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Description
Excerpt from Chapter 2:

'This is not a tale because it happened when I was young. He had come in the night, this stranger. He was young and handsome. Oh, so handsome! With hair long and red as blood and eyes as black as the midnight sky. His skin was white, pale and smooth. He wore a crown of scars around his neck. This unknown youth came to a village just like this one in a night very much like this one too and asked for wine and a warm meal. They told him the drought had killed their crops. All was withered and dead. The soil was hard and cracked and no rain poured on their fields. Their wells were dry and the river as well. Three days he spent in this village. Three days he sung beautiful songs in an unknown tongue. And as he sung them the withered crops came to life, the cows and goats gave twice as much milk, the hens twice as many eggs, the sick came to health, the lame walked again, the mute talked and the blind swore they could see. The villagers loved him and thanked him. The maidens braided flowers in his hair as he sung. The villagers asked him to stay but this stranger refused saying ‘ I’ll be here’. After he left, days later the women’s bellies begun to swell up. All the maidens’ bellies as well. And even those of the old crones and the barren ones. The cows’ and the bitches’ and every other animal also. And in a night like this one all the women and the female animals gave birth. But as they did they all became mad. Some ate their children. Others jumped in wells. And all the babes had red hair as blood and black eyes as the night. The men of the village had to kill their own wives, mothers, sisters and daughters along with the babes.’

‘ A busy lad’ laughed a man near her.

‘You’re talking nonsense, woman’ said another with bushy mustache.

‘Are you telling us he managed to fuck all the wenches and crones in 3 days?’ asked the harlot who had shown her tits on the street.

‘No. He just sang. He never left the inn’.

‘Imagine if you could get with child only by listening to a song, the harlot laughed. Every singer would be hanged and no maid would ever hear any songs again about brave knights and handsome princes’.

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The Wanderer is a harvest demon, a creature of myth from the novel I am currently writing. He is often the subject of tales and songs. Some people believe he had been a human who was decapitated for falling in love with the wrong girl. Others say that a grieving witch had sewn the head of her lover on another body.

*His eyes are fully black, but they shine red while using his powers.

Description
Excerpt from Chapter 2:

'This is not a tale because it happened when I was young. He had come in the night, this stranger. He was young and handsome. Oh, so handsome! With hair long and red as blood and eyes as black as the midnight sky. His skin was white, pale and smooth. He wore a crown of scars around his neck. This unknown youth came to a village just like this one in a night very much like this one too and asked for wine and a warm meal. They told him the drought had killed their crops. All was withered and dead. The soil was hard and cracked and no rain poured on their fields. Their wells were dry and the river as well. Three days he spent in this village. Three days he sung beautiful songs in an unknown tongue. And as he sung them the withered crops came to life, the cows and goats gave twice as much milk, the hens twice as many eggs, the sick came to health, the lame walked again, the mute talked and the blind swore they could see. The villagers loved him and thanked him. The maidens braided flowers in his hair as he sung. The villagers asked him to stay but this stranger refused saying ‘ I’ll be here’. After he left, days later the women’s bellies begun to swell up. All the maidens’ bellies as well. And even those of the old crones and the barren ones. The cows’ and the bitches’ and every other animal also. And in a night like this one all the women and the female animals gave birth. But as they did they all became mad. Some ate their children. Others jumped in wells. And all the babes had red hair as blood and black eyes as the night. The men of the village had to kill their own wives, mothers, sisters and daughters along with the babes.’

‘ A busy lad’ laughed a man near her.

‘You’re talking nonsense, woman’ said another with bushy mustache.

‘Are you telling us he managed to fuck all the wenches and crones in 3 days?’ asked the harlot who had shown her tits on the street.

‘No. He just sang. He never left the inn’.

‘Imagine if you could get with child only by listening to a song, the harlot laughed. Every singer would be hanged and no maid would ever hear any songs again about brave knights and handsome princes’.

-----------------------
The Wanderer is a harvest demon, a creature of myth from the novel I am currently writing. He is often the subject of tales and songs. Some people believe he had been a human who was decapitated for falling in love with the wrong girl. Others say that a grieving witch had sewn the head of her lover on another body.

*His eyes are fully black, but they shine red while using his powers.