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In a forest of mixed growth somewhere on the eastern spurs of the Carpathians, a narrow strip of precipitous woodland that lay on its outskirt was not remarkable for the game it harbored or the shooting it afforded, but it was the most jealously guarded of all it's owner's territorial possessions. A famous lawsuit, in the days of his grandfather, had wrested it from the illegal possession of a neighboring family of petty landowners; the dispossessed party had never acquiesced in the judgment of the courts, and a long series of poaching affrays and similar scandals had embittered the relationships between the families for three generations.
What are you talking about!? This is my land and I will kill you first!
I will kill you Georg! This is my land and you are poaching on my land! I hate you!
So you're not killed, as you ought to be, but you're caught, anyway, caught fast. Ho, what a jest, Ulrich von Gradwitz snared in his stolen forest. There's real justice for you!
I'm caught in my own forest land, When my men come to release us, you will wish, perhaps, that you were in better plight than caught poaching on a neighbor's land, shame on you.
No, I can scarcely see anything; there is so much blood caked round my eyes, and in any case I don't drink wine with any enemy.
Could you reach this flask if I threw it over to you? There is good wine in it, and one may as well be as comfortable as one can. Let us drink, even if tonight one of us dies.
Ulrich von Gradwitz, I will be your friend.
Neighbor, lying here tonight, thinking, I've come to think we've been rather fools; there are better things in life than getting the better of a boundary dispute. If you will help me to bury the old quarrel, I ... I will ask you to be my friend.
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