Trevor blinked several times, with his eyes blurred, and tried to move his head. Dear Lord, how much just does my forehead weigh? He did not recall any dream as he peeked through the half-open window of that room, from where came light beams. What time might it be? He began to turn his body to accommodate himself better on the floor and only then he noticed something behind him, supporting itself on his back. Trevor finished his twisting and turning and hugged that something with a relieved smile. His throat somewhat itched, and he suffocated that need to cough in order not to wake her up.

Sypha had a noisy, choppy breath in his arms. He took a deep breath himself, smelling soap in her hair, and kissed the top of her head. Thanks to anything, you're back. Madam's house was silent and there was no trace of her in the living room. He stayed with Sypha as if they were the last ones in the world until his sleepiness was gone and his shoulder hurt against the floor. Wait, if Sypha's here, then… He supported himself on an arm to comprehend the world around him, bumping his head under the table. Trevor let out a curse through his teeth.

"Watch out, son." The old man's voice came from the top of the table. "I'm sore to the bone."

Trevor sighed. "Everything fine up there?"

"As much as I can be." The old man coughed. "What about down there?"

"Same, sir."

Trevor, still supporting himself on his elbow and forearm, looked down to Sypha. She nestled in fetal position, covered with an old blanket that was up to her nose. He removed her bangs from her face with the tip of his fingers.

"The woman told me she would be in the vegetable garden," the old man said. "In case you needed something, of course."

Trevor got up at once and headed to the half-open door in a light step.

Outside, the clarity made him squint his eyes and protect them with the shadow of a hand, as well as from the drizzle drops. He turned around the cottage and saw Marisa rolling a big cabbage with a foot, from the gantry to its outskirts. She seemed to hear his approach.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Aching." Trevor shrugged under his fur cloak, flinching against the cold breeze. "Also, I'd appreciate some sunlight today."

"We'd all love this grace." Marisa cleaned her hands full of dirt on her apron. "Come over here."

Trevor stepped forward and she touched his neck, twisting her face with the result.

"You have a fever." She pointed at the house. "Go inside."

"Can I help you with the garden?"

"Go inside, I said." She kneeled to harvest some carrots from the ground. "If you want something, be quick."

"I wanna know what happened yesterday."

Marisa threw the vegetables one by one in a basket, except for the bunch of carrots. She tied them like a bouquet, with a piece of fabric, and picked up the basket from the ground with ease, beginning to gesticulate with her free hand.

"It was raining like hell. I heard a knock on the door. When I thought of opening it…" The woman reproduced a banging sound, sided by the movement of an arm. "They arrived. My lock is broken for good. Haven't you seen it?"

"'They' arrived?" Trevor frowned.

"Yes. A huge young man, as white as a candle, and the almost lifeless lady. She couldn't breathe."

Right, there's someone who I need to scold. "So, he brought her."

"As much as it looks like."

"And where has he gone now?"

"To the village, it was all he told me." Marisa pushed him towards the cottage. "Now, go inside."

Trevor coughed. Quick, I need a plan. He lifted a finger. "Actually, I'm not feeling quite well."

"That's why I'm telling you to go inside, blockhead."

"No, you know… Can you get me a pair of leaves that won't leave me itching?" Trevor tried to smile at his own joke. "It's an emergency I'm the only one who can solve."

"Sure." Marisa left the basket on the ground. "Hold on a second. Don't go around muddling my garden."

She headed towards the woods, looking for some friendly bush. When she was gone from sight, Trevor turned his back on her and left to the ridged path.

"Horses, sir?"

The round-faced, soft-spoken woman answered the door less than five seconds after Alucard knocked three times on the wood. Now, for the speech.

"No, ma'am." He smiled gently at her. "I came here ordered by the gentleman that left a wagon with four horses yesterday. A dark-haired man with poorly cut hair and a scar on his face. Just a tad shorter than me. He had a lady by his side, a blue-eyed redhead, hood on her head, probably a book in her hand."

"What have they told you to pick up?" she asked.

"Some things from the baggage."

The woman frowned. "I don't recall seeing you yesterday, sir."

