That night, before Prunella prepares for bed, Noita approaches her. "Listen up, girl. If one of them roosters in the hen-house crows tonight, I want ya to tell me which one it is."
"Wh-what do you mean?" Prunella asks. Noita slaps her.
"Stupid wench! I want ya to tell me the color of the rooster that crows! If ya don't, or if ya get it wrong, I'll kill ya, and that good fer nothing boy too!" Prunella gasps. "That's right, I know ya figgerd out a way to talk to him. How dumb do ya think I am?" Inwardly Prunella is relieved. Noita doesn't seem to know that Bensiabel has learned some magic. If she found out, they would both be killed for sure. "Now get to yer room, and when I call to ya, ya better answer mighty quick."
Prunella goes upstairs to her room and sits on her bed. Gradually it grows dark as the hours pass by. Prunella is exhausted, but cannot allow herself to sleep. Every once in a while, she taps on the wall seperating her room from Bensiabel's, and is reassured by his tap back. She has explained the test to him, and though he is unprepared for it and unsure how to help her, he has promised to try his best. Suddenly she hears a jarring cry; it is the crow of one of the three roosters. Her heart racing, she taps franticly at the wall.
"Bensiabel! Bensiabel! Which rooster was that?" she asks in a hushed tone.
"I . . . I'm not sure." Bensiabel focuses, and sees the rooster in his mind. He thinks fleetingly of asking his beloved for a kiss in return for his answer, but quickly dismisses the idea. She would only refuse, and he cared to much for her to withold the information.
"Prunella! Are ya sleeping or just plain stupid? Which rooster was that?" Noita screeches up the stairway.
"Tell her it was the black one." Bensiabel whispers.
"The black one! It was the black one!" Prunella shouts back in reply. Noita does not confirm her answer, but neither does she come upstairs to destroy her. Prunella knows she has given the right reply. Silently she prays that none of the other roosters crow that night. But her prayers are in vain. Another rooster crows, and again Prunella begs Bensiabel to tell her which rooster it is.
Bensiabel again focuses, and murmurs a reply. "Tell her it was the white one."
"The white one crowed!" Prunella yells. Once more she appeals to the gods to keep the crows silent for the rest of the night. Hours past, and Prunella feels she is safe. She begins settling into a dream-like, half-conscious sleep. However, a rooster unexpectedly shatters her delicate slumber. Disoriented, she taps on the wall. "Bensiabel! Which one?" she demands. To her horror, there is no reply. Afraid that he has fallen asleep, she taps harder and calls him as loudly as she dares. "Bensiabel! Bensiabel!"
Bensiabel is not asleep. He has been trying futilely to see the color of the rooster, but he is distracted. For the first time, he is seeing the world through the eyes of his mother. Since the girl first arrived at his home, Bensiabel has done nothing but try to help her. He has protected her from beatings, assisted her with her chores, and tried to console her when she was depressed - all unbeknownst to her. He taught himself the evils of witchcraft, probably damning his soul forever, mainly to help her. He has aided her in her magical exams, even though she had refused the only payment he had asked for, and knowing that if he were found out, he would be killed. She thought he was a wicked, wretched creature, for all he had abeted her, and yet still, she asked for her help and expected to pay nothing in return. She knew that he cared for her, and she was using it to her advantage.
Now he understands why his mother enjoys torturing them both, and tormenting the town, as he had learned. Maybe, just maybe, she has had an experience similar to his. This feeling, this sudden hatred, it surpasses the girl alone. He wants everyone to feel as lonely and miserable as he has all his life. He wants no one to be happier than he - including the girl. Let his mother kill her. She deserves to die. Perhaps then, his mother will realize that the perfect apprentice has been right under her nose all along. He will be her successor, become the most powerful wizard of all time. He realizes his eyes have been screwed shut while he has been lost in thought and opens them. That color that had flooded his vision . . . it was a color of blood and rage and hate. . .