Although his body was sore and his feet full of blisters, the old man felt good, as he had not felt for a long time. At first, he thought it was because he was being useful now, but on second thoughts, he was useful in Tedris, resurrecting blades.

And then he knew what it was. He was no longer alone. Even if he went out during the day and talked to people, always at night and in the morning, he was alone. He ate alone, he always ate alone. There was no one else to share life with, the people he spoke to were customers or merchants. He had no friends, really. At least not anymore. Some died in the war. Others, died, moved, disappeared until there was no one left but himself.

He had been traveling with them for less than a month, but he felt Motoku was his friend, Renkiou always had a story to tell, and he also liked to ask about the old man's participation in the war. And as for Eriana, well, she was always with them. She did not talk much and did not consider him as a person.

He just felt a little better about her, when he found out that in a way, that's who she was. Renkiou talked a lot about his father, Sir Gram, as he was the greatest dragon hunter of all time. The old man had heard Gram's name once, but what he heard was not even half as much as the young knight was saying. He told Gram hunted a rare blue-scaled dragon, the most fierce and fearsome dragon in the world. But within all stories people told, the worst dragon was confronted, so the old man was not much impressed by what he heard.

The old man was very curious about Eriana's story, but he knew almost nothing about it. And she never talked about herself. Motoko didn't know much about her either. He only knew that she and Renkiou were already traveling together when the knight bought him, many years ago. Sometimes the old man got a little behind and Motoku talked to him while the sorceress and the knight whispered to each other, ahead.

"Back on Tedris, you were going to say the dragons were somebody's work, but Mrs. Eriana told you to shut up."

"What? Oh yeah..." he said softly. "I'm not sure who this guy is, but I heard some of their conversations. Somebody called Le'Daman. I think he's a sorcerer..."

"If he did bring those dragons, he's a great bastard!"

"The world is full of bastards".

The old man could not disagree with that. So the trip continued, the supplies getting scarcer. The days that followed brought icy winds as they climbed the tracks through of the mountains.

At that point, only Renkiou still had the heart to speak as they walked. The best time of day was to stop to camp and sleep. The old man was a little afraid, not of dragons, but of shunas. They were large, gray-striped cats. They hunted in small prides. They had spotted some shunas in the distance in the late afternoon. Eriana's sentry wolf warned of the danger that night. The old man froze at the sight of those terrible cat eyes stalking them. Eriana simply scared them off with her lighting, being careful not to hurt them.

Renkiou complained. "You might have roasted one of those shunas for dinner!"

"These creatures are important where they are. Besides, we would waste most of the meat".

The old man noticed that Motoku seemed to disagree, but decided just to remain silent.

"How much longer until we reach Guin'uji?" The old man thought he might die if he had to travel for many days under such conditions.

"Two days," Eriana replied gazing at the starry sky.

The old man sat back happily. He thought he might survive for two more days.

"Thank you for saving us from those shunas," he murmured.

She stared at him for a moment, her face half hidden by the shadows of the fire, and she only gave a brief nod.

By the end of that trip, they were all tired, dirty and in need of a shower. And that bath was almost as good as being reborn. At first, the old man looked suspiciously at the noruks who came to help them in the bath.

They were ugly creatures, gray-skinned, with sad eyes, devoid of vitality. Even though they were young, the old man had the feeling that they were almost dead. But when they rubbed his back, massaged his feet and everything, the old man even thought that he might have been devoured by the shunas and that now his soul had reached paradise. They even trimmed his hair and beard. He might well have rejuvenated about ten years after that.

"Where are my clothes?" The old man asked the chief, an older, white-haired noruk wearing a loose green tunic fastened on the thin waistband of black-dyed leather. His bare feet showed well-groomed nails, but they still looked bestial in the old man's eyes.

He bent over a vein of almost ninety degrees, no one had ever done anything like it before, and the old man felt uncomfortable. "The mistress had your rags burned."

"Burned my clothes? Why?"

An assistant noruk, who wore only a thong and one of those funny green hats, came up with the folded clothes. They were a pair of vibrant red xenim shirt and pants with a floral pattern very subtly embroidered in a pastel yellow hue.

The old man examined the clothes and twisted his lips with many wrinkles around them. There was also underwear made of raw cloth. He put on that upset, he felt like a clown wearing such colorful clothes. The new shoes, at least, were comfortable. Outside his bath booth, he found Motoko and Renkiou also wearing new clothes, but nothing as colorful and hideous as what he wore.

"You look great, Grandpa!" Renkiou said, opening his arms. The old man cringed at the unexpected hug.

"This, this outfit ... is it your thing?"

"It's great to have lots of money, is not it?" He winked at the old man.

"I don't want to complain, or anything, but if I had the money, I'd buy something more discreet."

"Stop being grouchy, Grandpa. Your look very stylish!"

"I'm sure everyone will be able to spot me from anywhere ..."

