In my dream I am in the frozen forest where the biting cold penetrates the skin. Its beauty is magnificent, the trees are high and the snow is thick, but in this beauty there is death.
My father doesn’t talk a lot about his time at the tournament. He says he was a different man back then and the things he did there were something out of a nightmare. I tried to ask his Beta about it, but he said nothing. I tried to ask his men and they were frozen stiff by the question. I tried to ask my mother and she knew next to nothing except for the number of men he had killed. I try to ask him and he just smiles almost painfully, never speaking of it.
I wonder how bad it could have been if no one wanted to talk about it. And if it was so bad, why are people so respectful of him still?
It’s not re
