"Oh, for chrissake! Darn and damn it", Marja shouted and stamped her foot on the ground, which then gave way as if it had been frightened. "Why didn't I see the stupid boat was drifting off? What was I up all night for?"

" I would be interested in that, too," Bastian muttered and finally threw the stick away. Ashamed, Marja lowered her head. Unfortunately, it was her fault, and she knew it. Luckily, Bastian had to struggle with not letting himself be distracted from the beauty of this creature, which stood in front of him and stared at him with white-blue eyes.

This one twisted it's pale, albeit full lips into a gloating smile. "Well, welcome. Welcome to the Green Island," it said, sizzling like a snake - like a loud whisper.

Framed by the black strands that fell out of the high bound hair, the face looked even paler than it already was and Marja wondered whether there was a lighter colour than white at all. Her teacher (who was responsible for art as well as every other school subject) would now have looked at her angrily, as always when one of his otherwise highly gifted students described white as "color". Highly gifted, Marja thought and managed not to grin at her own irony in this difficult situation. It wasn't really funny anyway. And everyone would pick on her when she was joking.

The horse would probably have liked to ask whether it finally starts now, because it danced as if it could not wait much longer to raze these two useless human figures to the ground.

Bastian's face had darkened in stark contrast to the perfect pallor of the Death Servant's face, as if someone had robbed even the last dull light of the night. Every single wrinkle on his sun and wind shaped skin cast a shadow that seemed to bury it even deeper as he lowered his head almost imperceptibly.

A harsh shiver went down Marja's spine and once again she became aware of the cold that surrounded her. Winterly, deadly, bitterly cold.

"Why? What's so bad about Ireland? It's... it is..." She would have loved to continue talking, but she was too busy preventing her jaw from trembling too much with her teeth compressed, as well as controlling her already very weak voice.

Bastian didn't look at her. He withstood the fearsome gaze of this horrible creature and finished Marja's sentence: "Dark. Awful. Dangerous. Even if it wants to disguise that with its beautiful nature."

"The beggar hit the nail on the head," rejoiced the woman and her powerful, croaking voice, like that of an old woman, only now really came into force, after it had previously been hidden behind hissing sounds. Marja flinched. This voice did not fit at all to her outward appearance.

She glanced over to Marja for a moment and when her eyes fixed her for the first time, as if they wanted to burn a hole through her, Marja froze for a moment. This horrible moment seemed to extend like nothing else would do, although this cold woman did not even look at her for a second.

"Yes, just look at me with such horror, little girl. You have every reason," she croaked maliciously. "Though you probably still think you'll run into nothing but lovely fairy princesses riding unicorns."

Marja tried to disagree, but she couldn't. She was not even able to shake her head slightly, although the woman no longer looked directly at her, but stared at Bastian again.

But instead of bravely standing up, he now looked expectantly at Marja, who would have loved to sink into the pitch-black ground by now. Did your impertinence leave you? he seemed to want to ask, even if it was probably just a more provocative phrase for: Help me!.

But all Marja could do was try to make a cheerful smile, even if she ended up with a worried grimace.

The horse with its eyes blazing with hatred had given up its prejoyful dancing and stared into the darkness. His rider released a pale hand, which looked like that of a emaciated child, from the reins and stroked along his instep like a gentle breeze.

" Its perils are so deadly... and yet so unbelievably fascinating," whispered the Death Servant preoccupied. "Most of them are unknown to men. For those who have already seen it - have had to see it - can certainly no longer warn others."

Bastian nodded as if he knew exactly what the pale figure was talking about. Marja, however, was still shocked. They did not even notice the dawn slowly rising above the tops of the trees and spreading.

The Lady in White seemed to be pondering. Marja didn't want to know exactly about what. She preferred to turn to Bastian and said: "Come! We... must go!"

"Where to?" he asked without looking at her. Marja moaned as if that was actually clear. " Well-" Then, however, she noticed that it was not obvious at all. They were sitting in the middle of a forest in the smallest clearing there was (maybe it wasn't even a clearing) and their boat had drifted away.

The Lady in White gave her a disdainful look. "She's impertinent." "The land of Singing Lights is a very peculiar name for your destination. Without a boat, the crossing could be quite difficult."

From the corner of her eye, Marja could see Bastian clenching his hands into fists as if he was holding them back. "Yes," he squeezed out of clenched teeth. "I know. But I used to be a champion in boat construction." He raised his shoulders and gave Marja a questioning look but she just shook her head.

She would have liked to slap herself again, but she couldn't do anything, her head didn't work as usual. She was just so scared of the White Lady and her beast of a horse.

The Lady sat enthroned like a princess up there, holding her head pressed back into the nape of her neck with a throaty laugh. "Since you both feel as helpless in our kingdom as you should," she began, having finished her laughter about the awkward travelers, "I and Morning Pallor decide to come to your aid."

The horse - Morning Pallor - snorted and put on its ears to it's head while scrapering outraged with its right hoof. Apparently it did not agree with this self-decision of his mistress. Marja glanced grimly at the animal, which only glanced back from his dead cold eyes.

Again the Lady in White calmly stroked him over his withers and spoke long, deep and above all soft words to him, again in this language not created by men, and they calmed the angry animal.

"She doesn't like helping strangers," she explained, taking her eyes off her dry, pale hand, whose fingers curled like spider arms around separate hair strands of the deep black, silky-thin mane. "Especially when the strangers are so stupid and unpleasant," she added with a sudden bitterness that let Marja almost forget her outer beauty and let this creature standing before her as the old woman whose voice she borrowed.

Marja took an respectful step forward. "If you will allow me a question -", she made an awkward curtsey and held her hands as if she would hold a skirt up the sides, "- are you actually helping us? And if so, why?"

She knew that it was foolish to ask this question even without the reproachful look Bastian threw at her from the side, and yet she could not resist making sure at least once.

Morning Pallor's mistress lifted a corner of her mouth to an oblique smile. Then she grimaced her flawless face into a bored expression. "Oh..." she said absent-minded with a look into the distance covered by countless trees lit by red twilight. " This is an interesting question. Two interesting questions. That means yes, and because as servants you would be no good." She uttered the last words as if she wanted to spit them out to Marja, but even that could not harm her beauty.

As she smiled again at Marja's frightened expression, laughter lines formed under her almond-shaped eyes, which were overshadowed by long, dark lashes. Her eyelashes and thin, rounded eyebrows, not to mention her silky, carbon black hair, were the first things you could see in the distance. The rest of her face, in contrast, appeared pale and as if drawn with a wafer-thin pencil. Her face had an oval shape so it didn't look too narrow and angular like Kirka's, and even the fact that no colour existed in her face only slightly diminished the overall picture. No wonder Bastian had to suck it up not to fall victim to her magic.

Then she put her hand into the snow-white fabric of her dress, which was covered with pale patterns that were repeated on the reigns of Morning Pallor.

"Copy that." Bastian tried to sound determined, but his actually powerful voice faded into a hoarse croak at the sight of the radiant being.

The woman nodded with an important expression. "By the way," she added to the actual conversation, "my name is Raven."

Yes, Marja thought. The name fits. Whether it was because of the raven-like croaking voice or the hair that resembled the plumage of her namesake, it fitted.

"And," she added, meaningfully, as loud as if she were speaking to an audience. Whispering - after attracting all her attention - she said:"... I am the one to be feared."