She isn't exactly believing me. "Then, do as I say, ma'am: I'm telling you what they want and you'll search the baggage for me. I know about every hay lint in the wagon." He got a bunch of coins in his pockets and counted them over as he opened his hand. "Would this much be enough for the stay of our horses?" he asked with as much sympathy as he could. "They'll perhaps take a while to be back. The path to Madam is pretty ridged."

The woman received the coins in her hands and counted them precisely, with a contented face. "That's the amount for two days, sir."

He gestured for her to put them away. "Please, keep the change."

The stable owner called him, and they passed by both empty and occupied stalls, as well as haystacks. In some of them, he recognized the horses lent by Katrina's father in Ploiesti, petting one of the mares in her neck as the woman unlocked a door. It took them to the back, where the wagon was parked. She climbed upon it and Alucard told her to pick up Sypha's book, his journal, the bag with dried food, and one of the flasks.

"Ma'am, if you allow me the intromission," he called her, and she stopped collecting objects to stare at him. "Why do you carry that twig behind your ear?"

She tidied it in her hair better. "Oh, this. Madam says it scares away the plague. In times like these…"

"Any help is welcome, I see."

Is it perhaps rosemary? He recalled the gigantic moth hovering over the empty village. The woman went back to rummaging through the baggage. I've read that insects aren't fond of certain odors. A twig, though, would it scare away such a monstrosity? Alucard put a hand on his chin. It's the plant back on Madam's front garden. I saw it when I passed there this morning. A twig certainly won't do. Now, maybe a lot of it…

"I'm sorry if I don't have much to tell, sir." The woman handed him the last bag. "There's not much going on here besides the plague."

"And I can figure it's not the best of subjects to talk about."

"People died by the dozen in the towns North from here." She sighed. "They didn't even have where to bury them anymore."

How do I get rid of a giant insect that I can't spot? He put the grocery bag on his shoulder. It's an animal, and someone must hunt them around here.

"I know it might sound a bit unpurposed, but it's been a while I'm in search of fresh game meat." Alucard put a hand inside the pocket of his jacket. "Do you know where I could find it?"

"It's a shame, sir." The woman shook her head. "There's a good archer, but he's counting his days."

"Is he an elder?"

"He's got the plague."

Alucard held back a curse.

She looked around before continuing, "I can tell you where he lives. Listen, though. He's Madam's brother. Don't speak of one to the other, not even if they ask."

He left the stable following the owner's instructions and left the village to enter another muddy trail, a shorter, flatter one than the opposite path. In its end, there was an old house made of stone, one big enough for a family, with bindweed on its walls. Alucard knocked on the door. He thought he would never have an answer when strong coughing could be heard moving from a room to the other. A man opened the door to him, a middle-aged one with dark circles just like Marisa's, a tired posture, thin cheeks, and a skinny neck poking out of a woolen shirt.

"Good day, sir." The man had a hoarse voice. "What would you wish here?"

That you'd get better soon, first things first. "I'm looking for a man who can track and shoot a bow." Alucard smiled a bit.

"You should've come a week ago." The man opened the way and pointed towards his living room with an open hand. "Come in, don't stay under this drizzle."

As Alucard set foot inside, a big, fluffy figure in front of the fireplace dragged his attention. The dark dog lifted its ears and got up to smell the visitor. The owner, calling him Maximus, told him to stay, and the dog obeyed with piercing eyes to the newcomer. He followed the hunter and his trail of cough to a stove with dying flames.

The man lifted a mug "I can only serve you day-old tea, if you want some," he said.

"I'd welcome it."

Alucard peeked at the dog again. We could probably have some fun chasing one another on a friendlier day. The other man, coughing, called him as "sir" and gestured for him to approach the stove.

"I'll have you pour your own tea, as much as you'd like." He gave Alucard the mug. "I'll spill it if I insist."

The man also gave him a wooden ladle and moved away from the pot. Alucard filled his mug and also the host's. A sip of the tea left his mouth with a grassy taste. I'm not one to complain. The man also told him to sit and introduced himself as Andrei.

