You walk through the woods slowly, heading towards the scent. It draws nearer, the smell of smoke and coal becoming clear. It's a long, painful walk, and you find yourself scratching at your limbs, growling and shaking your head. The beast within is awakening again, as you run your tongue along your sharpened teeth, the taste of your own blood filling your own mouth. Your stomach growls, and the veil of darkness lifts as your supernatural eyes adjust to the darkness. Still, you focus on the burning pain in your chest and now, your stab wound, allowing the pain to consume you, bringing you just to the point where walking becomes impossible, all to stave off the wolf spirit howling to get out.


It's not long, however, before you find your way to the mines. The earth begins to widen, revealing a huge, cavernous maw sticking out of the earth, a huge hole in the ground leading to darkness. The opening of the mineshaft. A light plume of smoke billows out from the mineshaft, as you can smell the scent of fresh meat and blood down below, the smell of wolves prowling and... strangely enough, diesel drifting out with its stink. 


You stare into the darkness, gun in your hands, as you prepare to go in. 


"Going in?"


You turn your head, finding the patchwork fool standing in front of you. His eyes are still badly burned, although from this close, it seems more like its from a caustic chemical or animal venom rather than heat or fire. He grins at you, winking.


"I was planning to," you say. "Going to tell me who you are yet?"


"Maybe. Fancy another riddle?"


"What the fuck is it with you and riddles?"


"I like them," the Fool shrugs. "I used to be more of a pranks guy, but it's no use drawing attention to myself when I manage to get unbound, so riddles will have to do." 


"Unbound? Are you a ghost? A trapped spirit? It would explain some things," you say quietly, not wanting to risk dealing with them.


"Nothing of the sort! I'm far more powerful," the Fool says. "I'd make the threat you're dealing with look like chump change, you know."


"Glad you're not my enemy, then," you say, before pausing. "Are you?"


"Of course not! Just a friendly visitor, curious to see what'll happen. I know a lot about werewolves. I remember watching the first one change. God, the terror he felt."


"You saw the first change?" you ask cautiously.


"I did indeed," the Fool smiles. "I saw when they chained up my dear old Fenrir, for nothing more than being scary. That's what they tend to do, you know," the Fool says, pointing to his eyes. "But, every so often, Fenrir would get just a bit lose, and some brave mortal would need to toss a new chain on him. One brave soul got too close, and Fenrir managed to bite him. That was the first of their kind. Now, they've spread throughout the world, all from that one mortal who felt it was fair to lock up a creature that had done nothing wrong. Cruel bastards the lot of them," the Fool mutters. 


You pause, trying to discern whether this is the fool's insane ramblings, a metaphor, a literal truth or something else entirely. For as long as you stare at the grinning bastard, you can't tell.


"Anything else you wanted to tell me?" you say dismissively, not willing to play the Fool's games. 


"Nothing to tell, but something to ask. Care for another riddle?"


"Fuck's sake," you mutter. "What the hell does this matter?" 


The Fool smiles, before grinning.


"So! A lost shepard met two hunters, the first of who had three loaves and the second who had five loaves. All the loaves were the same size. The three men agreed to share the eight loaves equally between them. After they had eaten, the hunter gave the shepherds eight bronze coins as payment for his meal. How should the two shepherds fairly divide this money?"

Seven pieces to the first hunter, one to the second

"Seven coins to the first hunter, and give the last one to the second," you say.


"Yes, another answer! Gods, I really like you!"


"Is it right?"


The Fool shrugs, smiling at you.


"Who knows? I'll be off, anyway, my eyes are beginning to burn," he says, scratching at his burned up eyes. "Good luck in there. Shame it's not a silver mine, am I right?"


He smiles, grinning, as you snarl. He raises his hands defensively, shrugging. 


"Fine, fine, I'll be on my way. Best of luck in there, Willy."


You don't even try to stop him, your gun feeling unnaturally heavy in your hands as you know the patchwork man's magic is at work here. As soon as the Fool disappears into the trees, your gun lightens in your hands, and you heave to stare off into the mineshaft, smiling.