“You’ve been made.”
Sometimes, Gaillard drank too much. It wasn’t something he’d ever admit to anyone, and he rarely even acknowledged the fact himself. He was a man who took pride in his brawn over his brain, although that certainly didn’t mean he was a fool. But, on certain nights in the tavern, Gaillard simply drank a little bit too much — and when that happened, his tongue had a tendency to slip away from him.
The stranger came to the village right in the middle of the changing seasons, that dreary time where autumn is over — trees bare and dry leaves littering the ground — but winter hasn’t quite seen it fit to step in and grip the land in its cold grasp yet. It wasn’t unusual for travelers to pass through, and they always took the time to stop by the tavern, so Gaillard paid the old man little heed.
The sound of approaching footsteps made Todd furiously wipe his eyes. It probably did no good, but he still hoped it wouldn’t be too apparent that he’d been crying.
“Hello.” The voice only carried a slight accent, but it was enough for Todd to realize that the man standing behind him wasn’t one of his own.
He whirled around, fear rising into his chest. The German immediately raised his hands in an obvious gesture of peace.
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