The flames crackled towards the full moon. By now the nights were so cold that Brun even had several fires lit every night so that no one had to freeze - not even his slaves.
If Tyra had counted correctly, two moons had passed since Midsummer. Five days after Midsummer, Gunnar had snatched her and as her surroundings slowly became more familiar, her fear and tension slowly fell away. Soon Tyra would be home and then no one would ever dare kidnap her again. A plan had formed in her head a moon ago and she was determined to put it into action.
Unobtrusively, she eyed Brun, who rode beside her. He was so completely different from Gunnar. She enjoyed his closeness and the fact that he had given her one of the precious horses only proved to her that he was a good man. Without him she would never have made it back and yet she wondered why he was so obviously lying to her. His bearing was too erect, too proud, too noble for him to be the son of a blacksmith. The men who accompanied him obeyed each and every one of his commands without resistance and when he spoke there was such an air of confidence in his warm, pleasant voice that her heart gave a little leap. The past lunar cycle had confirmed to her what she had sensed at their very first meeting. She would follow him to the ends of the earth.
Yet there were things about him that always made her wonder. What son of a tribal lord could read or write? After all, there were slaves for that. But again and again she watched him, deep in thought, sitting a little apart from the others and writing something in this strange apparatus that she had never seen before. On top of that, he was indescribably clean. Hardly a week went by without him having to wash the dirt off his body and his hair bothered him so obviously that Tyra sometimes doubted whether he had always worn it long like a free man. After only three days, Tyra could no longer stand by and watch his suffering and helped him tame his magnificent golden hair with the traditional braids of her tribe. The growth of his beard revealed that he could not be much older than herself - even if his muscular body wanted to pretend otherwise. While Tyra had never seen a blacksmith who had trained his entire body and lost neither his suppleness nor grace in the process, it could well be different with his tribe. His origins were another mystery she could not decipher. He had only told her that he came from the West. But she knew only one tribe of the West by name, the Cherusci, because her mother was Cheruscan. But the language in which Brun conversed with his friends or his men only when he had not yet noticed them was different from her mother's dialect. When he talked in his mother tongue, she could not understand a single word. It also had a very different, warm sound from the language of her tribe and to Tyra's ears it sounded as if he were singing and not speaking. But there were so many small tribes with their own dialects and languages between the Rhine and the Elbe that Tyra could not possibly know them all.
Moreover, Brun so obviously possessed the most important skills of a leader, as if the Norns had never ordained any other path for him. Apart from his talent for leading others, he was an exceptionally good listener. Brun was responsive to those around him and, when disputes arose, tried to find a solution that satisfied both sides. If he was not yet the heir of a tribe, he would soon become one.
What surprised her most was how attentively he could listen. It was inexplicable to her how he always managed to get her to talk. But in his presence she felt so safe and free that she wanted to tell him everything about herself. Yet there were things she kept to herself. With not a word did she reveal that her father was higher than she had wanted him to believe at the beginning. For when she tried to ask him about his life, she couldn't shake the feeling that he deliberately left out certain areas. His words were always so deliberate and carefully chosen, as if he could not completely let himself go in her presence. This suspicion felt to Tyra like someone was plunging a dagger right into her heart and gleefully drilling into it. Once they arrived safely in her village, she would prove to him that he could trust her. Because when she looked at him, even if it was only a furtive sideways glance like now, she sometimes still caught herself wondering if he was more than just human. His features were absolutely perfect. His smile was more radiant than the sun. His golden wolf eyes penetrated so deeply into her soul, as if they wanted to fathom her innermost longings and secrets. But especially when he laughed with all his heart, her heart warmed. This man touched her in a way that Tyra couldn't quite understand, but certainly couldn't deny.

That evening, she finally gathered all her courage and asked him for his sword by the light of the campfire. Already in the clearing she had noticed the patterns that had been engraved on the shiny metal. At the time, she had paid no particular attention to it. Her curiosity had only been aroused when he had quickly closed his wooden tablet every time she was near him writing. Only once had Tyra been quick enough to glance over his shoulder at the waxed wooden board. Only at that moment had she realised that this pattern on his sword must be letters. Since Tyra's parents had not attached any importance to training their daughter in the menial tasks of a scribe, neither the symbols in the wax nor in the metal made any sense to her. For the first time in her life, Tyra began to question whether her parents' upbringing had really prepared her for real life. True, her parents kept slaves for writing texts or letters, but that dreamy expression on Brun's face, which it only took on when he retreated completely into the world of his thoughts, ordering them and recording them with quick strokes on the wood, overcame her doubts. As soon as he had finished his notes, he seemed so content and balanced - neither her father nor her mother had ever left such a clear and composed impression on her after a document had been completed. Perhaps he was so calm after writing because he had the assurance that no one had changed his words.
Surprised by her question, his hand automatically settled on the hilt of his sword and his face closed in on her.
"The sword belonged to my great-grandfather," Brun replied tersely, and something flared in his eyes, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand up. His gaze was so cold, as if he wanted to nip any further question in the bud. But his behaviour only encouraged her to want to know more about him.
"What do the symbols on it mean?" she continued impassively, and for a blink he eyed her calculatingly. Then with a smooth movement he drew his sword and held it so that the glow of the fire fell on the letters. The noble metal shimmered mysteriously in the flame light and reflected both their faces. Fascinated, Tyra reached out for it and did not notice how Brun tensed beside her. Gently, her fingers stroked the strange symbols and when their eyes met in the metal, she turned her head towards him and smiled expectantly. Brun sighed softly and looked thoughtfully at his blade, which had spared her a life at Gunnar's side.
