Marigold quickly turned around.

    In a bush behind him something brayed and wheezed out. He jumped on both of his legs, a wonder that he didn't fall right into the flickering bonfire which he set up with such a big effort.

    "I'm in arms!" and swung shakily with his sword. "And I will fight," he lied. In real, the only thing he didn't start to run away, was the dead chicken lying right by him, which he planned to roast and eat for supper.

    "In peace, in peace," he heard from the bush, following by a hoarsed cough.

    Marigold took a deep breath. He focused his sight on the bush in the foggy dimness and started to scan a hunched limping old man, trying to brush past the forest bush, pulling some animal by a twine. "That must not be truth... In the middle of the night some old men just goes out of the woods. Just like from some cheap ballad," smiled Marigold and shaked his head in disbelief. "Come on, what animal are you pulling behind you?" Curl of sparks flew from the bonfire illuminating close surroundings. In the bright Marigold saw a skinny and weak donkey.

    After the man got out of the bush, he lead his donkey on to tie him next to Marigold's fair harness horse.

    "Come, grandpa, sit by me near the bonfire and have a little talk and nice supper with me." Marigold took a big blanket out of his tuckerbag and threw it on the place by him, where the man was heading.

    "I'd love to sit with you, son," hoarsed the old man and set the blanket down. In the meantime Marigold thrust on his sword the chicken that he stole from some farmer.

    "And grandpa, as a matter of fact, where exactly are you going at this time?"

    "I'm not going anywhere, my darling, I have already came. I've already came a long time ago..."

    Marigold pensively looked at him, but didn't ask anything. He trigged the sword by the stone so the chicken was roasting above the fire. They just sat for a while and listened for the night animal noises from the woods. Some of them made Marigold happy that he was not sitting there alone. As he judged that the chicked should be ready, he tooked the sword out of the fire and started to scan the chicken. He stated with the smile on his face: "Eyes are cheering and the soul..." he cheaply grabbed the chicken, "burns, burns!"

    "Sure, you just took it out of the fire," old man gave a loud laugh.

    Marigold clouded over him and started to swing the sword in the air to cool down the chicken quicker. As he touched the chicken again, he rapturously stated that it was ready. He broke off a piece of the chicken and bit into it.

    "Here you go, grandpa, take some too," as he offered the sword with the meal on it, "To gain some strength for next trips."

    "I'd love to, but I can't, I don't have my teeth."

    "Oh, I didn't think about that..." cut short himself, but his expression lighted again, "we can have a drink together, right?" He dipped in his tuckerbag and took out a bottle of rye home brew.

    They touched their glasses, and Marigold continued to enjoy his supper. He looked at the old man from time to time. The man was looking at his sword, as the remaining pieces of the meat were burning.

    "Do you like it?"

    "You know, son, it's not important how the sword looks."

    "So what is than?"

    "Well, whether you can use it for good things."

    "You bet I can!" said touched Marigold spitting pieces of meat. "I just made a tasty supper with its help, although you probably didn't notice!"

    "I didn't mean it that way. I've already lived for awhile, dear Marigold, and did I learn something? That's it..." The blow of the cough made him curl up. Marigold looked at him with apprehension. Man however just swung his hand to show that he was okey and continued: "If I ever learned something in my life, son, than that it was better to break your sword in the fight than to leave it to rust."

    Marigold was thouhtfully watching the fire. Grandpa got lost with his sight looking at his donkey standing by the horse, at the sword blade fixed to his donkey back with rigging cams full of misterious things.The blade was not shining. It was rusted.

    Marigold lied down, put his hands behind his head, and looked at the stars. "You know, grandpa, what you said, is right. I could make a really good ballad from it. And I can't forget to tell it to Geralt, when I meet him again. He will like this for sure. Do you know, grandpa, Geralt from Rivia? That famous witcher?"

    "I don't, son, I don't," answered old man and wheezed out for the last time.

    "You know, Geralt is my personal friend, so I know a lot about him," Marigold trotted out. "One of his most famous stories is taking down the ban of the Temer princess. King Foltest called a lot of different quacks back in the day, to take down the swear of his daughter Striga. Nothing worked. There was no belief after all those failures that it's even possible. Till all of a sudden one wither came to Wizima. His name was Geralt..." and Marigold kept on talking.
    It was a nice story about friendship, persistence, revenge. About fate. But old man was not listening. He'd already fall asleep a long time ago. Forever.