TRACK 27

So I sent her to a place in the middle of nowhere

With a big black horse and a cherry tree

Now it won't come back 'cause it's oh-so-happy

And now I've got a hole for the world to see

(Black horse and the cherry tree - Kt Tunstall)

********

"Let's stop now," suddenly spoke Mr. Magic Man with something peremptory and distant.

Finally!

At last, after what had seemed centuries and centuries, so long and unbearable that he had almost begged for mercy from boredom -since more than advancing it had seemed to him to stand still as everything continued to be flippin' identical, empty and desolate. The only thing that testified to the contrary stood in the fact that his entire body felt like it was in pieces from the effort and... that the holes in the path always had strange shapes. The last one he had seen had looked like a moon, the second-to-last one had been like a rabbit, the one before had reminded him of Aja, etcetera- he had permission to stop moving forward.

Steve let himself fall back to the ground almost instantly, a grimace printed on his face. Or more to the point, his legs gave up on him altogether at the exact moment he bent to sit, causing him to crash painfully to the ground. And at that, to the sharp aggressive impact that echoed in his being, he could not hold back an expression between indignant and slightly contrite.

He barely perceived Douxie's Master scarcely moving away and then turning back to sit down, but he could perfectly hear him begin to fumble with the bag, enough to raise his head, if only slightly.

He almost received an apple on it. He managed to avoid it by a whisker, his arms reaching out to grab it and avoid a possible bruise.

When the fruit landed in the center of his palm, the pout printed on his face earlier even seemed to widen. Before he could protest in any more detail than a simple "Hey!", though, the man started to speak as if nothing had happened.

"I'll take the first watch, you eat and sleep. I'll wake you up later to switch," he said. His tone seemed not to want any kind of response or rebuttal, but Steve dramatically ignored that fact.

"Okay, fine, but then how do I know when to wake you up?" He found himself retorting in fact, sounding mostly quite offended, although it was always due to the apple throwing more than anything else. He then gestured around with his hands, pointing at what they had around and starting to speak fast. "Do you see some type of alarm clock? Or a rooster? I don't! And I mean it, man! There isn't even the sun! Do I have to count sheep?"

Mr. Magic Man made a face, furrowing his brow at a few points of his speech, then huffed. "I'll wake up myself," he quipped dryly as if he was stating the most obvious thing in the world. "Unless some emergency arises, you are highly discouraged from attempting to do anything by any means."

Man, Mr. Magic Man was worse than Mr. Eraser in his mighty pole-in-the-butt way of talking.

"Not even..."

"No. Not even that."

"But I didn't even finish talking!"

"Doesn't matter. Anything means anything. Now, silence. There is no need for any more blabbering."

"All right, all right. Jeez." He asserted, even more irritated, but too tired to say anything else or even attempt debating, setting himself down in a decent position, though struggling mightily. He immediately took a bite of the apple, chewing noisily.

It tasted better than usual, quite juicy and fresh. Maybe because of the way his stomach seemed to be way too empty for his taste.

He finished it so quickly that in the blink of an eye, he found only the core between his fingers. Eating made him feel a little better, though not by much. The hunger in his stomach persisted to stay, making it grumble.

When he raised his gaze, he noticed the old Sorcerer staring him down with something very austere.

"What?" He couldn't help but ask.

Mr. Magic Man stretched his arm to give him a water bottle. "Do not drink it all," he ordered. "We are low in supply."

His eyes fell on the open bag resting beside the man. There was only food in it. Lots of food, perhaps most of what had been distributed.

And there were barely two bottles. Plus one, however, which was of that half-alcoholic milk thing whose name he had already forgotten.

'Not cool. Nope. Not at all.'

He found himself looking at the clear liquid in the container Merlin was handing him and barely nodding, a small shiver running down his spine at the last comment Doux's Master had said.

"Do not drop it," added Mister Magic Man again as Steve made to grab the bottle.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes, letting out a big snort. "Oh, don't be a party pooper, I'm not that clumsy!" he blurted out, still reaching for the water with two hands. "It's not like I'm a three-year-old, you moody old man."

"'How did you just call me?" The man's sour voice seemed to become rougher than it had been before, while his brow raised, making him look scandalized.

"Moody old man," he repeated without a second thought.

If Mr. Magic Man treated him like a newborn child, then he would publicly treat him like the cranky old geezer he was. Easy peasy.

