“You promised not to call me this way...” she hands me the flask.

 I do not pay attention to her displeasure. It's really fun to tease her. It helps to chill me out and focus. A small energy source is still beating in a thin stream between the black lava stones. I am dumping all my attention on the source trying to draw it in my body without a trace.

 “At my command, close your eyes and get down.”

She nods hastily.

 Well, there's no use in waiting. A hot fireball is born in my left palm. It licks my skin with its flames. Too small to disperse a thick layer of shadows, but it’s perfect for something else.

 “DUCK!” I shout.

 I toss the brandy flask into the air full of shadows. With my palms out in front of me in the most powerful magical gesture, I give the mental command for the fireball. It rushes skyward with the speed of an arrow hitting the flask.

 I barely have time to shut my eyes, covering trembling elfia with my body. The explosion is powerful; I definitely achieved the result that I planned: the more light, the better.

 Everything is quite now. I don't feel the buzzing and bugging-nagging vibes that have been coming from the shadows and external magic. I crane my head up: the sky is clear and starry. My vision is not blurred anymore, and I can hardly see the dim road between the low bushes. My magic level's almost down to nothing, but I'm happy:

 “Now run, Svartalf,” I say, gently patting her head and pointy ears. “It's time for you to go.”

 She flutters like a bird at my touch.

 “How are you?” She's trying to get me on my feet.

 “Do you want to say official goodbye when we are both standing? What a model of manners and elegance!” I chuckle feebly.

 “Please, be patient a little, it won’t be long before the summit.” She tries to lift me up by wrapping her arms around my waist. I have recently heard the similar words. I'm caught off guard so I don't resist her attempts to pick me up off the ground. 

“You’ve chosen the wrong bodyguard, Svartalf. I’m a shadow of whom I used to be.”

 “I need you alive! I won't leave you. Come on, raise your white, pale human ass…”

 “Well excuse me, babe, for being pale: not everyone gets a chance just come out looking that beautiful like you,” I blurt out, trying not to hold her so tight which is impossible, for I'm almost all over her.

 My unexpected (unexpected for both of us) complement reaches the goal: her face is getting long, and she is confused and cutely angry. I chuckle even under the pressure of my emotional pain and lurking perils.

 I understand that I can barely move my legs, but Svartalf turns out to be so strong: I feel she’s moving me instead.

 “You are so browny, is your papa a troll?... Hey, don't slap my head! Hehehe, ohhhh, not my head again! Fine, fine! I give up!” I was just teasing her knowing how elves dislike trolls.

 “How do you manage to be so obnoxious in the moment of greatest danger?” She stoically continues to walk while keeping on dragging me. She is losing her breath, and her body feels hot like a fireplace on a frosty day.

 “Well I've been worse... Listen... I don't feel that the night shadows are following us now. Where are they?” I wiggle my head to look around, but it’s too dark to see anything. My magic is pathetically exhausted to make even a tiny ‘firefly’. I wonder how she manages to see the way in such darkness.

 “Most likely they were afraid of your fire and light."

 “Creatures like them are easy to scare away for a while, but it is simply impossible to stop them from chasing. They are like hunting dogs, hounds that will pursue the prey until they overtake it or until the owner calls them back.”

 “Perhaps you underestimate your own magic,” Svartalf huffs. No matter how tired the woman is, she is holding my waist very gently while my hand is resting on her shoulders. 

 I toss my head, “Trust me, sweetie, I'm the witch who wears her pants proudly, and I never miss a chance to show off my magical abilities, especially to those who are willing to watch my tricks of trade with their mouths open. I assure you, Svartalf, our pursuer is incredibly strong, but he retreated after my first pathetic attempt to fend off his shadows. Do you understand what I mean? Something is extremely odd here.”

 “Maybe he got all the needed information,” she says. Svartalf is tired: her body is trembling.

 “I didn't say anything when under the spell. Do you want me to swear on blood?” I thunder in irritation. “And if you don’t believe me, then stop helping me. Better leave me here like I asked you to. I can stop them, at least for a while, if they start following you again. I'll buy you some time, don't worry." I still do not understand why she needs me: so far, I have coped very poorly with my direct duties.

 “Ohh, shut up!” she snaps at me, holding me tighter.

 Elfia led me through the first secret portal at the foot of the mountain. It was not very well hidden, and it looked more like a romantic arch formed by a bent tree. When we passed through it, I did not feel any obstacles, which showed very weak elven blood magic (as a rule, elves do not have magical abilities, mainly using bizarre artifacts and ‘gifts’ from other worlds), but now I literally feel with my whole body how we are going through an invisible magic veil that suddenly appears before us. Like the first thin ice crust on autumn puddles, it crunches pleasantly and quickly breaks. Svartalf falls, and I fall with her to the hard rocky ground. We are breathing heavily, unable to get up. The top of the mountain is below us; finally we are protected by ancient elven artifacts. It's nice not to move any muscle: I wish I could stay forever on the ground.