Leaving the inside of the bathhouse, they reached the balcony where there was a beautiful view of Guin'uji. It was a completely different place from the capital, Jafe, or any other city the old man had seen in his life. As if it had been built by another nation. The houses, all very vertical with pointed roofs made of beige but very dirty ceramics, with few exceptions. The windows were all round and too small, but there were also plenty of balconies, terraces, and gardens.

But something caught the attention of the old man more than the scenery. Eriana had her hair combed to match her face, and her blue xenim dress highlighted her outline. The old man swallowed dryly and reproached himself; after all, he must have buried such sensations and thoughts long ago.

She looked at him reprovingly. The old man wondered whether this was due to the fact that he had looked at her improperly, or because of his clothes.

"Renkiou, I thought I'd have asked you to choose decent clothes for him."

The warrior shrugged.

"They look pretty decent to me!"

"They do not match his condition."

"They don't?" he sounded half offended. "Why?"

"They are not suitable clothes for a servant."

The old man wanted to say something, but he hesitated.

"Servant?" Renkiou replied. "He's our friend, a real dragon-hunter!"

Eriana rolled her eyes. "Just get something more discreet, something a cook would wear."

The old man had confused feelings about it. Certainly liked the part of the most discreet, but not much to be seen by her as a cook.

"Come on, Grandpa. Let's go to the store to choose a good outfit that will not bother this hag".

"Yes, as you wish..."

Clothes shops were things that only the nobility, mages, and wealthy merchants actually frequented. The old man tried to choose his new outfit without Renkiou disturbing him much. In fact, he was sad because he remembered that the clothes Eriana had burned had been sewn up by Ralye'ra. In the end, he got a gray piece with a blue collar and some discreet embroidery of the same color for the buttons and the sleeves.

"What is it, Grandpa, are not you satisfied with that one too?"

"No, that's great. I just remembered something sad."

"What's it?"

"About someone who's already gone."

Back on the porch, Eriana glanced approvingly.

"Very well, then."

They followed the slopes of Guin'uji and the old man was impressed by how many noruks he lived there. There seemed to be two of them for each person.

"There are a lot of them around here..." he remarked.

Renkiou replied, "They are very dependent on the noruks around here."

"It looks more like a city of noruks than people." confirmed Motoku. "All these little sad faces. Looks like they were all drugged."

"Oh, It'd be good if was really drugs" Eriana lamented.

"How so?" Motoku replied.

"Let it be," she said, and the matter ended there.

They went to construction that was very different from the others. A small round building, all of stone. It was built with dark stones, but it was covered with a green moss that gave the place a look of abandonment. The old man thought it looked like a mausoleum.

"Take the two of you to the inn," Eriana told the noruk, who led the pack carrying everyone's belongings on a four-handed cart.

Renkiou was about to protest, but he stopped when the sorceress gave him an angry gaze.

The old man felt curious about the place, but he was content to follow the noruk in brown robes with a white bandana tied around his flat head. There seemed to be some logic in the way they dressed, but the old man could not understand it.

"They are full of mysteries, those two." Motoku was already used to being left out.

"I hope they solve this whole thing before the goddamn kuns bring their army to destroy our kingdom."

"Have you faced them many times?"

The old man looked grim and kicked some pebbles out of the way. He hated thinking about the war.

"Yes, I have kune blood in my hands."

"But peace has lasted over forty years, has not it?"

"Yeah, but I do not think it's going to last another month," he murmured pessimistically.

Before he could go on, Plup turned and gestured exaggeratedly.

"We have arrived, my masters!

The old man wanted to laugh at him. He was a pathetic creature, but he reminded him of himself. Nothing more than a servant, a cook, who now, almost by chance, was accompanying those important people.

Motoku pulled a penny from his belt's pocket and handed it to the little noruk. He looked at him bewildered and crouched down trembling.

"No, no, no, sir, master! I can not accept it."

"Hey, okay, but you don't need to act like this..."

"Sorry ... I didn't wanna make a scene... Plup stupid. Stupid Plup!

The old man had seen some noruk servants in Jafe once or twice. They were very rare in other cities of the kingdom, but they did not look much like the one from Guin'uji. He noticed that while Plup apologized, the others carrying the luggage watched nervously, one trembling a little. "Poor creatures," he thought.

Motoku walked up to the steps of the inn ashamed. He had no intention of creating any embarrassment. The old man followed. Inside they were greeted by more noruks. An older one dressed in yellow with a hat of the same color. His name was Dlup, and he spoke ked perfectly, without an accent. He welcomed them to Lord Jeishen's lodge.

"Come, my masters, this way, please."

Motoku wanted to eat something and was taken to the refectory, but the old man just wanted to rest his carcass. They went their separate ways.

There was art in that place, the old man thought. And it was not exactly a matter of art objects, like tapestries and beautiful vases. It was the details. The dark wood glossy floor, shining like a mirror. The wooden carved plinths, the door frames, in pale wood with intricate geometric mosaics. And finally, that wonderful bed. The headboard carved imitating mountains and clouds in the sky. The fluffy mattress, the soft linen bedspread. The old man lay down and sank. The ceiling had a clean and perfect weft of straw. Deep and wonderful sleep came. That too was art.