I wake up feeling well-rested: the sweetest sensation when you've had enough sleep. I'm not entirely wide awake, that's why I keep my eyes closed. Suddenly I have a haunting feeling that something is wrong: the memories of yesterday make me shudder.

 Feminine warmth and heartbeat: I'm not alone.

 My mood changes its color instantly. I can see her lying next to me, to be more precise, lying almost on top of me. Elfia snuggles up to me, putting her left arm on my tummy, and her left leg on my thigh. Good thing she doesn't know anything about my preferences, otherwise she wouldn't do that.

  I decide not to wake her up. I justify my decision by saying to myself that I don’t want to embarrass her: I have heard more than once about how modest elves are... Reassuring myself that I am doing the noblest deed, I start shamelessly examining Svartalf’s sleeping face.

 Elves are really amazing creatures: nature endowed them with some incredible symmetry that makes their faces perfect, and in combination with imperfect human blood Svartalf was born: she reminds me of a mystical black wild rose that grows only in elven grottoes near the sea. Now these lands have gone to dwarves, but once the ancient elves lived there. Only the ruins of Antolia temple (Amixantra's older daughter) and unusual grottoes with rare outlandish plants, that could not be cultivated elsewhere, remain. When I was a child, we went there with an annual academy excursion for young sorcerers. Much has already been erased from my memory, but I always remember the sound of the sea, the salty breeze in my smiley face, and the amazing singing of mermaids. Me, a ten-year-old girl and the boys from my group of combat sorcerers would run away from the teacher and gnome tour guide to peep at mermaids’ gorgeously naked breasts.

 Svartalf is moving in her sleep. Her hand is moving too right up to my breasts. She sweetly moans cuddling closer to me. I stare at elfia with wide-open eyes. Thaaat's enough of a mattress time! I sit up quickly; she slides off me.

 “Hey, good sleep?” I say looking at her sleepy face. She rubs her eyes, yawns, desperately avoiding eye contact.

 “How do you feel?” she whispers as if crows outside could hear her.

 “Stop asking me about my health, Svartalf. I've already embarrassed myself.  Enough for you to tell your elves how weak battle human sorcerers are,” I grumble, towering over her. She crosses her arms across herself, biting her well-shaped, plump lips.

 “If you bite your lip again. I'm going to do it for you,” I sneer.

 Svartalf freezes. I look at her with serious expression, then I laugh out loud, “Chill, babe! Haha! Now you are wide awake. Do you have anything to eat in your super backpack?”

 She pouts her lips. Her brow frowns. I'm sure she doesn't like my teasing. Who cares: I have to amuse myself. Besides, I can distract and cheer her up a little bit: elves are too stiff in manners and behavior.

 The light carves its way, even through the cracks of wooden shatters; its yellow stripes are crossing her dark skin. I give an inner sigh: some women are destined to be beautiful.

 We go outside without fear. Our duet is met by a stunning view to the east: an endless dark green forest and the river that looks like a tiny silver snake. Fortunately, I see no crows. Yesterday we climbed the mountain from the western side: it is steeper and greener. From distance, one can see the plowed fields and the village from where we escaped. I wonder what they are doing right now? I’m confident that all villagers will be talking about us for quite some time: things like yesterday don't just happen in this part of the world. They’ll surely tell their kids spooky bedtime stories about bestia in pants and a noble dark elfia who saved the head of the village.

I think of a young earthy farmerette; it is a pity that she will never see the capital. I doubt that she will ever leave this village. If Svartalf is right and Imor is ready to fight for power, people will start dying. Ordinary people like my little earthy farmerette or the head maid with a strict bun on her head, even capricious Fellania in a tasteless dress: uprisings and skirmishes will not spare anyone. If only this Imor would die!

 “Even if there was once a residence on the top of the mountain, it is definitely not here now,” I say, enjoying the glory of morning sun. There is no trace of people here but the forlorn lodge. Most likely, no one has been here for a long time. “Is it possible that we came to the small crater lake by mistake?” I yawn, eyeing the smooth water surface of beautifully round lake. Getting older, I start understanding why people believe in Amixantra: it feels only a divine hand can take an enormous jug and pour water into a boiling volcano crater.

Svartalf is facing the lake with her hands on the hips. Her face is resolute as if she's ready to act, but she doesn't know where to start, “Witch, we're in the right place.  Look over there.” She turns a little, pointing south.

 Elfia is right. Down the southern slope, the small crater lake is glowing like a clean porcelain saucer.

 “Listen, babe. I'm sure they'll figure it out without you. Let me take you to your mother. Where does she live?"

 My words make her furious, “It's all a big joke to you, isn't it?” She moves menacingly towards me. “The entire fate of your country is at stake, but you don't even care! And stop treating me like a baby!”

 “Babe, elves don't need you. And they have nothing on you, believe me. Do not meddle in their affairs.”

 “My compatriots, my people need me. I'm proud to be an elf."

 “Half-elf.”

 “You can laugh, spare me your irony, and make fun of me, but the truth is, witch, nobody else wants you. You are a lonely vagabond,” she says with malice.

 It feels like though I have just been slapped in the face.

 “You are right.”