Остерегайтесь льва

[Tytus Rost]

As they pulled up to the farm, Tytus's eyes narrowed as he noticed something strange in the snow-covered yard. Boot prints, leading away from the house towards the tree line.

"Did you leave the farm last night?" Berrick asked, his voice uncharacteristically low and serious.

Tytus shook his head, his expression still. "No," he replied.

Tytus's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he stared out at the footprints in the snow, his mind racing with possibilities. Something wasn't right, and he had a feeling that they were about to find out just how wrong things could get.

The cold grip of the winter air hung heavy around Tytus as he stepped out of his truck, his boots crunching softly in the snow as he surveyed the eerie scene before him. The early morning light cast long shadows across the landscape, accentuating the eerie stillness of the winter morning. He glanced at Berrick, who stood beside him, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion.

"Who could have been here?" Berrick muttered, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement.

Tytus shook his head, his jaw set in a firm line. "I do not know, but we're going to find out," he replied, his voice low and authoritative.

With a shared nod, the two men set off towards the treeline, their footsteps leaving deep impressions in the snow. As they approached, Tytus's senses went on high alert, his muscles tensing as he prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Suddenly, Berrick stopped short, his hand shooting out to grab Tytus's arm. "Look," he whispered, pointing towards the ground.

Tytus followed his gaze and felt a surge of unease as he saw a set of footprints leading deeper into the forest. They were fresh, their edges crisp and defined against the pristine snow. Without a word, Tytus began to follow the tracks, his senses sharp as he listened for any signs of movement.

The forest was silent, the only sound the soft crunch of their boots against the snow. With each step, Tytus's unease grew, his instincts warning him of danger lurking just beyond the trees.

After what felt like hours, they emerged into a small clearing, the footprints disappearing into the underbrush. Tytus scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he searched for any sign of their mysterious visitor.

Suddenly, they heard it—a rustling in the underbrush, followed by the crunch of snow underfoot. Tytus's hand went instinctively to the hilt of the hunting knife strapped to his belt, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

"Who is there?" Tytus called out, his voice echoing through the stillness of the forest.

There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the sound of their own breathing. Then, emerging from the shadows, came a figure—a man, tall and lean, with wild hair and a ragged beard. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, his eyes wide with fear.

"I-I'm sorry," the man stammered, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just looking for shelter from the cold."

Tytus's grip on his knife loosened slightly as he studied the man before him. There was something about him—a desperation in his eyes, a vulnerability that seemed out of place in the harshness of the wilderness.

"What is your name?" Tytus asked, his voice low and steady.

The man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Jack," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tytus exchanged a glance with Berrick before nodding slowly. "Jack," he repeated, his tone measured. "What were you doing on my property?"

Jack hesitated, his eyes darting nervously between Tytus and Berrick. "I-I was just passing through," he stammered. "I didn't mean no harm, I swear."

Tytus studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Fine," he said tersely. "But I expect you to be gone by morning. And if I ever catch you on my land again..."

He let the threat hang in the air, his eyes narrowing as he fixed Jack with a steely gaze. Jack nodded hastily, his expression one of relief.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll leave right away, I promise."

With that, Jack turned and disappeared into the darkness of the forest, leaving Tytus and Berrick standing alone in the cold silence.

For a moment, Tytus stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. But then, with a shake of his head, he turned to Berrick, his expression grim.

"Question for you, big fella. If Jacky Appleseed there was tryin' to get out of the cold ... how come he didn't have any camping gear on him?"

"We need to get back to the farm," he said, his voice steady despite the unease churning in his stomach. "Whatever that was, it's not safe to linger out here."

Berrick nodded, his eyes wide with fear as he followed Tytus back through the forest. The journey back to the farm was tense, the two men walking in silence as they kept a wary eye on their surroundings.

When they finally reached the safety of the farmhouse, Tytus wasted no time in securing the doors and windows, his mind buzzing with questions and uncertainty. Whatever was happening, he knew one thing for certain: they were not out of danger yet.

As he settled in for the night, Tytus couldn't shake the feeling of unease that hung over him like a dark cloud. He knew that whatever lay ahead, he would face it head-on, with courage and determination.

But deep down, he couldn't help but wonder if they were truly prepared for the darkness that was closing in around them.

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------

Tytus Rost stood amidst the rustic backdrop of his farm, the scent of freshly cut hay mingling with the crisp autumn air. His towering figure cast a long shadow in the fading light of the day, a testament to the imposing presence he exuded. With arms crossed over his massive chest, he surveyed his surroundings with a steely gaze, his mind already focused on the challenge that lay ahead.

"Jack Ferriman," Tytus began, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through the quiet countryside. "A man who fancies himself a fighter, battling against the men of the wrestling world in search of glory. But let me make one thing clear, Ferriman: this is not game. This is not fantasy. This is reality, and in reality, there are consequences for your actions."

Tytus's jaw clenched as he spoke, his words carrying a weight that matched the intensity of his gaze. He knew that Ferriman was a formidable opponent, a man with a reputation for ruthlessness both inside and outside the ring. But Tytus was not one to back down from a challenge, especially when his honor was on the line.

"You may think you are clever, Ferriman," Tytus continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "You may think you can outsmart me with your tricks and mind games. But let me remind you of something: I am not like the others. I am not so easily swayed by your empty boasts and false bravado. I am the Russian Lion, and I will not be tamed."

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of Tytus's lips as he spoke, a glimmer of confidence shining through the mask of determination that he wore. He knew that Ferriman would try to get inside his head, to rattle him with his underhanded tactics and mind games. But Tytus was not afraid. He had faced far worse in his time, and he had emerged victorious every time.

"As for our match," Tytus continued, his tone growing more serious with each passing moment. "I have no doubt that you will bring everything you have to the ring. You will fight with all your might, but let me make one thing clear: I will not be defeated. I will not be deterred. I will stand my ground, and I will emerge victorious."

Tytus's voice rang out with a fierce determination, the fire of his conviction burning bright in his eyes. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he was ready to face it head-on. He would not back down, not now, not ever.

"So prepare yourself, Ferriman," Tytus growled, his words a warning to his opponent. "Bring your men, see how they fair against Cyrus, against Tytus - because when we step into that ring, there will be no mercy. There will be no quarter given. There will only be the clash of this titan against the gentle mewing of a kitten; in the end, there will be only one victor: me."

With a final nod of resolve, Tytus turned and strode away, his footsteps echoing through the quiet countryside. He had made his intentions clear, and laid bare his determination for all to see. Now, all that was left was to face his opponent and emerge victorious.