Breathes. Micol Fusca

did when he was a child. An expression that expressed both reproach and amusement.

      «I am not trained to collect benevolence. » He waited until he was beside him.

      The Reader smiled. He knew the origin of his cousin's unhappiness: he was not happy to escort him outside the confines of the capital. Nephelim would have preferred keeping him confined under a glass bell.

      He supported his curious gaze. «A witch. So, say the wives of the Central Counties. »

      «Do you already have your own thought? »

      «Reports from the priests in the area confirm the hypothesis. Many peasants disappear into thin air without a trace. Others show a violent personality unfamiliar to their temper. »

      Nephelim had plucked his eyebrows, waiting.

      «A Maldana. She's not the Witch the Henders are looking for. »

      The Paladin nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself.

      They found the witch in a wooden cottage, which was once the Lord of the Shire's hunting lodge, in the middle of the Whisper Wood. They tied their horses to a tree not too far away: they had become bizarre as soon as they reached the thick of the forest.

      Dalain had decided to wait until the morning to enter the mist that enveloped the place.

      Nephelim carefully observed the bare, thin trees. Hunched trees: the tree-trunk was growing curved, forming a wave that was rising from the ground straight up to the milky sky. He could feel the magic even though he was not skilled in it.

      He waited for them, still, in front of the ruined fence. A good-looking woman.

      The Reader stopped walking, holding on to the decorated stick: the crystal on the top had turned coloured. He closed his eyes, letting the essence of her filling him.

      The dark aura that overwhelmed him became as cloudy as tar. He felt pain, pleasure, greed. She had given herself to the Nameless with full awareness: she was God's vehicle in spreading hate and despair.

      Her appearance began to change soon she would reveal herself for her true nature.

      «She is yours, Paladin. »

      Nephelim drew his sword without delay, letting the blade be brought to life by the same light as the rod. The Reader had delivered his sentence. His task was to carry it out.

      The horses had successfully freed themselves: they had succumbed to fear.

      Nephelim secured the belt to Dalain's chest, sideways, placing the sword behind him.

      When he lowered himself in the clear intent of putting it on his back, the Reader laughed. «We are too old for this. »

      «I can walk for days; I've marched into worse situations. Get on. »

      Dalain sighed, knowing he had no choice. He grabbed on, letting Nephelim lifting him. After a few miles he got used to the rhythm of the Paladin's walk: regular, as he remembered.

      «Have you decided what gift to buy for your wife? There are only a few more moons to her birth anniversary. »

      Nephelim turned in an impatient movement. «No. I know you'll think about it. »

      «You could pay more attention to her. »

      «Veridiana would disdain an affectionate husband, let us spend the time together to respect conjugal vows. She dislikes me. »

      The Reader did not take the provocation. «She wishes a child. »

      «I have no intention of procreating an unhappy one. » He gave him a hard look, turning his head towards him. «The damn race laws are driving our people to collapse. The obligation to mix blood with family members only makes our children paler and sicker. »

      «I am not unhappy. »

      Nephelim silently struck the blow.

      «You would be a good father. »

      «Is that what I am to you? »

      «No.» Dalain looked up to the sky, thoughtful. «Can you see the shades of blue above us? »

      The Paladin marched on.

      Dalain laid one cheek on his shoulder, letting the tranquillity of his walking overcome him. «I still wonder why you love me. »

      Nephelim did not answer, of course he would have fallen asleep within a few miles, cuddled by his footsteps. He smiled only when his regular breath came close to his face.

       Indigo sea caressed by clouds of white foam. I wish to drown in a thousand skies.

      “Which God has established that love must achieve triumph through the union of two bodies?

       I will find the Witch if I have to spend my life looking for her. I will bend my knees, offering my loyalty. I just pray that until then I can have one more heartbeat. One breath.

       It will come the night when I will watch over Dalain's sleep without fearing the rising of dawn.”