It would have been more than nice to add a few more adjectives, too, but he couldn't actually get some right at that moment.

The Sorcerer looked at him dreadfully, visibly wanting to retort with numerous remarks and like he was going to go bananas out of nowhere, but ending up huffing and muttering something too mumbled and garbled to be easily understood.

Steve, in response, dismissed him drastically. He first took a few sips of water -fresh and pleasant- and then closed the bottle very, very carefully. He gave the cork as many turn as possible to prevent it from opening, giving Mr. Magic Man smug looks in between as a 'told you so'

It was not gonna leak water. No water was gonna disappear. Nope nope. Not under his watch!

He returned it and Mr. Magic Man grabbed it back with a rather annoyed expression -probably because of his small eye jabs- but said nothing more.

After that, Steve went back to lying down almost instantly with a thud, this time placing himself on his side instead of ending up on his stomach, his arm preventing his head from being in direct contact with the ground.

He let out a big sigh that, as it escaped from his lips, turned into a yawn. He didn't even try to cover his mouth, letting it out in an uncontrolled manner, his jaw open to the point where it looked like it might even dislocate.

The ground was as hard as a rock -and it was made of it in certain places. Not everywhere, but yes. Underneath him, however, there were none at the moment- but despite the general uncomfortableness, well, it wasn't so terrible that it kept him awake. It wasn't so annoying that he didn't feel exhausted and on the verge of collapsing at any moment.

In no time, he succumbed to sleep, allowing himself to sink into total nothingness, no dreams to accompany him into the unconscious. The last thing his eyes caught before he succumbed to fatigue was the gleaming metallic gray of his armor.

********

Archie had observed Sir. Galahad used some disinfectant on Claire's wound -too much, perhaps, but better more than less- then covered it with several rounds of clean gauze. He had followed the whole action with his full attention, wanting to be sure there were no problems.

The girl had lost consciousness almost instantly after the process was over. And honestly, seeing her fall into sleep so quickly, well, it had thrown a good amount of relief into the Dragon.

The feeling made its way into his muscles, his bones, his mind, relaxing him. It did it all in one swift stroke, making him feel lighter. It was as if a giant boulder had been removed from his back.

He allowed himself to be flooded with emotion for several seconds, then, after looking around, after getting up from his sitting position, and after stretching himself -appreciating the whole process from start to finish- he decided it was the right time.

"I'm going to look and see if there are any others around." He asserted in fact in the direction of the Knight, even giving his fur a slight shake.

"Don't you want to stay and rest a while?" asked Sir. Galahad, barely arching his thick eyebrows.

"No, there is no need. I already have rested before," he replied, looking at the man with a subtle glance, especially at seeing him pull out his flask. "You need to protect her while I'm gone, Sir."

"Aye, Aye," the man smiled good-naturedly, shaking the container in his hand. "Will do. There is no cause for concern. Knight's word." He brought his free hand to his chest, tapping it loudly like a caveman of some kind.

The expression on his muzzle should have not been looking particularly convinced by the promise in any case, even though Archibald was pretty sure he hadn't shown anything particularly harsh -Yes, he had a negative view of past Knights of the Round Table, just like Douxie, but even though the man could be quite terrible, in the worst case scenario he was good enough- he resumed speaking almost immediately as if to convince him.

"I wouldn't fall asleep in a situation like that if that's what you believe." He laughed sneeringly -sounding quite amused, as always- drinking from the flask again. "Besides, I have had one of the best sleeps in the whole universe during those days!"

Archibald tilted his head, scrutinizing him some more, trying to see if he was being serious or if he was joking around.

It seemed to be the first option.

"... Good for you," he asserted, waving his tail a little.

"Indeed, indeed. Good for me!" The man returned to hide his flask in some unknown part of his armor.

Only someone like Sir. Galahad could have defined a night of hallucinations as the 'best sleep in the whole universe' and be extremely happy about it.

With this in mind, he couldn't help but snort loudly. Then he removed the thought and resumed sniffing the air, looking for any other possible trail.

He walked around the place for a while, struggling to detect any new fragrances.

He had to move as far away from the yellow river as possible to keep his nostrils from picking up only and only its scent -which was not that unpleasant, on the contrary. It was almost good. Still weird, yes, but it was a little like the scent of cut grass and something he could not define. And the most interesting thing was that it seemed to become better the more he smelled it. Sad that the same rule didn't apply to the rest of that place.

