Surprisingly, the sword wasn’t half as heavy as Max thought it would be. Maybe some magic property? At this point, to put everything on magic’s account wasn’t any more absurd.

Max took the sword, trembling.

He was about to fight a Troll.

How the hell did the situation come to this?

Three days ago he would’ve peed his pants with the THOUGHT of CONSIDERING the existence of an hideous troll. Now here was him, sword in hands, ready (in theory) to face one.

And the most surprising part was: he wasn’t AS scared as he THOUGH he was supposed toss be.

Of course, he wasn’t FEARLESS. In fact, fear was undoubtely the most abundant feeling running inside his body at that moment.

He WAS scared.

He was scared for his life. He was plainly aware he could DIE. And the thought wasn’t conforting AT ALL.

But, more than fearing for his life, he feared for Meryl’s life. They were his friend, and he couldn’t let them die.

No, he WOULDN’T let them die.

And THAT thought gave him strength to hold the sword steady, against all his fears, and to proceed towards the wall of fog ahead of him.

Mr. Rabbit stood, worried, as he saw Max slowly disappearing in the mist.

A brutal silence hung in the air.

“Good luck, my boy.”

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