Vidar stretched his arms, fighting back a yawn. His muscles clacked. As he slurped hot coffee from his snowman mug, one eye gazed at the small standing calendar on the counter. May was long dead and buried, June already a week old. 

Why he even looked at the date, he didn't know. He didn't need that ochre dot in the right upper corner to tell him the full moon was only a day away. He could feel it in his bones, a primal instinct that bubbled beneath the surface. His nails were growing, his hair thicker. The granola bar he had devoured as an afternoon snack had tasted like paper. He craved meat, red, raw meat, the blood still warm as he set his teeth. The juicy taste of a young hare or rabbits. Or a roe deer, if he was lucky.

But this time, he would spend the night doing more than hunting and running the breath out of his lungs. He had a mission. Find Isegrim and get him to talk about Reynaert. If anyone had any information on the sly fox's whereabouts, it would be the grumpy grey wolf who had vowed never to rest until either Reynaert was dead or had learned manners, whichever would come first.

Unlike Reynaert, Isegrim wasn't a wanderer. Not anymore. Centuries ago, the wolf had relentlessly pursued the fox, from the Black Forest in Germany to the Pyrenees Mountains between France and Spain, and back to the Lowlands. In more recent centuries, Vidar and Isegrim had both shared the duty of keeping the legend of the Wolf of Waasland alive, tolerating each other on their territory out of mutual respect. It had been years since Isegrim had last crossed the Schelde. The old grey wolf resided in a forest near the Fort of Lilo, or what was left. More a grove than a forest.

Isegrim had found peace with his small territory. After all, Reynaert's wild foxing days were long over too. Easier to keep track of him.

Vidar took another sip of coffee as he leafed through the farmer union's monthly magazine. Nothing on foxes or dead chickens, either.

Such a shame he could only talk to Isegrim as a wolf. The days of yore when animals spoke so long ago, he barely remembered ever being able to do so.

"Vidar," Kira chirped. She sat in the armchair, the back of her bright yellow shirt facing him, speaking to him through her phone's screen. One arm stretched. "My viewers have a question for you."

He hummed, glancing down and pretending to read the magazine.

"No thinking, if you could have dinner with any fictional character—who would it be and why?"

His brothers' names were the first he thought of, fictional to the human mind. He would tell Balder how he avenged his death, then drink mead until one of them (definitely Balder) passed out. Or perhaps he should eat ribs with Thor and give his brother's phenomenal strength back. Ragnarök was long over—he no longer needed the power to slay mighty beasts. Then there was Loki, who, despite the lack of blood connection, was more a brother than the others because he too was half-giant. Besides, the trickster was hilarious when his schemes didn't affect you. Though, he would whack Loki's soul out of his body for cursing him with his son's affliction. Not an easy pick.

"You're thinking," Kira reprimanded him.

"Reynaert," Vidar said quickly.

"And why?"

"Because I'm curious to learn what antics he's up to these days."

"Thank you, Vidar, for your interesting choice." She held the screen closer to her face. "Tell me—who would you like to have dinner with and why?"

Kira stopped filming and fumbled on her phone, quickly putting it down on her lap. Her fingers raced across the screen while Vidar sold a lottery ticket to a student in a suit, which was not an uncommon phenomenon in January, June, and September when the local university conducted exams. Wearing a suit was a tradition as old as the university itself.

"Good luck," Vidar said to the young man.

"Thanks, I'm gonna need it. I didn't study. Might have a better chance of becoming a millionaire."

Vidar forced himself to small talk. "Yeah, don't we all want that?"

The student laughed. Vidar smiled. Seconds later, the transaction ended, and Vidar was €3,75 richer. If the student won anything, he would be back in a few days. The odds were against him, though.

Kira was still staring at her phone, paying little attention to the book on her lap.

"Any reaction from TikTok?" he asked as he strolled up to her.

"Yeah, loads."

"Anything about me?" He cleared his throat.

She giggled. "Vain, are we?"

"It's called curiosity."

"Okay, Boomer," she said teasingly as she flicked her screen. More typing and scrolling. "You have a nickname now. The Book Viking, the next hype after Techno Viking. Oh, and this guy." She chuckled. "What a sad-looking chicken breast. He says that although you're not fictional, he would still wanna go to dinner with you."

