When night came, Tthor fell exhausted into his soft, warm bed. He practically fell asleep, barely resting his head on the pillow. He didn't have the time, nor the desire, to take off his clothes, which still had traces of the thorough cleaning that had been carried out in the attic.

   Tthor had indeed washed his hands with soap and water but, without noticing his dirty clothes, he had thrown himself on the bed, just for a few moments, he thought. To then get up and put on his nightgown (How he hated having to wear that long, frilly one!) But he was so exhausted that he fell into a deep, heavy sleep until midnight. When, suddenly, a jump, he got out of bed and walked straight to the window.

   He stood there, rigid, with his eyes fixed on the darkness, focused on some sounds that came from a peripheral road that linked the slope of Warghost Hill with the center of the town. A deep and torn cry reached Tthor's ears loud and clear, in an inexplicable way, as if defying distances. And it wasn't the first night he heard it.

   The young man walked a few steps to a smaller window that stood on the other wall. He stared into the blackness of the night and stood, as if waiting for something, for a couple of seconds. He pricked up his ears and heard it: another cry, this one deeper and rawer, came to him like a gust. And, as if that lament was what he was waiting to act on, he approached the door and opened it carefully to avoid the noise of the rusty handle. But before leaving, he seemed to hesitate. He retraced his steps, walked to the bed and put on his slippers. He wrapped a thick scarf around his neck, put on his jacket, blue wool gloves, and a red hat with earflaps, and crept out into the hallway.

   Making sure it was empty, he headed toward the dark, deserted kitchen. He reached the central courtyard and walked to the shed. He took a rectangular cart, with four wheels and a long wooden handle with metal edges. He dragged him to the kitchen door and loaded him with bottles of milk and corma, molds of cheese, loaves of braided bread, and a bag full of freshly picked green apples. When he seemed satisfied with the load, he pushed the cart to the side entrance of the abbey and walked down a stone bridge that led directly to the Cretan tree path.

   The night was cool, clear and full of strange hidden sounds that seemed to come from everywhere: from the streams that ran down the mountain, from the foliage of the trees that had the privilege of proudly keeping their leaves, from the houses that slept at night. on the side of the road, with the windows closed and dim lights, in some rooms, which revealed that insomnia was more common than was believed in those places.

   But Tthor only seemed to care about one house in particular. He had his gaze fixed on a cabin that stood at the end of the road. You didn't have to look at it too closely to realize that it was the poorest house in that entire part of the town. It had rickety windows, the roof showed large holes, precariously covered with dry logs, peeling walls and a single door in front made up of three large panels of worn wood, with nails that joined one panel to another, bent, rusty and almost all of them damaged. about to come out.

   Tthor came to the door and placed his ear on it, trying to hear something. A baby's cry came, without difficulty, from the other side. He seemed satisfied with what he heard. He moved the cart a little closer and began to unload the food he had in it, everything except a loaf of bread and a bottle of corma, quite neatly, near the door.

   Without wasting time, he turned the car, orienting it back to the road and dragged it about fifty meters, to the nearest house. He left it next to a low wooden fence and jumped over it with great skill. He walked to the iron gate, opened it and came out again. He advanced to the cart and took it to the entrance he had just opened. He put it still again and looked around. He smiled slightly as he saw a group of goats crouching near a water hole.

   Tthor whistled three notes, so soft and sustained that they seemed to be part of a melodious song. The goats looked towards where he was. He made a sign with his hand and one of the animals began to walk in the direction of the boy. Tthor crouched and waited for her with open arms. The goat with the bright white fur allowed himself to be hugged, lifted and placed on the cart with such docility, as if he had already done it before or as if he had known Tthor all his life.

   The young man turned the car towards the house where he had been and advanced towards it, pulling the crank. One of the wheels made a pretty funny sound every time it turned. Thor glanced at him as he moved forward, making sure he wasn't going to get out. He then observed the goat, which was standing on the car, very calmly, sniffing the air from time to time.

   When they both reached the door, the goat jumped and stood next to the food that was deposited on the floor.

   "Good girl!" Tthor said, scratching her ears - When I'm gone, you knock on the door...

   The goat stared at him and then made a strange movement with its head that Tthor interpreted as an affirmative response.