"It's not one of the best drinks to serve you, but let's see if it'll make me live another day or two." Andrei coughed. "Who sent you here?"

"The stable owner."

"The widow." He had a satisfied face and chugged the tea. "A good woman." Suddenly, Andrei left his mug on the floor and entered a coughing fit that seemed endless, with a hand over his mouth and another one on his chest. Near the fireplace and his owner's chair, the dog jumped, turning his head to look. As he could breathe again, the hunter went on. "Sorry. And why would you need the services of a… how did you put it? A man who can track and shoot a bow."

"Let's say that I'm a bounty hunter of sorts." Alucard crossed his fingers on his lap, reclining on the chair.

"One of my kind." Andrei picked up the mug again and lifted it. "Cheers." They toasted, and the hunter had time to drink the tea once before coughing again. He let his hand fall to pet between the dog's ears. "And how could I help you, then?"

"There's some nice prey around the region," Alucard said. "Two of them, actually."

Andrei frowned. "Two?"

"Of the flying kind."

"We could be tracking the same thing, then." The hunter sighed and got up from the chair. "Check what Maximus found the other day."

Andrei dragged himself to a corner with hunting trophies, from where he got a feather, an identical sample as the one on the roof of the stable many villages back.

"So, see this one." Alucard pulled his journal from the baggage, and from the pages, he lifted the feather, much bigger than the book.

The hunter widened his eyes, a lifted eyebrow. "Do you know what this is?"

"A giant raven," Alucard affirmed. "It's not a common bird."

"Giant raven," Andrei repeated. "Is it one of the creatures the devil brought upon us?"

Alucard opened his mouth, thinking of confirming the suspicions, and chose to be evasive. "It's a night creature."

"Hmph." Andrei let himself fall on the chair, coughing. "I've lost a dog to a toothful monster in the forest. Without him, I wouldn't be here. He was old and moody, but he was mine."

"My condolences." Alucard sighed. "Have you seen the crow flying around here?"

"Now that you're asking, yes, I've seen something flying above my head." Andrei covered his mouth with a hand and coughed. "It was the dead of the night on a waning moon, though. If you're telling me it was the raven, I'm buying it."

"It wasn't." Alucard got his tea back. "It was our other prey. A venomous moth, also a giant one."

"Huge game everywhere." Andrei chuckled bitterly.

Alucard shrugged. "What can you do, huh?"

"Hunt them and eat them." Andrei lifted his mug. "Since they die as well as we live."

"Very well. There are people with which I need to talk to before we set any deal." Alucard stood up and headed to the door. "Would it be too inopportune if I were to be back later?"

"Of course not. I guess I'll be alive by then." Andrei also got up and opened the door. "See you soon, my friend."

Alucard thanked and left the house, back to the village using the trail. After climbing up and down the mild bumps that crossed the forest, the first houses began to appear. It's not too different from all the other villages in Wallachia. The difference, however, was the movement: there was some traffic, even if just a little. People by their doorsteps, one sale or another. In the center, like in any of them, he would find a place to seek refuge even from the very little urban life.

The tavern was kept by a bald man, silent and with a mustache. Alucard paid him his last coin from the depths of his pocket in exchange for a beer and sat beside the window. As he grew tired of staring at the clay on the street, he picked up his journal and the quill. He also stared at them as if they were fruitless, as if the pages were sterile land. It's easier when it's about to come out, not when I have to squeeze my brain for some words.

The door of the tavern opened to show a newcomer. Alucard felt his body tense up when Trevor passed by to the counter without looking around. Has he seen me? He dared to look over his shoulder to receive a stare back from Trevor, leaning against the counter to talk to the owner. It was all I ever needed. Trevor exchanged some incomprehensible muttering with the bald man, which he answered in the same tone, and left to the back of the place through a backdoor. Alucard frowned at the scene, dismissing it as soon as it happened. Maybe now I'll write some lines. He put the quill onto paper.

"I'd like to talk about yesterday. Actually, I'd like to bury yesterday as deep as all the dead in the region. In order to do so, I need to speak. I'll write, just in case. I can't tell if, after what happened to me, I should be more hopeful or more hopeless. I only know that I know nothing, isn't that the old saying?

