"Maybe they're not all so bad," Johan says grudgingly, over a foaming stein. "They work hard. And that one that keeps hanging around, Rip."
"Seems very taken with you," Gregor says.
"It's just like when we go through the small villages, sometimes," Johan says, staring into the taproom hearth. "You know, the young boys, they run along by the wagon and shout, all excited to see soldiers. Rip is—" he takes a long swallow of beer. "Rip is a good lad," he finishes, almost defiantly.
Gregor is silent for a minute.
"Johan," he says eventually, "you remember when it was the Red Wolf Company? And we had that one fellow, you know, the one who was funny about werewolves?"
"What are you talking about," Johan grunts irritably. "The Red fucking Wolf — you mean Sebastian? It wasn't werewolves, he was sworn to slay vampires. Said they'd killed his father. Though between you and me, I think his father just went out to buy tobacco one day and found another home to go home to, if you take my meaning—"
"No, no. The fellow who was funny about werewolves," Gregor says, earnestly pulling exaggerated faces. "Wilson, that was it, Wilson."
"Oh, Wilson. I remember Wilson, yes. No, he wasn't funny about them at all. Didn't he want to fuck them?"
"Yes! He was funny about wanting a great big hairy monster to ravage him," Gregor says meaningfully.
Johan grunts. "What happened to him, anyway," he says. "Did he find one, or what?"
"Arrow to the throat," Gregor says, and they both drink and look at the fire. "Anyway, Johan. Rip's, you know, fully grown, for a kobold?"
"He's half my size," Johan says.
"Not all that big, even for one of them," Gregor agrees. "You know, if Wilson had ever found a werewolf, one of those would be, what, twice his size maybe?"
Johan grunts and shrugs.
"Rip's very attached to you—"
"I have a fatherly air to look up to," Johan says, scowling.
"Johan, you woodentop," Gregor says, "I am telling you that Rip is like Wilson, all right? Ungeheuerficker. With the wanting a big, hairy—"
"Rip?" Johan says, wide-eyed, nearly spilling his beer.
"Yes!"
The man considers the drink in his hand, and takes a healthy gulp. "I can't fathom it," he says solemnly. "Why, a werewolf is twice as big as me!—"
"Yes," Gregor says, resignedly. "Never mind."
"What a brave little lad," Johan says shaking his head.
"I also think Rip's not a lad," Gregor mutters into the foam on his stein.