After an almost endless time, he seemed to pick up on something, but he was not sure whether it was a sensation he seemed to feel due to psychological factors or whether it was an actual smell.

The question seemed to be answered by the first option because that something disappeared from his nostrils. But then he felt it again.

It was faint. So slight that it disappeared and reappeared in bursts and Archie could not at all understand where it came from.

With his nose going from the air to the ground every three by two and slow cautious movements, he nonetheless took to moving forward, proceeding almost tentatively from the ground and trying not to end up risking getting into a hole in the meantime -capable of flying or not, he gladly did without it. There was something about those groundbreaks that he did not like at all.

If he went flying, he doubted he would be able to feel that trail anymore. It was too thin. Too smothered by all the other smells. The probability that trying in the distance to catch it would work was very low, almost nonexistent.

He changed positions in his course a couple of times before he felt the scent barely magnify, probably either because he had chosen the right one or because the same subject it belonged to was heading in that direction.

He hadn't gotten much stronger, but enough to let him know that he could proceed in earnest and not zigzag over the course like a truffle dog.

It was a small improvement, yes, nothing that big and definitive, but good enough to make him realize what scent he was following and, after a brief moment of disbelief, who he belonged to, drastically removing the possibility that he was an enemy.

Archibald quickened and lengthened his pace, beginning to go faster. At one point in the whole process, he had become so fast that it could almost seem as if he were running.

He was not going to rise into the air until the smell was stable enough -quickening the pace was more than necessary. Even if it still meant taking longer than desired. Much, much more time. Much, much more effort. But that was okay.

He wanted the smell to be stable. He wanted to have a trail so clear that even when flying he would not lose it for a moment. Because if he took longer in such a case, in case he lost it -it would be infinitely worse. So, better to keep it on the simple-on the more cat-like side in him- at least for that moment, for that little bit of time necessary.

From a simple, very quick step, he got going when, behind him -although he paid no attention, more focused on moving forward than looking back- the yellow river disappeared from his possible view once again.

********

She could see County Clare. She could see it, just as she could already notice, albeit quite a bit more vaguely -having to strain her eyes- the lighthouse on the coast of Inisheer, flanked by the keepers' houses.

The view of the Island made her take a big breath of relief, as some of the frustration from the length of the journey began to slip away from her body.

She tensed slightly forward -so much to coincide with Donn's back, who nevertheless remained static and somewhat silent, focused on moving the vehicle forward- and let herself scan the landscape with partial attention.

She sensed the flying motorcycle slowing down again, gradually lowering in altitude -though not by too much, since they were not yet definitely at their destination- and the vehicle threw a small snort in the movement, but except for that slight whine fortunately it gave no trouble.

They flew over the rest of the remaining North Atlantic, which was quite calm on those seven o'clock Irish evening. They were behind the original schedule, but that was fine anyway.

No one in the Lair would have criticized them for resting a few extra hours before making the sixteen-hour journey... not that anyone in the Lair -high or low position, with minor exceptions to the rule- would have ventured to criticize the Bones Witch anyway, especially knowing her character. They were not so stupid and masochistic enough to do so.

Donn and Nemain passed a hint of scattered meadows, divided into light green and yellowish patches. Then they reached the limestone plats, staying along the east coast.

The carcass of Plessey's merchant ship appeared in less than ten minutes of rapid flight.

Donn had hijacked it in 1960, stealing everything in it and making it the new official entrance, removing the one inside O'Brien Castle.

The rusted remains looked -as usual- about to fall apart at any moment. That wasn't true at all, of course, but it was their way of chasing away the silly outsiders who were snooping around a bit too much. It deluded them into thinking they were in a partially dangerous situation and thus led them to just take a few pictures without touching anything.

Nemain still did not understand why, exactly, it had become a tourist attraction. Had it been a castle, she would have understood -reason why they had moved the previous entrance. When they still hadn't formulated a real, definitive plan to remove the issues humanity brought, always having numerous ball-breaking people in the way who risked crossing the passageway... well, it hadn't been the best- but it was an old, decaying-looking ship! A stupid wreck should not have attracted so much interest.

But people, it seemed, were rather strange as well as dumb and often dirty to the core. They would see a gutted heap of metal run through with brown-orange stains and come up with comments like 'heritage' or 'hiking gem.'

'What a shitty taste,' she couldn't help but think, rolling her eyes. 'Well, at this point anyway, the ones who go in by mistake don't come out anymore even if they ask for it on their knees, maggots that they are...Unless they wanted to be turned.'

