The young Saka warrior was on the alert,
he had the impression that they were being
followed. The trees were completely still,
and somewhere not far, the sky thundered.
The sister walked ahead, barefoot. She
was a creature of crystal-clear pools,
of steep mountain-side ravines: a heart
of marble, and eyes of an eagle, piercing.
Marco was massively intimidated by her,
and yet, she seemed to be completely
indifferent to him now. The young man was
instead mildly competitive, while there was
no progress in winning Dream-eater’s true
favour, which was what he was after, mostly.
His dreams in the expanse of the grey steppe
were confused, and he was tormented by guilt.
The sister seemed to be all-seeing, and yet
somehow all-forgiving, much like a cloud
that comes from afar, hovers about, and
moves on, pushed by nothing but a puff of wind.
Her eyes were chrysoprase butterfly wings,
never resting on anything, always quick
and condescending, climbing on higher,
and higher, and down to the depths of his soul.
Through the thick forest paved with green-blue
light, monumental formations of lichens seemed
to rise stalagmite-like, which was very apt,
for the wood-land seemed like the interior of
a cave. Dream-eater was feeling as she was
suspended in time, and everything leading to
that moment, every wish, every pain she ever
experienced seemed to somehow make sense.
And she felt that she was due something good,
the favour of the gods will soon descend upon
her, and her fingers would brush the bright sky,
like the quivering wind, and her soul would soar,
for she was free now, and her dead father would
not haunt her, and the world was at her command,
and she had companions she loved, and they loved
her, even the strange Venetian was a trusted friend.