy, placing his hands on his shoulders, 'We are sworn to keep the secrets of this land.'

Luis looked bored. 'Yes, Grandpa,' He said flatly.

'Luis, why don't you head back inside? You aren't finished with your studies.' His Grandfather steered him back toward the door, pushing him along.

Shrugging, Luis headed inside.

'How are you, old man?' Bitores asked.

'Well, thank you. What brings you here? Any good news from our beloved Lord?' Sera asked bitterly.

'Yes. He's given us a month and a week,' Bitores looked up at the rising full moon, white in the fading dusk, 'But I don't think it will be enough. That's hardly enough time to grow ripe tomatoes, if they were even in season.' He sighed. 'I-I just don't know what to do, Sera.'

'We'll pull through, old friend,' Sera said softly, 'I've seen worse times than these. Life will move on.'

'My men need jobs. Our crops failed more than last year, and we've had to resort to buying from other villages, or importing. And that is expensive- we don't get enough food. I... I just can't seem to find any help.' He looked down on Sera hopefully. 'Have you found anything, old friend? Anything at all?'

Sera looked tired, 'That forest is the home of demons, even if Luis says there's no such thing. But... there may be something I can get to help.' he dropped his gaze. 'But it is dangerous.'

'I don't care, Sera. I would walk through fire, if it meant anything.'

'Very well. I'll come by tomorrow--' But he was interrupted by a high pitched wailing, and Bitores jumped.

'What is that?!' The Chief questioned breathlessly.

'The demon!' Sera answered in a hushed voice. 'He must have heard us talking!' Bitores swallowed, another cry echoing across the night. It sounded like the screaming of a monster, a shrill, lone voice in the distance. A chill breeze shifted the barren trees.

'He cries, on nights like this,' Sera whispered. 'Please, come inside. It's not safe, when he cries... and the wolves will sing with him.'

'How did you sleep, my lord?' A servant asked, more out of formality then sincerity. He did not look at Ramon as he worked, setting out the castellans' breakfast of bacon and eggs.

'Horribly,' Ramon replied bitterly into his tea, 'If at all.'

'That's good, the servant chirped automatically, unheeding of Ramon's answer,

'I'm glad. You look refreshed.' Ramon let out a sharp laugh. He looked down to his dark brown reflection on the steaming surface of his tea. Violet-colored circles appeared around his eyes (now a dim yellow color in his exhaustion), and his face was more lean and pail than normal. His bangs, which he had not been able to fix properly that morning, were mussed and hung to his brows.

If anything, he looked like hell.

'So, what is on your agenda today, Lord Salazar?' He asked, finishing his task and stowing the serving trays back onto the dining cart.

Ramon was about to snap at him to mind his own business and go away when he suddenly paused. The proletariat had a point. What was he to do, today? Ramon considered carefully, but found he was, indeed, free for the day. 'I think I will read,' Ramon replied at last.

The servant laughed, 'You sit and read every day, my Lord!' Ramon raised and lowered one shoulder, non-committal, pulling his plate forward and starting on his eggs. The man smiled, bowed, and left the room, pulling the dining cart with him.

Ramon set down his fork and picked up his knife, beginning to butter his toast. Again the servant had brought up a point of validity; every day he sat in his library and read, unheeding of the world, unheeding even of time passing. At some point the may have stopped caring, but he could never tell just what he valued, anymore.

He valued money, he guessed, and money meant time. The more money he had, the longer he- the last of the family line- could devote his time to keeping the demons at bay. Perhaps he was a mercenary creature, as he would do nothing if there was no benefit to it on his part. What else did he value? Certainly not his life, as he was truly born into servitude... Ramon flinched away as light suddenly blinded him. He squinted at the sunlight that glinted off the glass window pane that had blown open in the chill autumn breeze. He looked around, finding himself alone. Grumbling, he slipped out of his chair and went to the window to shut it, annoyed at the pointless inconvenience.

Ramon paused, looking down from the castle window into the barren, frost bitten forest below. He briefly wondered what could be down in the woods, lurking where no villager dared set foot, on Salazar land. In his youth, he had been privately schooled and trained within the sanctity of the castle, and had not been inclined to much exploration- in fact, he had been warned against it. The woods were said to be filled with wolves, and a pack could easily take him... He'd never seen a wolf. Well, only in pictures or drawings, and things made from the pelts.

Ramon wanted to see a wolf. Were they really so vicious? Many people said that he himself was horrible, and he did his best to keep that front...but Ramon knew the pathetic truth. He was, physically, harmless. Perhaps wolves were menacing, in the flesh. He wanted to see something as terrible as was fabled, unlike himself.

Ramon found himself grabbing his coat and hat, and slipping past the servants and across the grounds undetected. He did not take any weapon; if any creature had the strength to kill him, he had no right to stop it by shooting it. Bullets were for the weak.

He was being pretty reckless, he had decided. But something better drew him, in his quest for insight, and he ignored the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind as he plunged on, into the thrillingly unknown.

His first steps into the forest broke the silence between the skeletal trees as his feet crushed the fallen leaves, and he sunk to his ankles. It was as if he had sneezed in a chapel, shattering the perfect sanctity, and he waited, motionless, as if waiting for someone to bless his soul. His ears found more unforgiving silence, and he continued on, treading loudly on the crisp leaves.

He made his way up a steep hill, but began to slip backward, dropping onto all fours to scramble up the slope. He reached the top and wiped his grimy hands on his coat, then continued on, unheeding of the tall, grey castle wall fading in the distance as he wandered further into the woods.

END PART THREE.