The young man lies limp in my arms. His head rests on my broad chest as trusting as a maid, rising and falling with the ebb and flow of my breath. He smells as sweet as a girl, for all his twenty years. The low light from the dim brazier picks out the curl of his eyelashes, as the herb mixture pushes him deeper into sleep.

My right hand lies loose over the back of his bruised neck. My left limp over the curve at the base of his spine. I am mindful of the weals of the injuries striping him.

I am not a brute.

- I will come again through the shadows woman, know that in your heart... Your nightmares are my own to claim!
Dwarf's gloomy voice echoed like torrential waterfall or rocks sliding along the mountainside. He opened his mouth: teeth were black, or whatever was left of the teeth. Tongue was splitted like that of snake's. On his eyes, burned evil, unlike Tucona had ever seen: abysmal, and black as the space.

The sound of the pen moving on the parchment was filling the air. Then it suddenly stopped as grey blue looks fell onto the golden daisy which was lying on the writing desk for a while. Slim fingers reached out to touch its delicate petals.

Dream days - dream nights. The moon in the dark runs red with blood. The sun a swollen eye that hangs in the heavens, unlovely and malevolent.

The stone wild in my blood. Through the seamless day-nights - three wakings for others - but for me one night. Burning and storm tossed, lying in my own sweat for all that my Poppinjay cools and soothes. I feel his hands, cold, descend upon me - a moment - before the black-blooded waters sweep me away once more. Blood comes again, and falls like rain, and flowers at my feet.