Once close enough to the ship, the bike came down completely in the blink of an eye, and Nemain forced herself to cling to Donn's jacket again, almost digging her nails into it.

As reliable as the vehicle proved to be, the descents were always far too rough for her liking. They were not as loose and pleasant as letting herself fall into the void, creating a kind of giant sphenoid -short-lived, but essentially more than useful in the moment of action- to land decently, but, counting that she was up there, that it was already happening and that her magic was somewhat unstable... She was fine with that. Ish.

When the wheels rested on the ground, they made a screeching sound, as if complaining again. They whined even more with the unstable progress of the ground in its steady rocky up and down.

After a few seconds, Nemain could sense the boy's Aura in front of her appear and then disappear. At that exact moment, the engine turned off, leaving them stationary, literally two meters from the side of the wreck.

Nemain jumped off the bike, feeling her legs tingle as she placed her feet on the ground. She struggled to move decently for far too much for her liking, but she still did not allow herself to waste any more precious time, immediately pulling straight and making her entrance.

Cracked metal, rocks, seaweed clinging to the wrecked axle, and bugs running right and left greeted her at first impact, but moving straight through to the center -coming more slowly, almost with a safe distance, was Donn. He clutched his vehicle and, as usual, did everything to avoid fouling it- reached the passage, touched it, and passed to the other side amid the whispers of the wind and the roar of seawater.

A whistle echoed in her ears. Wooden domed buildings, arches crisscrossed with carved sculptures, and the inspection roundabout drew a faint satisfied smile from her as she saw them again. The black flags with a Seal painted in gold -the same that had disappeared from her pockets- however, removed it just as quickly.

She quickened her pace, a big irritated grimace plastered on her face. She did not even turn to check if Donn had entered in turn, but she heard a second opening of the passageway anyway, the whistle repeating itself.

The Bones Witch passed the roundabout, immediately heading toward the main building.

She climbed the stairs almost two by two, passing by twins and a woman she had seen before but whose names she could no longer even remember.

She was sure she had spoken a couple of times with the twins, but only about the training rounds. Whereas with the witch... she didn't remember ever even trying to speak to her. The way she gasped at seeing her, moving as far away as possible, made it more than clear to her why.

She opened the white main door of the palace wide with magic, moving quickly inside and being watched by those who had been in the main room. Most of them did not attract her attention, but one certainly did.

"Nemain!" a familiar voice -slightly nasal but still sweet enough- jumped up almost instantly, cracking the silence with something cheerful and lively.

Bechville. Nemain was more than sure that she could recognize her anywhere.

She came at her like a bolt of lightning. She embraced her in a rush even before she could deny her in any way, almost knocking her off balance in the process. "You're here! You surely took your time!"

Morgana's Apprentice, in response, pushed her backward to try to pull her off herself, though she did not do that aggressively.

"Yes, yes, I'm here," she said in a flat voice. "Don't turn into a mussel, Girlie."

The nominee did not seem offended. Her smile remained just as wide as it had been while she had thrown herself at her, the ink on her cheeks, on her arms, and the color that painted her hair entirely looking just as vibrant as before.

"I missed you!" She continued again and again. "It seems like decades since I last saw you."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration..." She sighed, starting to set off again with her at her side almost instantly. "Macha?"

"She's not here," was Bechville's prompt reply, her arms barely moving. "Her mission has changed, it seems."

Such a comment shocked her enough to look at the girl with the most puzzled expression ever.

Inkheart shrugged her shoulders under her attention, barely bobbing her neck. "She didn't explain anything to Badb. She just told her something like three hours ago that she would postpone her return," she paused. "It's nothing serious, it seems."

Nemain could not help but stare at her for another moment, two. And she could even less restrain herself from huffing, rolling her eyes for the umpteenth time.

'Seriously? Right fucking now? What an absolute ass. I swear, if she ends up acting like Neit I'm going to make her regret it.'

It was not possible. Was it necessary to increase her stay on the road just when she needed her most? She just wanted to fix the mess she had made, whatever it was! Was it too much to ask, fucking dammit?

The urge to kick or maybe punch something rose to the surface in waves -she definitely would have done it. Maybe not right away, as she was exhausted after sixteen hours of travel, but she would have done it anyway, eventually- but she forced herself to swallow the explosive irritation.