Of all the mistakes I could've made these last two days, I've made them all, except for the transgression that tempted me the most. I'm an idiot; no, I'm a coward. It'd be the last shovel of dirt in my grave, but I'd receive it with open arms and with a silly smile on my face."

"Who would tell."

Alucard lifted his head all of a sudden, jumping a bit on his chair. Trevor's voice came from outside, through the open window. He rested an arm on the railing, with his laid-back posture as always.

"What are you doing here?" Alucard asked, in a ruder tone than intended.

"What do you do in a tavern?" Trevor put a hand on his own chin. "I don't have a penny to spare. Not with booze, for sure. I was in the kitchen boning a ham in exchange for one of these." He pointed at Alucard's beer.

"And where's the mug?" Alucard said.

Trevor lifted his empty cup in his other hand, just so that the last drop would fall on the land. He turned around the place and entered through the door, sitting by the table with a tired sigh and a brief coughing fit.

"I'm feeling terrible," Trevor said.

Also, sounding strangely friendly. "Why did you come here?"

"Because Madam wouldn't let me drink her wine. Honestly, the house chokes me as well."

I also ask myself how did you get her to let you leave, but the less I know, the better. Alucard took a sip of the beer and closed his journal. How's Sypha?, he thought.

"She's better," Trevor said, looking out the window.

Don't read my thoughts. "That's good." And I think we don't want to talk about it.

"Are you drinking that?" Trevor pointed at the mug.

"No, I think."

Trevor grabbed the mug and chugged its content at once. With some impact, he left it on the table and looked around, inspecting the surroundings with suspicions in his eyes.

"Listen," Trevor began, in a threatening whisper that contrasted how affable he seemed before, "right now, I want to kick you with all the strength in my body."

"Do I really need to know?"

"You do. Sypha only left yesterday because of you. Her place was in a warm bed with a doctor by her side, not under a downpour because you decided to jump ship when-"

"I didn't know the illness wasn't contagious," Alucard interrupted.

"We didn't, either. Have you seen any of us running away? Blaming one another? No, because you weren't there, not even to see it. So, if anything, the slightest thing you do gives even a hint that you're making a scene again, I won't move a muscle. I'll let you go to fucking Hell if you need it, I'll make sure to stop Sypha, and if your shenanigans put her on the line again, I won't-"

"I didn't put her on the line." Alucard pronounced each word carefully as Trevor got quiet and clenched his fist on the table. "I was as worried as you were. She was on the edge of death when-"

"Spare me. She wouldn't be on the edge of death if she hadn't gone after a spoiled brat that doesn't know how to do basic teamwork. And that's why I'd love to kick you."

Trevor began to cough until he ended up spitting some blood on his hand. He cleaned it on his pants and looked menacingly at Alucard again.

"That didn't end well last time," Alucard warned.

"It won't end well again if you keep on getting on my nerves. Swallow it, you're wrong, and accept your damn last chance."

They both were at a loss of words as Alucard lowered his head, staring at the table. The scolding, stuck in his throat like a thorn, would not leave, not even with a thousand beers. Reprehended like a mischievous little boy. Pathetic.

"I promised Sypha I wouldn't do it anymore," Alucard muttered.

"She's not the only one that matters."

Alucard sighed and murmured a weak "I'm sorry."

"Don't expect me to throw a party over it. It's nothing but what you're supposed to do." Trevor stood up. "I'll chase another beer."

As he waited for Trevor to make a deal with the owner, he picked up the journal again and had no courage to write a single line in it. I can be read and very misinterpreted… and he'd be right. Soon, Trevor was back to the table and gestured with his head for them to leave.

Alucard stood up and headed outside. "Do you have a plan?" he asked.

"It depends." Trevor looked at the quiet street, walking with both hands in his pockets. "Be more specific."

"I do have a plan."

"Now, be direct." Trevor coughed.

"Our problem is nothing but a moth."

"Why would a moth be a problem?" Trevor frowned. "We just need to kill it."

