The mushrooms were indeed delicious; they were eaten in a blink of an eye.

“Can we start?” asked Diago. “I have a new poem. I cannot wait to read it.”

“And I cannot wait to hear it!” exclaimed Heyra, stirring with impatience.

Istaìnn frowned and sulked. So many romantic poems read by a man who looked like an athlete’s statue from the old times had convinced the curly princess that the duelist was a real errant knight, yearning for love. She was convinced she can offer him what he desired.

Feyra, meanwhile, had settled on the fallen tree, near the spy.

“The poem I’ve composed today is not about love…” began Diago.

“Huzaaa, huzaaa,” whispered the spy to Feyra.

“…but about the spiritual fulfillment that loves bring.”

“Oh, Providence, just strike me down!” whispered Feyra back to the spy.

“If that monster from the Old City would appear now, I’d just ask him to disintegrate me on the spot,” confessed Istaìnn.

“And because I don’t want to prolong the waiting, here it is. It’s a SONNET!”

“Hmpfff...” retched the spy.

“It is called Hand in Hand. Here it goes:

Take my hand, my love

Show me you’re my sweetheart…”

At this point, the duelist changed his voice to imitate a woman.

“I feel like a dove

Who is torn apart.”

Goodness! thought Istaìnn. If it’s a Sonnet, it has three more verses.

And Diago went back to his voice again.

“The jealous, villain barbarians

Stands between us now

But I’ll turn them to carrion

I make you this vow.”

Diago pushed his index to the sky and became solemn.

“Loves fly over the mountain

Infinite is the passion

Of the dove and the knight,

It will vanquish the blight

Triumphant, the fountain

Of pleasures will be in fashion.”

Diago looked around, looking for reactions.

“It’s… very poetic!” stated Heyra.

“Please, hit my head with something!” whispered Feyra, leaning on the spy and sticking her nails into his arm. The spy replied only with a slight sigh, gently patting her hand.

Lau coughed politely to demand attention.

“Lau dabbles in poetry too, would you like you to hear.”

Diago looked at him, surprised.

“Of course, my friend,” he showed magnanimity, undoubtedly because having a lesser poet around would have raised his aura even higher.

Lau produced a small zither from his bottomless bag, tuned it, and said to them:

“I will keep the poem in my tongue, too difficult for me to translate for now. Lau tongue is tonal and inflection free.”

The small jovial barbarian they knew metamorphosed into a creature of grace and refinement in the next second. His hands were touching the instrument with utmost virtuosity, its sounds melting around his melodious voice, his tone changed every second, up, down, warm and sweet, its inflections beautiful in themselves, even if for them the meaning was obscure. Every strophe was ending softly, like a gust of wind winding down, and when the poem reached its finish, they were so awed that they forgot even to breathe for a few seconds. It had stunned them even if they didn't understand a word.

“Not bad, not bad,” said Diago, visibly jealous. “It would have been better translated, though. The sun is setting; let’s go to sleep. If we wake early, tomorrow we can reach d’Ornia.”

Everyone prepared for sleep. Diago fed the dog, brushed the horses, and sent them away. In the end, everyone was in their hammock, save Diago, who was still putting some wood on the fire, and Monster, who didn’t need a hammock at all.

Heyra descended from her hammock and walked to him.

“Do you mind if we talk a little about your poetry?” she whispered. “But not here, we’ll wake the others. Let’s find a more private spot on the shore.”

Istaìnn was not asleep at all and was fuming. He left the hammock too, as silently as he could, and followed the twos steps, sneaking from tree to tree.

“This spot looks good,” said Heyra when they were at about one hundred yards from the camp. “Nice and quiet. Let’s sit on the grass, should we?”

The two moons of the Realm were shining on the lake like in a fairy tale, the trees' shadows making the image even more romantic.

The spy found a big tree nearby, hid behind it, and tried to open his ears as much as he could.

“… your poems are so filled with sentiments…” he heard the girl speak.

“Thank you. That’s because I’m a very sentimental person. Sometimes I feel the words like they are stuck inside me, struggling to get out, tearing my flesh apart, until I express them.”

“And do you mean what you say? That love, the passion…”

“Yes, I mean it all, and beyond. But it’s for naught. I love someone who’s so inaccessible to me as a star.”

“Don’t lose your courage,” spoke Heyra with honey in her voice. “When all this adventure will be over, everyone will get his reward. Any reward… Maybe… maybe that star is not so far. Maybe you just have to reach out with your hand and grab it.”

“Thank you! I never thought you could sympathize with my pain.”

“Huh-uh!” approved Heyra, leaning toward him with her lips slightly opened. “I sympathize!”

Istaìnn was preparing to make an abrupt entry, pretending he was searching for something he had no idea yet what it was, but instead of kissing her, Diago sighed.

“Ten years. It’s been ten years I yearn after her, and now she’s just a few miles away, in d’Ornia.”

“WHAT?” exclaimed Heyra, then whispered again, with fury: “What?”

“Long story. A long time ago, I got myself a mighty enemy and had to flee, pretending I’m dead. My fiancée thinks I’m a goner. Ten years in hiding, sometimes near her, but not daring to...”

“Enough! Please let me be. It’s better not to share such stories. Too personal. I want to meditate alone now. Goodbye!”

“As you wish,” stuttered Diago. “Don’t stay long; the fire will be out soon.”

The duelist raised his shoulders and returned to the camp, while the girl walked away, on the shore, hitting rocks with her foot, violently. Istaìnn was tempted to go to her, trying to bring some comfort through words.

“Don’t,” he heard a whisper.

A tree behind, Feyra let her head to be seen, making him a sign to come to her.

“Let her be!” she ordered.

“Your highness, you know I wouldn’t dare!”

“Please, spare me! I’m not blind. But that’s not the idea. She needs to calm down. It would be suicidal for your love to manifest now. Let her be a few days. Soon, she’ll need comfort, and shorty does not look like the romantic type. You’re cute: dark hair, lively brown eyes, and you’re obviously available; she’ll be all over you in no time. Just be patient!”

He felt embarrassed but manage to say a timid “thanks.”

“Now, let’s go to sleep; that’s an order!”