Act Two: Crossroads (Part 1)

one

"Damn it, of all things, it had to be a map. Why didn't he take something else?"

Schumeer brayed angrily in the snow. The soft, honeycomb-like snow absorbed his voice, making his shouts inaudible. However, this prompted his donkey to bray loudly as well.

"Shh, quiet down, Muse," Schumeer patted its cheek to soothe it. "You must be cold too. But we don't want to attract any horrible predators, right?"

The donkey named Muse obediently quieted down.

Schumeer wanted to quiet down. But he couldn't help clenching his teeth, thinking, "May those despicable thieves, savages, ignorant bullies, tin-clad thugs—may all such people in the world go to hell, their legs broken, their eyes gouged out!" But then he changed his mind. "I shouldn't be like this. This ignorant and savage, disrespectful of gods and rules, is no different from them." Schumeer thought, "I am a noble and wise man. I cannot be like this."

He sighed and pressed his face against Muse's furry body. "You're much kinder than many people," he murmured. "There's always a place for good people in this world. We shouldn't give up hope so easily, should we?"

The donkey twitched its ears. It couldn't say anything.

It was the coldest time of day, and the sun wouldn't rise for a while. The snow had stopped, but the melting snow was far colder than the falling snow. Schumeer, his arms hunched, led the Muse slowly, their steps uneven in the deep water. He missed the warm sea of ​​Venice, the lovely gondolas, the delicious food, and his warm, comfortable home—Schumel couldn't bear the thought any longer and quickly returned to reality. He wondered, what should he do now? Were there wolves or bears in this forest? Were there bandits? Would he freeze to death? Looking at this vast, seemingly endless black forest, so dense it blocked out the sun, where was the way out? Why didn't he stay in Venice and live a peaceful life?

But it was his own choice.

The small oil lamp wouldn't light in the cold wind. Schumeer had no choice but to put it away in its designated place in his pack—all his belongings had their own designated spot, neatly organized. Schumeer then reached into a hidden pocket in a cloth bag on his back and quickly pulled out a finely crafted little dagger. He clumsily used the dagger to cut a branch, accidentally cutting his finger in the process. "Oh!" Schumeer sighed at his clumsiness, "It's too cold, my hands won't obey me. I'm not good at this kind of work anyway!"

He took out his flint and steel, intending to light the branch. A few sparks flew, but disappeared upon contact with the cold air. Schumeer thought for a moment, then took a small bottle from a cloth bag on the donkey's back—it contained turpentine. He cut off a strip of his own woolen cloak, soaked it in the turpentine, and wrapped it around the top of the branch. This time, the flint and steel quickly ignited the ugly, foul-smelling thing.

“See what I told you!” Schumeer patted Muse’s furry donkey back happily. “There will always be a place for good people in this world!”

The dark forest was illuminated, the snow glistening, but it was still dangerous. Schumer thought to himself, he was like bait in the sea. Who knew what lay beneath?

He no longer had the map—the one that had cost him ten deniers back then, and would be worth even more now—it marked all the villages and towns of Transylvania, and Schumeer had secretly marked the location of Noctenias Castle and the way he had come, without anyone noticing. He thought he might need it someday, like now. Unfortunately, it was no longer with him.

“That’s life. No matter how much you prepare, no matter how sure you are, you’ll always be at the mercy of fate.” Schumeer sighed. “Now all we can do is rely on my brain, Muse.”

He vaguely remembered that the nearest village was probably to the south. But which way was south?

Schumeer first looked up. He had some knowledge of astronomy and wanted to find the North Star. But the clouds hadn't cleared, and only the moonlight could be faintly seen; he couldn't see the stars. He then looked at the trees, trying to discern which side had more lush foliage and moss. But it was the dead of winter, and the trunks were bare, almost devoid of green. Schumeer racked his brains, remembering a woodcutter telling him to look at the tree rings; the side with the denser, tighter rings indicated true north.

“This is absurd. Am I supposed to figure out how to cut down a tree all by myself right now?” Schumacher yelled, grabbing his curly hair.

