It’s too wide in the shoulders, a little too stumpy in the legs, the hair and the ears and the tail is wrong, his hands are too small, and I’m sur... if his chin wasn’t tucked to his chest and his face hidden by the floor and his right arm, I couldn’t be any more certain.I don’t know this guy.This guy is neither Bane nor Rune.It’s not him, nor him.It’s not them.For some reason, that sends even fatter tears down my cheeks – I almost angrily wipe them away with hands that are suddenly shaking like. I took off the apron, and sat down opposite him. He poured the redwine. "Cheers," he said, and clinked his glass against mine.It tasted very heavy, sweet and strong. We started eating. He wasextravagant in his praise of my cooking, despite my protests. The winewas warming me up, and relaxing me, and I began to joke back at him. Ihad another glass before I had finished my main dish, and so did he.We talked about my life, and he said little about himself. Hiscompliments grew more and more. More

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