The little self-proclaimed hero was far too early at the appointed place and the tramp, whose name he had stupidly not asked for, was not yet visible. Bored, he poked with his wooden sword in the moss, carried beetles and spiders to the surface and sang a song.

Apart from becoming a hero, music was also his passion and although Skippy was still very young and inexperienced, a clear goal lay before his eyes. He wanted to be like Torin Hood. There were so many exciting and thrilling stories about the hero and his good deeds. Everyone knew the best shooter in the country and praised his goodness. Yes, this great man stood up for the poor, for the common people, gave them the riches of the nobles and encouraged them with his songs. They loved him, and the redhead was determined to follow in his footsteps.

Today he already had to prove his bravery, because his friends did not come with him. They suddenly had more important things to do, or were they just anxious? Skippy, on the other hand, waited in anticipation, with the thought of the wanted poster rekindling his queasy feeling in his stomach.

"It won't be so bad ..." he encouraged himself and was terrified when some branches cracked behind him. The little one whirled around, his sword in the stroke and wanted to strike, but ...

"Whew, ... it's only you," he breathed a sigh of relief, stretched out to the side to look behind the blond man, but ... there was no one there. "Hey! I kept my part of the deal! Where is Torin Hood!" he protested and his face became almost as red as his hair.

"Now, now, little hero, don't be so impatient. I'm here and I've brought you something too." Torin hid the said gift behind his back, acted quite mysterious and crouched in front of the now pouting Skippy. "Tell me, is the wanted poster really that badly drawn? Take a good look at me. Don't you recognize me?" Their faces were very close to each other and the boy blinked at the blond a little disappointed.

"Mou, ... you ... you're much prettier than on the note," he then admitted quietly and looked at the ground in shame. The man laughed cheerfully and felt honored. He liked the boy and his naive manner. He was just as wild and violent as a small child.

"Look, ... I have a gift for you. "for being so brave in doing your job." He ceremonially pulled out a bow behind him and held it in front of Skippy.

"Oh, for me?" The joy was obvious when the little one grabbed it reverently but looked up expectantly the next moment.

"Yes, of course I have arrows too, but ..." Torin handed the boy four sharpened sticks but raised his finger in warning. "You must promise not to shoot at anything alive, okay?"

"Sure, sure ... give it to me ... I can ..." he concentrated and threaded the end of the dart into the string. "...that's just..." his chubby-cheeked face squeezed together as if he had bitten into something sour. "...quite well...alone..." he finished the sentence. Then he drew the bow, aimed at something brown behind the trees and let off.

"Ouch! Damn it, this can't be true, you bastard! You'll never grow up, Torin!" Brother Tomo rumbled from a distance and pulled the toy out of his robe.

The two heroes, however, had long taken cover behind the bushes, giggling and grinning at each other.