"Are you hungry?" Asked Bechville, drawing her attention again. "The escort group arrived just now with the cuttlefish, swordfish, and whiskey."

Nemain nodded. Her stomach barely rumbled, empty and long in a way that made her mouth taste like tree bark. A bit of fish wouldn't have hurt to remove the sensation.

"Did someone also come with some new magic weapons?" She asked. And she cast a glance at a new face she had never seen. The Unknown person passed by her side. If she noticed her, it was mainly because of the outrageous amount of deodorant and perfume she was soaked in. Which was always better than being enveloped in a cloud of sweat, but damn, that halo was truly capable of making you feel lost.

'I need to check the arrival log as well,' she thought. 'See who came back, who left, who joined, and mark my return.'

It had happened to her more than once that she had forgotten to do this in previous years, whether she wanted to or not.

It was easy to get distracted when everything seemed more interesting than a constantly growing big book with names, names, and even more names flanked by dates and little reports.

Practices, as important as they were, she knew were more than stifling. For her, it was much, much better to take action: to train and plan. But also going outside with subordinates in search of food. Anything not to sit still, sitting at a table and leaving signatures and marking proceedings.

Macha was the one who was good at it. She was the one who preferred to take care of it, usually, in the group of founders and managers of the Lair. But... precisely, she was missing.

'If the change of mission is not something important, something extremely necessary... I swear I'll make her jewelry box disappear and cut locks of her hair in her sleep.'

Nemain would have been angry. And a lot. She already was, partly, but in that case, it would have been much worse.

She laid her gaze on Bechville, who had not yet answered her question, seeing her reckoning with her hands, an absorbed expression on her face.

"... About six, if I'm not mistaken," she asserted after she finally seemed to reach her conclusion.

'Better than nothing... Let's hope they're at least useful.'

"They also found some pens and very rare magic ink, you know?" Girlie seemed to light up brightly. "I was thinking of trying to use some for a new tattoo, but I can't decide what to do with it... Would you give me your opinion? An invisibility spell or another one to try to summon flames without having to enchant, like Zuko from Avatar?"

Nemain peered at her in silence for a moment or two, then snapped her tongue against her palate, returning to look ahead. The staircase took a curve to the left, showing a long corridor with several doors and another straight staircase. They continued on their undaunted ascent, passing another pair of people, who were discussing the effect of catnip on werewolves in the full moon.

"So? Please? An understandable answer, pretty please?" She insisted in front of her silence.

"It's your body. Do what you like," she merely told her.

"It's that I want both!" jumped up Bechville, sounding somewhat exasperated. "That's why I was asking for an opinion, you know. Not to air it out," she let out a little snort, her neck swaying again, followed by a sob, at which she winced a little. And then she cursed out loud.

Instantly, the blonde could not refrain from giving her a little pat on the head. "Tattoo them both then. It's not like you use that ink just for fun. You're doing it for you. And because you deserve them."

Inkheart -after an initial moment of silence in which she seemed to think about it- looked at her with vague disappointment. "You're no help at all, dammit," she murmured.

She fully returned her attention, staring at her with a serious expression. "I'm not kidding," she snapped, then crossed her arms. "You should have everything you want. No exclusions."

Bechville almost walked faster under her look, her mouth opening and closing a few times. "But then if someone gets mad... I mean, I'm not the only Ink Mage here, it would be a little unfair..."

"Unfair where? You're the best one. If they act like pricks, I'll fucking kick them for you. Easy and fun."

Inkheart's jaw snapped as the Witch was looking down, appearing to be pondering about it, though showing some visible chagrin.

"... I'll see if I have enough space," she affirmed after a bit. "I think I will be able to."

The woman's face was crossed with a faint, satisfied smirk. "Good Girlie."

Bechville continued to square her for a couple of seconds in total silence, then returned the smile, first more mildly, then openly.

"Thanks," her eyes and her tattoos shone a little.

"No need."

********

The large cave underground had not improved.

They had no idea how long it had been since they had been dropped in there, but it seemed an eternity, to say the least. After the tomb that they had seen, everything had reverted to a monotony of tunnels that did not seem to have a pattern or any real difference in factors that might allow orientation.

It was a real labyrinth. One of the worst ever. And it was suffocating.

The need for fresh air, to stop advancing like blind people -often ending up in paths that took them to dead ends, making one mentally swear and the other stare blankly at the void with some tension building up- was high. But both seemed to elude them with quite a lot of insistence

At yet another hope gone up in smoke, the two allowed themselves to slump to the ground, their backs against the cold, but not too cold hard stone walls, gasping with fatigue.

