He stroked his bushy hair again with a long stroke and cast a mischievous glance at a forest rabbit. Jack Bulton had always considered himself worthwhile and had taught himself this self-confidence from childhood. He had never known his mother and had been raised by a dwarf from the Eagle Mountains, but he assumed that she must have been a distinguished giantess. Because of this convincing self-confidence and somewhat overly optimistic self-image, Jack already felt that he had to become king at the age of eleven, and he wondered every day why people didn't spontaneously kneel before him. That's why he was quickly there at the royal auditions, happy that he could convince people with his robust stature alone, probably because they feared a broken nose or a black eye.

Jack trotted along the winding road at a fairly constant speed, and was pleased to see the oak tops swaying in the wind. He racked his brain over why on earth anyone could be afraid of a bunch of old ladies who were almost as stiff as the trees themselves. As he drove up the bumpy forest path, he was amazed at the perfect silence that hung between the trunks, like a newly risen mist. Not a cricket cooed, no bird whistled, only the wind blew through the leaves now and then with a loud whoosh. Jack got the uneasy feeling that he was being met and that this encounter would be a little darker than he thought.

Just as he was about to turn right at the first bend, four women appeared in the middle of the road. Well, women, they seemed to have walked away from a bizarre costume party before, but the terrifying look in their eyes told Jack that they had something much less enjoyable in mind for him. Even before he had recovered from the shock, very difficult when a bunch of horrible acorn witches smirk at you falsely, one of them pulled him off the cart. Two clawed hands cut into his shoulders and dragged him with astonishing force from his familiar carriage. With a thump, he landed on the forest floor. A centipede fled for its life under a large pine cone. The four witches each grabbed hold of one of his muscular limbs and carried him through the forest without any problems. Every now and then a sharp branch would whip in his face or an oak leaf would swirl on his head. But all this was nothing compared to his pounding heart, which was desperately trying to escape from his chest. Where was his endless self-confidence now? Just as the green foliage gave way to the blinding sun, they dropped him. Fortunately, the soft forest floor cushioned the blow.

"So, so, never heard of the ban on the Leafy Forest? Only forest animals are allowed here, others will have to pay a serious toll to be allowed to pass through.' The voice that spoke creaked like a rusted cellar door and belonged to a disgusting-looking woman who most reminded Jack of a mushroom. She wore a gigantic burlap sack with all kinds of small holes in which small twigs protruded, and on her head, which was much too large in comparison with her body, was a wreath of tree bark and blackberry bush. She sat on a throne of plaited undergrowth and held a fern leaf in her green grasping hand, the rust-brown nails of which curled around the stem. Around her stood seven other witches who smiled at him, screaming. Jack decided he wasn't going to let himself be taken down lightly. He hoisted himself to his feet, patted the blades of grass off his pants and straightened his back. "What do you want me to do, for the right to cross over to the Grey Vulture Castle?"

The witch, who was apparently their leader, grinned viciously. "I have seven beautiful acorn sisters, sir, and they would love to enjoy the riches of the city and, of course, carry on our tree family, or did you think we came out of eggs, perhaps?"

The other women laughed so hard that their peaked hair bobbed up and down with them.

"That's why you can choose one of us to make her your wife, so she might be able to help you with your assignment."

Jack almost burst out laughing. "Me? Marry such a creature? Not in my life!'

He did his utmost to ignore the indignant screams of the witches, even if it cut his escape thoughts to shreds. The head witch squeezed her yellow eyes into slits. Jack could almost smell her anger.

"Then I'll have to do the same to you as I did to these handsome ones," and she pointed to the crown of the thick oak tree above her. From the upper branches dangled upside down the three piglets and an unconscious Alex Tikker. The piglets' heads were already as red as tomatoes and the ropes around Alex's feet cut into his flesh. But the most amazing thing was on the thick branch to them. There sat a gray mare and a camel. They were tied to the branch with their butts so that it looked like they were chatting pleasantly. The horse's restrained neighing, however, betrayed the bitter fear. Jack swallowed. A horse and a camel weren't supposed to sit on a tree branch like two toy stuffed animals. Who knows, maybe they were very afraid of heights. He also had absolutely no desire to accompany his opponents up there. But what if he picked out an acorn witch and dumped her in some ditch just outside the woods? He was then out of the forest and freed from that monstrosity. The thought of one of these witches drooling on the gold leaf of his two-wheeled cart made him nauseous, but he had to.

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"All right," he finally said, "I'll choose her." He pointed to the smallest of the seven witches, and the young woman immediately began to coo with joy. She jumped at him and threw her bony arms around his neck in love. The rotting smell of dung and mold wafted into his nostrils as he tried to push her away. The head witch nodded approvingly.

"You are betrothed, sir, to our Erva, and we hold you to this. We will be there at the ceremony after the first assignment. Don't look so strange, there are plenty of privet trees in the city that can tell us the latest news. During that party, you will personally announce your engagement or we will make you acorn porridge after all!'

Jack nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. How would he solve that? Without thinking about it, he dragged the ugly Erva to his cart, threw her roughly past him and grabbed the reins. He galloped out of the Leafy Forest at breakneck speed while behind him an overjoyed acorn witch screamed with pleasure.

In his search for the chief witch, Arian had arrived at a strange village. There were about twenty houses together with one church around a square. In the middle of the village square stood a little boy in a red cap, waving his arms violently. "Wolf!" he cried anxiously.

Arian quickly turned around and clenched his fists to defeat the wolf, but there was nothing.

"Wolf!!" the boy shouted again, this time louder.

"Young man, I don't see a wolf in this village," Arian replied in a polite voice and an unfamiliar accent. He took a step closer and gently placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Don't mind him," said an old lady who brushed the cobblestones in front of her house. Arian hadn't noticed her before. She brushed in front of a brown house and wore almost identically the same color brown dress. "He always says that. There's never been a wolf here."

However, Arian did not trust the situation. Why would this little boy cry out wolf so frightened when there was not a wolf in sight? Arian pricked up his ears. As Arieman, he heard better than any other man. He heard the rustling of the trees, the chirping of the birds, the paws of thousands of insects on the sandy ground and the tree branches, the sound of the bristles on the cobblestones, the short breathing of the boy and even a high-pitched laughter somewhere far away. Arian closed his eyes and yes, there it was, far away he heard a soft growl. There were wolves! He clenched his fists and ran in the direction of the sound. He had to cross three streams and zigzag between trees and bushes for a long time before he reached the pack of wolves hidden in the bushes. Fortunately it was not a large pack and therefore no match for an arieman. It was therefore not a long fight. After a few minutes, all the wolves were lying on the ground with their pink tongues sticking out of their mouths. Saliva dripped from their sharp teeth. Arian straightened his back and cracked his fingers. Then he walked back to the village with the boy in the square. The old woman, meanwhile, was hanging her laundry on a wire attached from the lamppost to her house. Two other women were patting a carpet and another man was sitting on the bench reading the newspaper. Arian had to search for a while before he saw the boy sitting on the sill of one of the houses.

"You don't have to worry anymore, they've all been defeated and won't be able to get to your village any time soon."

"Thank you, but there are certainly other wolves," said the boy.

"It could be," Arian replied as he fished a gray tuft of wolf hair from his pants. 'But unfortunately I don't have time for that right now. Do you know anything about the jerk witches?'.

"Sure," the boy nodded. "They live in the rotting heart of the forest, but be prepared. They are not to be trifled with. A wolf is nothing against it."

Arian saw the restlessness in the boy's eyes. He thanked him and went on his way again. He stopped at the last house, which turned out to be a small village café, quickly drank a few mugs of chestnut beer and left for the witches.