One day, a man came knocking on Wolfrie’s door. With much air of confidence that Solomon would never return, he opened the door. Outside stood a very tall man with a long white beard and hair. He wore a purple tunic and carried a staff on his left hand.
“Are you the one, they call Solomon,” said the man.
“Wolfrie puffed his chest out, “I am.”
He pushed past Wolfrie. “I knew Solomon. I knew him very well.”
“I am him,” said Wolfrie.
“So you say you are,” said the man. “What a mess you’ve made of the fortress. Can’t you stop it?”
“Well, I tried, but its not so bad once you get accustomed to things,” said Wolfrie.
“Is that so,” said the man, just then a walking chair passes by. “Where is, mother?”
“Solomon’s mother?” growled the man,
“Oh, sadly she passed away a while back,” Wolfrie shook his head .
“Where is she buried?”
“On the hill, where she had requested,” said Wolfrie. “Pardon me, but what is your name?”
The man looked at Wolfrie long and hard and stormed out. Curious, Wolfrie followed the man. He went to the hill where they had buried the old woman. The man was rather quick to get there. When Wolfrie reached him, he was kneeling in front of the tomb, crying. The man stopped when he heard Wolfrie behind him.
to be continued…