Nijmegen, June 5, 1788

Ramon ran through the woods, in pursuit of the vagabond. He knew the forest like the back of his hand, an advantage he had over the man who held his betrothed. Though the forest was dense and did not receive a lot of human visitors, the male knew where his Suzanne was likely to be. In the northeastern part of the woods, slopes and dense foliage formed a natural barrier. It was a spot that was easily defensible and hard to spot. The entrance was a gate formed by a pair of trees, their branches interwoven to form a verdant arch. As Ramon approached, he caught a glimpse of Suzanne´s clothing. In his excitement, he nearly forgot himself and it wasn´t until he actually entered the small clearing, that he remembered there was a third person present. He stood before Ramon, his ragged clothes consisting of various shades of brown save for the white buttoned shirt he wore underneath. It stood out among his clothing as much as his grin. His eyes fixed on the newcomer, he tipped his hat, taunting the man. ‘Let her go, scum.’ Ramon’s icy tone only caused the vagrant’s grin to grow wider.

‘Let her go? Dear boy, she’s free to go whenever she wants…’ He motioned at the girl by his side. Ramon noticed the odd look in her eye. Though she was trying to suppress her emotions, he could see the terror. Her fists were clenched tightly, as her knuckles whitened. ‘What’s this? Why… It’s as if she would rather stay…’ There was a sickening sweetness to the man’s tone. Ramon knew he was being baited. Ramon kept his eyes fixed on his nemesis, his fingers slowly wrapping around the hilt of his dagger. As long as he wasn’t threatening Suzanne, he stood a chance. Ramon eyed his opponent, trying to gauge the strength of his opponent. The young fiancé decided the vagrant was likely used to fighting dirty and presumed Ramon to be an easy target when goaded. His sole comfort was the years of training he had received from his father. Whatever tricks the vagrant had up his sleeve, Ramon knew them all.

The vagrant’s expression changed. His smile faded. Beside him, Suzanne shivered. Though she kept quiet, Ramon could see her eyes cry out. It was all that he could take. Whatever the man had done to scare her so, he was going to pay. Ramon drew his blade and charged at him. His attack was met with the vagrant’s own, as his bowler hat was lifted off his head by the sudden movement. The two men crashed into each other, hands seeking wrists as they locked in a grappling match. The vagabond kicked at Ramon’s legs, laughing as if he were toying with the youth. Losing all composure, Ramon violently tried to free his weapon as they struggled. His enemy held him at bay with a vice-like grip, until the youth grew so desperate as to lunge at the man’s own wrist, head-first. His teeth pressed against the man’s flesh and the sharp stench of filth and alcohol penetrated his nostrils. As he bit down, Ramon could hear laughter. He glanced up to look at the source.

‘You have the right idea, boy, but it’s too early for that…’ The next moments were a blur. Suzanne screamed out as the drifter raised Ramon with surprising ease. The latter saw his chance, however, and with all the ferocity he could muster, buried his dagger’s blade deep in between his enemy’s ribs. Thinking victory his, Ramon’s eyes met the vagrant’s again, one last time, a hint of understanding dawning in the youth’s mind, as he first felt the hot breath on his neck, followed by the intense pain of teeth sinking into his flesh, as he lost consciousness.