Vidar scratched that damned itch at the back of his neck. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Oh." Her face fell. She blinked. "There's a strange comment. Not about you, but look." She showed her screen. "User horse.lover6—the one with the burning logs in the picture. They posted a minute ago."

What does the clawless fox say? Whoo whoo!

"Do you know what it refers to?" she asked.

Vidar shook his head. His stomach sank, fearing for Reynaert, but that wasn't information he wanted to burden Kira with.

"Could be a troll," he said. He returned to the counter—a young woman with a red baseball cap and a stroller stopped in front of the window display.

"Yeah," she frowned then sniffed, lifting her shoulders. "Stupid trolls."

"Makes you wish they actually turned to stone." 

Kira let out a soft chuckle, then gasped. "Oh, Vidar, that reminds me—I'll have to leave in about an hour. And I can only stay until lunch tomorrow." She scrunched her face. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, fine, no problem." He had hoped she would have been there to cover him in the afternoon, but he couldn't say that. Not when she already spent so many unpaid hours here. "What does it have to do with turning trolls to stone?"

"Well... I might go back to school, an art high school. They have a sculpting department, among others. So, you know—sculpting... stones."

"I got it—I'm not as dumb as a troll." He suppressed a grin. After all, he had been right to believe she was a teenager. "So once you get in, you won't hang around here all day?"

"I dunno." Instead of looking at him, she stared back at her phone. "We'll see. The new school year doesn't start until September, and I might not get in."

"You're clever. They'll want you," he assured her.

When the customer came in, Kira turned back to her book, a Japanese-styled comic book popular with tourists. A Dog of Flanders.

"No, Floki, that's not the Gods you're seeing. You're high," Vidar shouted at the TV. He took a hungry bite from his third beef sandwich, the meat extra rare.

His upper leg vibrated. The mash-up of the upbeat melody and the ghastly voice sounded from the side pockets of his cargo trousers.

After licking the grease off his fingers, he pulled out his phone. Mo's name showed up on the screen.

"Yes?" Vidar said.

"It's me," Mo said in a hushed tone. He sounded far away.

"Speak up. I don't hear you very well." 

"I can't talk much—I'm at work," Mo spoke even more quietly, so Vidar stopped him.

He grabbed the remote control and paused Vikings just as Floki rose from his trance. The show was getting more ridiculous as the seasons progressed. "Start again from the beginning."

"Look, I'm just calling to say the police have given up on the case, and we should too. We have no clues, suspects of motives—"

"I disagree," Vidar said. "Reynaert's still missing."

"He's not in Antwerp, you mean."

"Where he made arrangement six weeks ago to meet up with Lange Wapper and never showed up."

"He's a notorious liar."

Vidar scratched the back of his neck. "I don't see why he should lie about this."

"I don't see his connection with Antigone and Viviane." Mo sighed through the phone, the noise crackling in Vidar's ear. "Besides, you spent the last weeks trying to find any trace of him. And where has it led you—nowhere."

"Not nowhere. Today, someone wrote something strange on the internet."

Mo guffawed." Stop the presses! Someone made a weird comment online."

"It was about a fox, in relation to a remark I made about Reynaert. There is a link—there must be, Mo."

"Alright, what do you want us to do?"

"Talk to Isegrim." A deadly silence on the other end gave Vidar time to think of the best next step. Something they could both do. "There's also Lange Wapper."

"Okay." Mo was either distracted or not interested.

"Remember, weeks ago, you promised you'd join me on my next visit. Once you get off work, we could go there. Talk to him, see if we can find anything else. A lead we might have overlooked."

"Tonight?"

"Unless you have the night shift."

"Night shift? No, I don't." Another sigh came through the phone. "Where do you want me to go?"

"Polder of Hoboken. I'll take some candy from the store and a deck of cards."

 "I dunno."

"It's not that far from the hospital," Vidar said. "Pretty sure there's a bus. Or you can borrow someone's car."

Mo let out a hesitant groan.

"I'll bring pizza," he tried.

At first, Mo said nothing, then as the silence stretched for far too long, he blurted, "Sure, I'll be there at nine. Bye, Vidar." And hung up.

Vidar stared at the screen, blinking rapidly. What an odd conversation. 

He shrugged off the thought, blaming Mo's mood on work being a disaster, and reached for the leaflet gathering dust at the bottom of his coffee table. Meat Lovers Delight. His stomach grumbled. His mouth watered.

Better make it a large one.

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