They were tired enough that they did not even feel able to speak, letting the silence continue without anything to break it, the only exception being their repeated, rapid, heavy breathing.

All the stillness led Nari inevitably to close her eyes, letting her pulse and the rhythm of taking in and throwing out of oxygen slow down, to make that natural silence even more intense.

Once she succeeded, she went back to sharpening her hearing, exactly as she had done before, but not letting the failures she had hold her back.

She listened to the silence. She listened to the lack of wind whispers, looking for some change in it. She leaned her ear against the rock, looking for vibrations.

She then let herself feel the ground, running her fingertips over the stones that rose and fell in the perfect chaos of nature.

Then, in a small spark of an idea, she pushed forward, getting on all fours and flattening herself against the ground, below the slightly -but only briefly, before he realized- confused gaze of the Troll beside her. She did not notice him looking at her, though, too busy following her instincts.

The overlapping of her whole body with what was beneath her -even where her Core should have been- made her feel more connected to her surroundings, albeit not in the way she would have liked.

It made her feel the stability of the rock. It led her to listen to it in its unwanted silence in a different way than what she was used to.

But nothing seemed to move. Nothing seemed to change, not even in the smallest nuance.

Still, she did not give up.

She chose to remain where she was. Both to continue her listening and to let her whole body relax and release the stress due to the long, seemingly endless proceeding without reaching the set goal.

The silence in the stone continued to remain, but the negative feelings successfully flowed out of her. Tranquility and peace gradually took their place, accompanied by a new dose of confidence and hope.

Sooner or later the ground would speak. And she would be ready to catch its whispers. She would be ready for the smallest vibrations. To the smallest cracks present in what she found above herself.

After seconds -Or minutes. Or hours, who knew- she went back to her seat, first smiling at Blinkous with all the calm positivity she had, then returning to the walls, standing and testing from her new position, letting her eyes close again.

Silence. Darkness. Cold, but not too cold. Simple stillness.

She detached herself. She started to move forward, being followed by the Troll.

At times she returned, in the process, to flatten herself again, while Blinkous used all his hands against the surfaces, cautiously.

They proceeded like this again and again for what seemed like an equally endless time, but then there it was.

A vibration. Tiny. So extremely small that if she hadn't been looking for it, she would have lost it.

An animal made its appearance, though it was not at all clear from where. It was similar in its muzzle to a fennec, but with the size of a rat and with a fan-shaped tail, of an anomalous coral pink color.

It stared at them vacantly and distantly, its pupil-less black eyes that, as much as they seemed to be resting on them, at the same time seemed to be studying anything else.

Then he darted away, making the ground vibrate again in that very slight and almost imperceptible way, disappearing into the darkness. This was even before the two could reach him.

In their attempt to follow the little one, their pace hurried -being much more vibrant in its impacts on the ground- they both ended up almost slipping.

Initial surprise froze them back in place upon realizing that the cause of the almost tumbling down was a large puddle in the corner. A puddle that was trickling down, flowing through a small hole in the wall and accumulating due to the extreme moisture in the rock there.

Even trying to peer into the hole, unfortunately, nothing could be seen, but leaning her head against the damp wall, Nari could hear much, much more water flowing, fast and utterly untamed.

********

She could not stop thinking about it. It was as if her whole brain was focused there, unshakable, rocking on that one sentence that Minerva had said to her.

It was simple but mysterious, and perhaps as a whole, it was enough to catch her attention completely.

Don't look back, she had said.

After the Goddess of Wisdom had spoken such words to her, all previous questions had disappeared from her mind, as if being pushed away.

She had fallen into silence. She had been silent in her instinctive Breath Technique, with which she had purified her Precious Stones, having neither White Sage to burn nor bells for their respective Techniques.

She had been silent as a tomb even in yet another round of the substance on her wound, while Miss. Emerald had muttered something about Panacea and snake oils.

Even at that moment, lying on the bed in the room they had left her -with the tinkling of the curtains as a background- she could not keep quiet, her brain going a thousand miles an hour.

Don't look back.

In what sense? Was it a psychological or physical looking back? And when, exactly, was she supposed to avoid doing so? And was the look back meant only for her or others as well?

'To be slightly more clear, no? Was it that bad? Was that too much to ask?... Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was like breaking the balance already, yeah.'