"Yes, we do." Alucard began to count on his fingers. "It's a bit more complicated when, one: its wingspan is as large as the size of a horse; two, you don't know where it is; and three, when it is the thing to release the venom that's killing the people."

"How do you know that?"

"I and Sypha saw it back in the other village."

"Hmm." Trevor seemed to ponder. "The old man really said he heard some flapping wings above his head."

"Which could be the raven, whose feather we found back there on the road."

"Or it could be something else." Trevor shrugged.

"Where are we going, if you allow me the question?"

Alucard stopped walking and Trevor copied him. They looked around, seeing a bunch of not very wealthy houses, as if they were piled upon one another in poor floors. The deserted street had nothing other than a dog that crossed it.

"Uh, I don't know," Trevor said.

"I know, then." A hint of a smile appeared on Alucard's face. "Please, follow me."

Sypha woke up with her throat itching like hell, but a well rested body. The strong coughing coming from above the table helped her back to reality, leaving her senseless dream. She supported herself on the floor to stand up and the woman in the cottage left the chair where she sat to put Sypha on her feet.

"How are you?" the healer asked, in a tone that was more professional than cordial.

"Better, I guess."

The woman chuckled somberly. "Well, you don't look like you're dying anymore. Do you have any idea where your friends have gone?"

They're not here? "When did they leave?" Sypha asked.

"When you weren't seeing, of course. One of them, the one that broke my door lock, is as healthy as a horse, so I didn't bat an eye. The other one ran away right under my nose."

Trevor… Sypha felt her heart aching. I don't have the right to say a word about what he did, though. "Healthy as a horse" can only be Alucard. Now… Sypha coughed briefly. "And how are things going? I've lost a lot of what went on, I guess."

"Not looking exciting." The woman sighed as she turned to pull a chair, so that Sypha sat around the table with her. "Sick people don't stand up in this house."

"Thank you." Sypha suited herself on the chair and looked over her shoulder to the old man, who slept on the table with his chest up. "I know something that could help. Perhaps Alucard has told you about what we've seen in the villages North from here."

"What kind of name is Alucard?" The woman frowned.

Sypha laughed. "It's all part of that one long story. I can tell you later."

"Whatever. Your boy Alucard hasn't told me a thing, so tell me yourself."

With almost renewed breath, Sypha reported to the unknown woman as much as she could about the moth she had seen under her flames: its brown shades, its huge wings and the dust it released as it flapped them.
The woman heard everything with a hand on her chin and an amused face. "So, do you think the two guys might be chasing that thing?"

"It's pretty likely." Sypha shrugged. "You can't hold Trevor back, not even if you tie him up."

"Speaking from experience?" The woman giggled and stood up, headed to the bookshelf. "Well, shall they do their best job. I'm not standing up here, watching the time go by."

Sypha hinted at standing up, but the other one stopped her with a hand gesture. The woman began searching volume after volume in the bookshelf until she settled for a titleless one, smaller than the rest and bound roughly, with thick sewing made of rope on the spine.

"What is it about?" Sypha inquired.

"Bugs," the woman replied without taking her eyes off of the open book. "They usually have venomous stings and pincers that leave you itching, not dust-releasing wings, but there might be something here to jog my memory."

Pages were flipped for a while until the healer began reciting, seeming like she pulled most of it from her memory than from the pages. "Here. The majority of the problems with moths and butterflies happens when you interact with larvae, not with the mature insect. They are capable of skin burns and some species can kill even an adult. 'In case one comes in touch with a burning caterpillar, the wound must be thoroughly washed and a cold compress must be applied. The exception, however…"

The woman showed her the book so that Sypha could see the illustration. It looks a lot like that one. The shape of the wings, the line that crossed all the wingspan, the texture that reminded her of a withered leaf. Sypha, with a shiver down her spine, finished reading. "'…is Lonomia, whose interaction with humankind is fatal and irreversible due to the potency of the poison.'"

"Can you reassure me that this is what you've seen back in the other village?" the woman asked, and Sypha murmured a weak "yes". "So, there's nothing that I can do. The moth is killed, new victims are avoided, and the ones that die, die anyway."