   "See you!" He said, taking the cart and setting off on the stone path that led to Meaghdose.

   When he reached the Crete tree, he just slowed down and looked towards the house where he had left the animal, just in time to see how the goat attacked the door with its paws... A few moments later, someone appeared from inside, with a face pale and extremely thin but with eyes that were beginning to shine as they had not done in a long time, when he saw the food and the animal waiting in his doorway.

   Tthor smiled and continued on his way, always dragging the cart behind him. When he reached the main street, he stopped and began to look carefully everywhere. He pricked up his ears and looked closely. Despite the darkness, he could see a figure trembling and sobbing, about fifty meters away, on a stone bench, in front of a closed business.

   "Good night!" Tthor greeted happily, when he was a few steps away.

   The lump moved nervously and then, wiping the tears from his face, looked at him tensely for a second. He crouched on the side of the bench, dropping the sheets of newspaper that served as a blanket.

   "Do not panic! I brought you something," said Tthor, bringing the loaf closer to him.

   The man looked at him suspiciously but the spicy aroma of the bread began to reach him. He took it on impulse and, without saying a word, took several bites in a row.

   " I also brought you this."

   And Tthor extended his arm with the corma bottle. The stranger wanted to speak but their mouths were so full of bread that he could barely move it to chew.

   Tthor handed him the bottle and looked at him in silence: his long, shaggy hair, his deep blue eyes, his torn clothes. And, in a sudden movement, the young man took off his hat, scarf, gloves and jacket. And he handed them to the man, who despite his tanned and wrinkled skin, was no more than forty years old.

   The stranger, at first, while he was grabbing the clothes, couldn't help but look at him strangely.

   "Take them! They are yours," Tthor told him by way of explanation. "Where I live I don't need them."

   "And where do you live?"

   "There!" Tthor answered, pointing to Warghost Abbey, which shone in the darkness with its high lit watchtowers, on the hexagonal plateau, between the Kaf and Ri mountains.

   The man was even more surprised.

  "Who are you?"

   But before Tthor could respond, footsteps sounded in a nearby alley, accompanied by voices and laughter.

   "They're from the civil guard!" The man said suddenly. "You have to go! If they find you at this time on the street they will arrest you."

   "And you?"

   "They already know me. They may bother me a little but they won't do anything to me. Please go!" The man begged with his eyes wild.

   Tthor took the crank of the chariot and started towards the opposite side from where the voices could be heard. The stranger waited for Tthor to disappear into a corner, hid the bottle and the bread inside his brand new jacket. He dressed with everything that Tthor had given him and covered himself with the newspapers. Just as half a dozen young men, dressed in blue and white, appeared around the corner, the stranger had just closed his eyes.

   The group passed by him, without even looking at him, talking loudly, gesticulating and brandishing long canes with rounded ends in the air. Tthor made sure that they had already taken a side road and were not returning, he walked towards the stranger at a slow pace so as not to make so much noise with the cart. He came to the bench, sat down at one end and crossed his arms.

   "I can spend the night here, right?" Tthor said as if that were the most normal thing in the world.

   "Of course!" answered the other, still not understanding too much.

   He offered him the bottle of corma and the wool cap. Thor rejected the drink, smiling, but put on his hat, covering it up to his ears. He rested his head on the back of the bench and closed his eyes. The stranger looked at him perplexed. And seeing that the young man had apparently fallen into a deep sleep, he settled on his side of the bench, took several more bites of the bread and then drank a few long swallows of corma. And with a satisfied stomach, he adjusted his jacket and fell asleep almost immediately.

   Until the sun shone on them several hours later, neither of them moved. They seemed to be so comfortable that they did not open their eyes even though they were already awake. But they weren't going to stay like that for long because a shrill and piercing whistle made Tthor startle.

   Somewhat dazed, he opened his eyes and jumped up. He looked first at the homeless man next to him, with wide eyes, and then shifted his gaze to a group of people standing in front of both of them, in the middle of the street.

   Four young men, wearing blue uniforms with white stripes, helmets and batons stood with serious faces.

   " Look!" Said one of them, the one who seemed taller. "Old Luis Backsir has company! I think we're going to have fun today.