She rolled over in her bed, first slightly, then much more, and in the opposite direction of the previous attempt. She did it so much that she looked like a roll in the cool blankets.

She could hear Milo's cry in the calm night air and ended up barely shivering. She really, really could not see him in the same way, as she had thought before.

The distraction brought by the image of his claws breaking through the bathroom door did not last long enough, however.

Don't look back, her mind whispered again.

The phrase echoed several times in it like a mantra, tearing her a little annoyed sound.

Okay. She understood that she should not have done that, whatever the occasion was.

What was more than certain was that she would not forget those words even if she wanted to. They would be engraved in her flipping brain, vexing her until she would have lost it. Until it was gonna be the end of her.

After another little annoyed sound erupted from her lips, running her hands over her face several times, she ended up untangling herself from the tight fabric that surrounded her and sitting up.

She stood, struggling to hold back a small grimace of pain at the twinge that struck her limb at that one shift.

Cautiously, careful not to put too much weight on her still partially injured foot -already much less than before and, damn it, when she saw it in that state she couldn't help but widen her eyes in surprise- she started walking to get out of the room, somewhat clinging to the walls.

The house was shrouded in darkness, but not to the point where she could not proceed, mostly because of the pale moonlight. She could see the figures on the furniture, and that was enough to keep her from constantly running into them.

She proceeded until she found herself in the hall, slipping into it like a ghost, not even knowing, exactly, what she would do once she reached it. She only knew that simply lying in bed twiddling her thumbs would not help her.

"Are you still awake?" Miss. Emerald said in a soft voice -a couple of moments later to the one in which she made her entrance- causing her to jerk and almost jump in the air.

She searched for her in the darkness, finding her in the far right corner, lying on the small sofa that was against the wall. She had a steaming cup in her slender hands, and her short brown hair in perfect order testified that, unlike her, she had not gone to bed.

"... Yes," she admitted in a whisper after a couple of seconds. "I can't sleep."

The woman made an amused little snort, "Many thoughts on your mind, I imagine."

"Actually... just one," she replied, still cautious to move. "But that one alone makes me feel like my brain is about to burst or something,"

She felt just like she had when she met Carlos in the woods, before ending up in the middle of Granada's Coven. Only that... this case was even more intense.

Miss. Emerald nodded. "I see," a pause, "Do you want to sit down? Standing must still hurt pretty badly."

Alice did so without being asked about it twice, taking a big deep breath and trying not to take up too much room, stepping on a particularly puffy pillow with her elbow in the process.

"Would you like some Stregonia?" Asked her teacher once she was seated.

"Stregonia?" She questioned in reply, confused.

'What the flip is that?'

"It is also called Sideritis Syriaca. Or Greek mountain tea." The woman pointed with her head to the large kettle that stood on the table in the center of the room, further to the left. And she sipped what she already had in her hands. "It might help you relax a little."

"... Huh. How does it taste?"

"It's sweet. Vaguely floral."

'Well... that doesn't sound bad. Okay. Why not give it a try, then,' she thought, finding herself nodding again in her teacher's direction.

Miss. Emerald smiled, small wrinkles appearing around her eyes. Then she saw her lift the kettle magically and make a cup appear in the same way from the kitchen.

"Thank you very much," Alice whispered, grabbing it when it reached her hands.

"You're welcome. I hope you like it."

After waiting for it to cool a little, she found herself sipping the drink, feeling its warmth expand in her chest. She made a little happy hum of appreciation, letting her head rest against the back of the sofa.

Yet another Don't Look Back resonated through her thoughts.

Alice sighed. And she drank again, shrouded in the silence of the night, which was partly always broken by the noises emitted by the Owl Familiar, whose position in the building she honestly had no idea about since its noises were not particularly loud, but they were nevertheless perfectly audible.

Then her gaze rested again on her Teacher, feeling suddenly observed. Her green eyes stared at her with seriousness and something thoughtful, although it was not understandable what she was thinking about.

Only suddenly did her gaze seem to change, almost becoming softer and then saddened, although Alice was not sure whether she had imagined it or not.

And what Miss. Emerald said -almost immediately after that look her gaze returned to be serious and thoughtful- caught her off guard.

"In case you still aren't able to sleep after the drink... would you like to start with some basics of Lithomancy?"

------------------

The Hiatus isn't completely finished (not at all) but I wanted to post this chapter anyway.