"It is only three words," Brun began to explain in a hushed voice. Uncertainly he looked down at her, then averted his eyes and traced the engraved letters with the index finger of his right hand. Patiently, he read the three words duty, virtue and honour. Thoughts screamed wildly in Tyra's head. Why should the great-grandfather of the son of an ordinary blacksmith wield such a sword? These three words were the principles of a tribal lord, not an ordinary village member.
She would have liked to ask him all the questions that set her mind in turmoil. But he put the sword back into its scabbard with such finality that their conversation ended unmistakably. Why did he never tell her more about his family than was necessary ?What was he hiding from her?
Furtively she eyed him from the side, but for the rest of the evening they never spoke another word to each other.

The next morning Tyra was awakened by the uneven beating of a woodpecker. Disgruntled, she turned onto her back and peered up the trunks of the trees, but she could not spot the bird.
With a yawn, she sat up and let her eyes wander over the men accompanying Brun. The fires had almost burned down. Soft light illuminated the scene. The sun must already have risen. Suddenly she was wide awake. The sleeping places of Brun and his friends were empty.
Worried, she looked around, but she couldn't spot him anywhere. With one leap she was on her feet and spun around. Suddenly the now familiar sound of his laughter reached her ear and her legs automatically made their way to him. When his laughter died away, the irregular beats from the same direction resumed. More slowly, she followed this other sound and when she reached the edge of a clearing, she suddenly froze.
Armed only with a wooden staff, Brun whirled across the small clearing, fighting four opponents at once. Every fibre of his body was under the control of his mind and every movement he made was in absolute harmony.
Not a single drop of sweat shone on his bare chest and his breathing was also perfectly even, while his opponents seemed to groan with every impact with his wooden staff.
Never had he seemed more masculine to her than at this surreptitious moment. Fascinated, her eyes followed his struggle and when his last opponent, Marbod, went down, Tyra retreated into the shade of the trees. A thin branch broke beneath her careless feet. Startled by this new sound, Brun wheeled around to her with his stick raised. His eyes still sparkled with the desire to fight. When their eyes met, she sank into his wolf's eyes and her knees instantly softened. Instinctively, Tyra propped herself up against the nearest tree trunk. Brun quickly lowered his weapon, ran it through his hair, which shimmered golden in the sunlight, and ran to her. Silently he came to a halt in front of her and looked down at her in irritation. The wooden staff rested casually in his hand.
"You were gone when I woke up," Tyra said, wanting to slap herself. She sounded like one of those girls who gave herself too easily to a man and were jilted afterwards. But just as she was about to continue, his lips formed into a bright smile and her mouth went dry. Slowly he stepped even closer to her so that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She had to force herself to keep looking into his eyes and not let her gaze wander unabashedly to his exposed chest.
"I work out every morning, Tyra. You've just been sleeping through it until now," he teased her gently, smiling down at her. Of their own accord, her lips twisted into a smile. Suddenly the wind freshened and blew the strands of her long hair playfully into his face. Laughing, they looked at each other through their hair. The next moment his hands gently stroked back her hair and his fingertips ran feather-light over her skin. Immediately she shuddered and instinctively leaned towards him.
A cough brought her back to reality. Caught off guard, Brun withdrew his hands as if he had burnt himself on her and wheeled around. Nervously, Tyra looked past him and eyed Marbod and Tato. Their faces spoke volumes. While Tato looked amused, Tyra thought she could read disapproval in Marbod's expression for a blink before he could hide his feelings from her.
Instantly Brun's posture changed: it became more erect, almost regal, and thus raised to his full height, he intimidated his friends. Slowly, Tato's expression also became serious. Then he declared that it was now time for breakfast. At the same moment Tyra's stomach growled loudly and they burst out laughing.
In good humour, they made their way back to their sleeping place. Tyra found herself right behind Brun, who was engrossed in a chat with Tato. Smiling, she watched Brun. Even engrossed in a conversation with his friend, he seemed so confident and in control. Her father would be very pleased with her choice.
Suddenly someone grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him into the shade of the trees. Immediately Tyra whirled around and before her hand could meet his cheek, he intercepted her blow with his other hand. Calm and serious, Marbod looked down at her and instantly she ceased her resistance.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, but he pulled her deeper into the shadows of the trees. After a few heartbeats he stopped and released her wrists. He looked around attentively before saying that he wanted to talk to her about his friend. Questioning, Tyra tilted her head and waited for Marbod to continue. Sighing, he rubbed his cheek as he avoided her gaze. He looked as if his mind was searching for the right words. Finally his shoulders dropped and he looked deep into her eyes. His eyes were so dark. They were almost as black as a new moon night.
"Forget him," he said seriously and she felt as if he had hit her. "Trust me, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. You two will never really be able to be together and I know my boyfriend. If he chooses you, he would rather die than give you up. But if you both keep this up, then one day he will have to choose between his love for his country and his love for you. So if you really care about him, forget him and stay away from him. Then he will have the strength to leave when he has to."
"And if he had a reason to stay?" retorted Tyra automatically, trying to fight the many emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Marbod's look was enough to make his point. Now she knew for sure that Brun was not who he claimed to be.