   The others laughed openly, drawing the attention of some people passing by.

   Tthor looked at them, trying to understand something of the situation. He strained to know how he had gotten there, when the last thing he remembered was lying in his warm, comfortable bed at Warghost Abbey.

   "Who are you?" the tallest one snapped, taking a few steps closer.

   "Tthor?!

   A female voice sounded from behind a group of passersby who had gathered near them to see what was happening. The tall young man turned around and looked for the owner of that voice. When he saw who it was, she smiled.

   "Noel? Do you know him?"

   "Of course I know him!-Said the young woman, approaching, with a quite altered tone of voice. "He's Tthor Prayer, he lives in Warghost and you won't like to mess with him, Spike Shannut," she added defiantly.

   "Tthor Prayer?!" She mocked, looking him up and down.

   He scrutinized his worn sneakers, his torn pants, and his faded, stained, and smelly T-shirt.

   "Are you sure that this... is Tthor Prayer? This...?" She said in a rather contemptuous tone. "Is this an Asís?"

   Noel, wasting no time, yanked off the wool cap.

   "Do you see it?" The young woman said, pointing to her intense red hair.

   Spike Shannut, with a gesture that Tthor thought resembled the ones Professor Evans used to make, stepped back and placed the staff back on his waist. The others did the same. But an argument that began to be heard a couple of meters away put them on alert again.

   Two couples were talking and gesticulating with each other and, in the middle of them, a white goat looked around boredly. When he saw Tthor, he ran towards him, dragging a rope around his neck. He jumped into his arms and started licking her face.

  The first couple approached the young people of the Civil Guard and declared, loudly so that everyone could hear:

   "We want to report the Tilpa for theft!"

   "We haven't stolen anything!!!" The other couple defended themselves.

   They were a fairly young man and woman, both with light hair, accompanied by three small children and a newborn baby, who was crying in his mother's arms.

   "What's going on? What have they stolen from you?" Spike asked, trying to take control of the situation.

   "That goat is ours. And, at dawn, we found it in the Tilpa family garden.

   "Well, that being the case, you'll have to accompany me..."

   "But we didn't steal it. We found it in our portal," said the man, visibly exhausted.

   "And why didn't they return it?" The accusing woman snapped, adjusting some copper curlers under her brown hat.

   "Because...my baby was hungry. She is only a couple of days old but I... I don't have milk to give her," and she burst into embarrassed tears. "My husband doesn't have a job and we don't have money to buy milk. Someone…a kind soul left food at our door tonight, and so did the goat. And we thought it had been a miracle..."

   The atmosphere had become tense and no one dared to say a word. The accusing couple now looked at the other couple in a different way.

   "Come...," the copper-haired woman said to the other, extending her hand. "If you had told me, we would have helped you. You know I just had a baby too. I can give milk to your little son."

   The other woman was visibly moved and she was crying silently.

   The people who had seen everything began to circulate and the Civil Guard closed the case. The two couples, now talking animatedly among themselves, resumed their path toward the outskirts of the town. One of the children ran up to Tthor, who had followed the entire scene quite moved with Noel. Tthor handed him the goat, while the boy said to him in a low voice:

   "I saw you last night, when you brought her... Thank you!!!" And he left behind his parents, who were already several meters ahead.

   Noel looked at Tthor for an explanation. But Thor did not know what to say.

   Spike Shannut greeted them with a slight wave of his helmet and ordered his companions to follow him.

   "Come on! "I'll accompany you to the abbey," Noel said to Tthor, taking him by the arm.

   "Don't forget your cart!" the homeless man shouted, smiling.

   Noel and Tthor looked at where the man was pointing in bewilderment.

   "That cart is... from Warghost's kitchen," Noel said surprised. "How did it get here?"

   Tthor took it and started on his way, smiling at the beggar and beginning to understand a little of everything that had happened. Noel looked at him mischievously and said:

   "I guess you don't know why that man has the gloves and scarf that I gave you..."

   And the laughter of the two filled the winter morning, as they walked slowly towards the steep hill of Warghost, leaving behind the beggar who, while gobbling down the remains of the braided bread for breakfast, sighed and said:

   "So you are Tthor Prayer, the son of Samej…"