The fox was dead.

It lay in the snow. Red fur. White ground. A stillness.

I stood there. I am a knight. I wear iron. I carry a sword. My name is Sir Edward. It does not matter. Names fade. Iron remains.

The beast was small. It had died of cold. Or hunger. Or the simple weight of being alive. Its eyes were closed. One eye was cracked. A black star.

I looked at it. It looked back. No. It did not look back. It was gone.

I was far from home. The road was long. The air was thin. I was alone.

My wife, Eleanor, was back at the castle. She waited. She always waited. I felt her. A pull in my chest. A hook. I loved her. Not with words. With blood. With the need to breathe. If she were not there, I would stop. I would freeze. Like the fox.

I knelt. The snow was soft. It gave way under my knees. I touched the fox. Its fur was dry. Cold.

I did not kill it. I did not save it. I just watched.

A shadow moved.

I turned.

A man stood in the trees. He was old. His face was like bark. He held a stick. He did not hold a sword. He was a witness. He saw me. He saw the fox. He said nothing.

I stood up. I wiped the snow from my knees.

We walked.

The road wound up the hill. The wind bit. It cut through my mail. I felt the cold in my bones.

The old man walked slowly. I had to slow my pace. I am used to speed. To charge. To strike. Walking is hard. It requires patience. I have little patience.

"Why do you follow me?" I asked.

My voice sounded strange. Rough. Dry.

He did not answer. He looked at the trees. The branches were bare. They reached for the sky. Like fingers.

I kept walking.

The snow fell. It covered the tracks. It covered the dead. It covered us.

We came to a clearing. There was a stone. A large, flat stone. It was grey. It was smooth.

The old man stopped. He pointed at the stone.

I looked.

There was a mark on the stone. A scratch. Deep. Fresh.

It looked like a claw.

I frowned. I did not understand.

The old man sat down. He leaned on his stick. He closed his eyes.

I stood over him. I felt the tension in my shoulders. My hand went to my sword.

"Are you an enemy?" I asked.

He shook his head. Slowly.

"No," he said.

His voice was low. Like the wind in the grass.

"Then why are you here?"

"To watch."

"Watch what?"

"Your choice."

I laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It startled the birds in the trees.

"I have made my choices," I said. "I fight for my King. I defend my land. I return to my wife."

The old man opened his eyes. They were grey. Like the stone.

"Is that a choice?" he asked.

I did not answer.

We sat. The snow piled on our shoulders. The cold was deep. It was inside us.

I thought of Eleanor. I thought of her face. The way she held my hand. The warmth of her skin. I wanted to go home. I wanted to feel her touch. I wanted to forget this place.

But the fox was in my mind. The dead red shape. The black star in its eye.

It was a mirror.

If I died here, no one would know. I would be like the fox. Just fur. Just bone. Just dust.

But I was not the fox. I was iron. I was will.

I stood up.

"The King sends me to the north," I said. "There are raiders. There is violence. I must go."

The old man nodded.

"You will fight," he said.

"Yes."

"You will kill."

"Yes."

"And then?"

"Then I will live."

He smiled. It was a sad smile.

"Will you?"

I did not know.

We walked on.

The road descended. It led to a valley. The valley was dark. Shadows hung in the air.

I heard a sound.

A snarl.

I stopped.

The old man did not move.

I drew my sword. The steel sang. A clear, cold note.

In the shadows, a shape moved.

A wolf.

It was large. Its teeth were bared. Its eyes were yellow. It crouched. Ready to spring.

I stepped forward.

The wolf lunged.

I swung.

The blade met fur. It met bone. The wolf shrieked. It rolled in the snow. I kicked it. I struck it again.

It was fast. It was strong. It bit my arm. The pain was hot. Sharp.

I gasped. I felt the blood warm my sleeve.

The wolf bit me again.

I roared. I put my weight into the blow. My sword cut deep. The wolf howled. It let go. It ran.

It disappeared into the dark.

I stood there. Breathing hard. My arm throbbed. The blood dripped. Red drops on the white snow.

I looked at the old man.

He was watching. His face was blank.

"I am fine," I said.

He said nothing.

I wrapped my arm. I continued.

The road was easier now. The sun was out. It was weak. But it was there.

We reached a bridge. It was old. Wood and stone. It crossed a river. The water was black. It moved fast.

I stopped on the bridge.

The old man stopped.

He looked at me.

"Now," he said.

"Now?"

"Choose."

I looked at the river. I looked at the far side. The path continued. It led to the north. To the war.

I looked back.

The path behind me led to the castle. To Eleanor.

I felt the hook in my chest. It pulled tight.

I wanted to turn. I wanted to go home. I wanted to sit by the fire. I wanted to touch her face.

But I was a knight. I had a duty. I had a vow.

The fox came to me.

The dead fox. The black star.

It whispered.

*Die alone. Or die for others.*

I closed my eyes.

I thought of the wolf. The violence. The pain.

I thought of the King. The power. The gold.

I thought of Eleanor.

She was my anchor. She was my reason.

But was she enough?

Was love enough to stop a sword?

I opened my eyes.

"I will go," I said.

The old man nodded.

"Good."

"Why?"

"Because you are afraid."

I looked at him. I felt anger.

"I am not afraid."

"You are," he said. "You are afraid of the void. You are afraid of being no one. So you choose the war. You choose the pain. It is easier than the silence."

I said nothing.

I walked across the bridge.

The old man stayed.

I looked back.

He was sitting on the stone. He was looking at the river.

I felt a pang. A loss.

I turned away.

I walked on.

The road was long. The air was cold.

I rode my horse. It was a black stallion. It was strong. It carried me north.

The trees passed. The fields passed.

I saw the raiders.

They were in the village. They burned the houses. They killed the men. They took the women.

I saw them.

I did not hesitate.

I charged.

My sword flashed.

The first raider fell.

The second fell.

The third.

I was a machine. I was iron. I was fire.

I fought. I bled. I killed.

The village was quiet.

The smoke rose.

I stood in the center. My sword was red. My armor was dented.

I was alive.

I had won.

I looked at the bodies.

They were like the fox.

Just meat. Just bone.

I felt nothing.

I rode away.

I went home.

The castle was there. The walls were high. The gates were open.

I rode in.

Eleanor was waiting.

She ran to me.

She threw her arms around my neck.

I held her. I felt her heart beat. It was fast. It was warm.

I cried.

I did not know why.

I held her tight.

I felt the scar on my arm. It itched.

I looked at her face.

She was beautiful. She was safe.

I had saved her.

Or had I?

I looked at the sky.

It was blue.

It was empty.

I thought of the old man.

I thought of the fox.

I thought of the stone.

I had chosen.

I had sacrificed my peace. I had sacrificed my innocence. I had sacrificed my soul.

I had done it for her.

I had done it for my duty.

But was it worth it?

I looked at Eleanor.

She smiled.

She did not know.

She could not know.

She was safe.

I was empty.

I went inside.

I sat by the fire.

The wood crackled.

I watched the flames.

They danced.

They burned.

They turned to ash.

I closed my eyes.

I saw the fox.

It was alive.

It ran in the snow.

It was free.

I opened my eyes.

The room was dark.

I was alone.

The fire died.

I sat in the dark.

I waited.

For what?

I did not know.

I was a knight.

I was iron.

I was alone.

The snow fell outside.

It covered the world.

It covered the dead.

It covered me.

I slept.

I dreamed of the fox.

It looked at me.

It did not speak.

It just looked.

And then it was gone.