"And ten, and fifteen.”

Istaìnn had put in Lau’s hand three waxed-paper envelopes, each containing five gold standards. They had entered a new month, and he was paying the archer in advance.

“Oh, Boss, you are a wonder of the Universe. May Providence take good care of you! With such generous pay, Lau will stay in your service until his hair is as white as snow!”

“Please, Lau, stop! Your jokes are annoying!” replied the spy.

They had spent one month in the Forest, and the barbarian had become fluent in the common tongue. Lately, he was blabbing non-stop. I want to exercise the pronunciation, he said.

In time, they become used to his voice and just ignored him, like you ignore an annoying fly you cannot catch.

The spy sat on the grass, his back to a fallen tree that was vanquished by age and wind. The archer came to sit near him too.

“Please, you don’t mad at me. Lau jokes have no wrong intention. Humor makes Lau advance in knowledge, which is an important step to master language. One day Lau will write about your adventures and will make Boss famous! Lau is a known-well poet in his country.”

The spy rolled his eyes.

“Goodness! I liked you better when you barely spoke!”

For a while, they abandoned the talk, admiring the landscape. The sky was clean and blue, the weather was their friend in the last days. The Forest descended slowly toward a lake, and the shores were beautiful, meadows full of flowers and a short line of grey sand near the water. Lau and Diago had set the camp earlier, tying the hammocks, preparing the fire pit, collecting flowers and herbs for the evening tea.

“The view is splendid. Fa-bu-lous!” exclaimed the archer.

Istaìnn had no idea if he was talking about the landscape or the girls. Fifteen yards from them, Feyra was washing her hair in the shallow water with her pants pulled up to her knees, while not far away, Heyra was playing with Monster, the dog.

“You little sweet thing!” she was saying.

“Mind that Istainn and shorty are staring at your ass,” whispered Feyra to her sister.

Heyra turned to the two and pulled her tongue to them.

“I beg you to differ,” she replied. “Most likely, they delight seeing your breast. You should not bend so much forward, sis! But speaking of asses, do you think mine got bigger?”

“From what, game and herbs?” replied her sister. “No, your ass is the same. But I am peeeeeling!” she wailed, looking at her tan, which was starting to go away.

The two men were not far enough, and they heard all the words.

“Lau, don’t stare at them!” the spy elbowed his friend.

“I do not stare. You stare. Lau looks openly at girls, flowers, or the forest. All are wonders of nature, marvelous. No shame to look and tell them what you think. You see her as a moon in the sky, but she’s at hand distance away.”

Istaìnn became red as an opened watermelon. He was madly in love with Heyra, but he didn’t want to admit it. Her beauty and her spontaneity had stolen his heart, fast, but firmly.

The one who inspires passion! he remembered one possible meaning of her elven name and swallowed a knot. He managed, not efficiently, but managed somehow to keep in rein his feelings, hoping they’ll go away like a rebel flue, but being together every day was not making things easier. His only relief was that she had not noticed his embarrassment, which struck him every time he was in her presence.

“They are both gorgeous, charming, and smart!” he sighed.

“Good words, let me write them down!”

The archer pulled a notebook from his shoulder bag. It was not a big bag, but somehow it contained everything and more. During their journey, Lau had removed from it bowls, kettles, medicinal herbs, a bottle with poison for arrows, some tools and materials with which he had made two wooden bows and some arrows for the girls, a razor he had used to shave, wax, rice, rice cookies, rice alcohol, a few shirts. If Lau had pulled a giant sea-monster out of that bag, that would not surprise them too much. But the most frequently used thing from the pack was Lau’s journal, in that small notebook he wrote daily, even when riding.

“What’s tonight's theme?” Lau asked while noting the words he wanted to remember.

“It’s poetry day, damn it!” groaned the spy.

The journey had been uneventful, and only two dark clouds floated over the spy’s sky.

The first was that he didn’t achieve to do more magic, however hard he tried. After a few days of futile recitations of old words, he had just abandoned the idea until further notice.

The second was poetry night. Poetry was now his most abominable Nemesis, and he had no one to blame but himself.

###

The first day on the road had been awful; it rained all afternoon and all night. They slept badly because the tarps didn't stop all the drops, and he had heard the girls crying. They were cold and miserable and were remembering not only their father but also their mother, who had passed away four years before in a lab accident. The next day, every last one of them was sulking. Lau felt isolated by the language and cultural barrier, Diago was cranky because they advanced too slow, the girls were sad already, and he was irritated by the others’ irritation, so when they camped for the second time, he offered an idea:

“What if we did something useful every night? We could play some games, or tell stories, or recite poetry, or…”

He didn’t finish his words. Diago had jumped on the occasion like a hungry wolf on a lamb. He offered himself to start. And if he wasn’t a good poet, far from it, he was an immensely prolific one. He had scores of poems, all dedicated to a faraway unreachable princess. She had eyes which shined bright as stars, lighthouses, and streetlamps, all in one line, and lips red as apples, cherries, roses, strawberries, poppies, tulips, carnations, blood, the sky at dawn and dusk, all those in two lines, maybe three. It was hard to understand how this faraway princess looked because her beauty was indescribable, in Diago’s own words.

While Istaìnn’s thoughts erred toward his error, Diago returned to the camp, carrying a small basket with fresh-picked mushrooms. He had no shirt on him; he often liked to walk naked down to the waist.

“Good news, I found some delicacies for dinner! I’ll grill them, and then we’ll have some poetry.”

“I cannot wait!” applauded Heyra, obviously thrilled.

Goodness, he looks so good! Not the slightest fat on him, all muscles! I did it to myself, sighed the spy.