The castle of Gydwanyth, the Horned King, was a mere ten miles from the village of Hylop. A thick canopy of old firs, and windy path through the hills, made the journey seem much longer. It was cold and Ollie was near-shivering. And to make matters worse the young man was being made to haul an enormous boulder.
"Pick up the pace! Got to push it if you want more muscle! Ought to lose the cloak if you really want to make the most of this. Cold won't bother you if ya don't let it!" A voice cackled. It came from his sword.
"I'm not going to leave it you know. Mother knitted it." Kaaruthux could be so irritating. For spite, Ollie snuggled into his colorful serape. "Now you're sure Gydwanyth's castle is up here? I don't mind seeing the countryside, really, but isn't there some tournament atop a tower down south you'd rather me be wrestling in? I don't see why you want to see this place so badly."
"Its a journey transformation, and I'm guide. Gydwanyth was a conqueror! A tamer of wild-places! Iron fisted! Iron willed!"
"You know I've never heard of him. He sounds lovely."
Soon the smoke of a campfire came into view. Its glow was a welcomed sight in the gloom. The camp was occupied by a lone woman, a peasant by the look of it. "Hello?!" the boy called out. "I'm a bit lost. I don't suppose you know these woods?" Really he just wanted an excuse to stop and rest.