He decided to stop and rest. Schumeer thought that even if a hundred terrible vampires and crusaders were chasing him, he had to stop and rest. Especially in such a critical moment, if a person lost their composure and their mind went blank, everything would be over. So he leaned against the back of the Muse, huddling together with the animal for warmth. The warmth of the bed gave him great comfort, yet it was also very tempting—Shumer was hungry. This hunger made him panic.

“Muse, if we truly cannot find our way, I will have no choice but to eat you.” Schumeer slowly stroked the donkey’s short, thick mane with one hand, while tightly gripping a knife in the other. “I shouldn’t eat you; you’re a donkey. But what else can I do in this situation?” As he spoke, Schumeer felt himself on the verge of tears. He didn’t know if it was because he had spoken such unorthodox words, because he had developed an emotional connection with the animal, or because he was saddened by his own difficult and bitter predicament. The Muse pricked up its ears, turned its head, and looked at him with its round, donkey eyes. Its lips twisted and turned, revealing its ugly donkey teeth from time to time. As if it understood him, it paced impatiently away from him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I am a desperate, lonely man!” Schumeer finally shed tears. “Poor beast! Perhaps you shouldn’t have been bought by me!”

But Schumer soon learned why the Muse was acting this way. He saw some green eyes staring at him from deep within the forest.

"Hey! Get away from me!" Schumeer felt the hairs on his body stand on end. He frantically waved the turpentine-smelling twig, his legs tucked in, and he slung himself over the donkey's back. What were those? Wild boars, jackals, hyenas? Or perhaps just some harmless deer? But he had neither the strength nor the courage to look. He was a weak, powerless scholar! Schumeer thought despairingly, "Am I destined to be eaten by the law of the jungle, never to return to the civilized world?"

Suddenly, the Muse cried out and charged forward. Schumeer was terrified, clinging desperately to the saddle and riding backward. His legs nearly fell to the ground, his shoes gliding rapidly across the snow. He saw his package of brushes and paints being kicked over by the donkey's hooves, the brushes and small boxes scattering haphazardly across the snow. "Oh...oh! You beast! You damned beast!" By the firelight, Schumeer saw a delicate little bowl among the paint, its lid smashed on the ground, a small puddle of beautiful blue spilled in the snow.

"I'll kill you!" he cursed. "Do you know how expensive ultramarine is?! I'm going to kill you and eat your meat!"

The donkey, of course, couldn't understand what he was saying, and just kept braying as it made its way through the forest. Schumeer vaguely saw several pairs of sinister green eyes in the darkness gradually disperse, moving from behind them to the left and right, preparing to flank them. Muse was just a donkey, not a warhorse; it had neither good stamina nor speed. Remembering this, Schumeer shouted again, "Run faster, Muse, come on!" He was so anxious that sweat streamed down his forehead. "If we survive, I'll buy you the best oatmeal so you can get some rest!"

A pack of jackals suddenly appeared, charging straight at the donkey's rump—Schumelt, terrified, lashed out at it with his torch, a foul, burnt smell wafting over, and he felt the beast's saliva dripping onto his hands. "Run faster!" Schchumelt gritted his teeth, personally tearing apart and discarding the entire package of paints and art supplies to lighten the donkey's load. Turpentine dripped everywhere; he tossed the torch, lighting a long path of fire through the forest. "You wretched wild dogs, get out of my way!" he roared hoarsely, "I'll burn you to a crisp!"

Suddenly, Schumacher's view opened up.

They ran out of the forest and rushed into a vast, open grassland. The jackals were unwilling to chase them, only becoming wandering shadows in the woods, gazing regretfully in the dim firelight. The Muse was already exhausted; using its momentum, it rushed down the hillside, panting heavily, barking harshly, and then violently threw Schumeer off its back.

"Ouch, you beast..." Schumeer scrambled to his feet in the snow. He rubbed his back, still shaken, and looked around. He was quickly surprised to find themselves standing on a path with tire tracks. This meant there must be a village nearby.

Schumacher thought, he'd survived. Soon he'd have something hot to eat and a place to sleep. It was just a pity he'd lost everything he owned, and he'd have to live frugally. But all in all, he'd survived.

“Muse, you saved my life.” He touched his side, which was probably bruised from the fall, and took the reins of the donkey. “Come on, let’s go buy the best oats.”