During my childhood, I could not remember a time where the fire in the forge was not illuminating the room with its orange glow, the sounds of metal b...ing struck on an anvil, the smell of the various things my father used to make his various projects. Now it was simply dead of life, needing the touch of a smith to bring it back - and very soon it would.I soon found myself in the exact spot where my father was killed by that damned wolf and marveled that there was no trace of blood. Ruben must. Straining to hear what was going on became an exercise in futility as the sound of at least one diesel engine came from the front of the grand house. Although it wasn’t visible from where we were sitting, a bus must have pulled up outside. Next, one by one we were taken to get our belongings and eventually, after putting something like gaffer tape over our mouths and black hoods over our heads, shuffled onto a large bus out front. I had attempted to speak to my captor while gathering my stuff. More

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