Autechre - Autriche

July 18, 1794

…

Yesterday is dragged away by a tomorrow of shivers sent below skin, for those wearing no blankets. Winter came and doesn't seem to be over. The song of swallows is gone, the choir of cicadas has not begun, as snow falls on earth and stone, melting with the heat of living. The harsh winds calm down into thick slices of breeze, covering faces alongside sweat.

Inside homes with shapes of bells, or hollow spaces alike, yellow candles are lit despite the white void at skies, filled in by the wind chimes and floating masses of gray. Yet, despite all details, Sir Fratley Irontail misses the most beautiful of the mornings. The sight of one, at least.

From his bed, he hears the whistling of gutters covered in autumn leaves, and a cold air stream coming from a tiny gap in his bedroom's window. Being a Dragoon Knight granted Fratley an index of possibilities, a few he can remember or even need to, for real. Like his earring, which detected, other than his own, a heartbeat jumping out the chest.

/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_

— Hi, Raymie. – Said Fratley, following a huge yawn, to his smallest friend.

— Good morning, Frattie! – Given its voice, and movement, Raymie is pictured into a calligraphic portrait that flutters on Fratley's mind.

— Good morning for you too. – Raymie may be only a child, but his heart… is beating a lot, so thinks Fratley. For a child to have a heart that beats faster than his is still something that caught him on surprise. – How are you doing?

— I'm fine! – Not like his own heart does, but Raymie does seem fine as he says he is. As for me, thought Fratley, I have a lot to do. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, but that name echoes each day. Dragoon Knight, followed by a Sir… mere titles at these hours, for someone wearing nothing at all.

— Hey, Frattie…

— What's up? – Surprised, Fratley turned to face Raymie. It ain't polite to talk with someone by avoiding sight, even when you don't have one. – It ain't usual for you to wake up this early, Raymie. – I mean, he just woke up earlier than I. The last time he did it, so Fratley recalls, was on his birthday, or when his bed got wet. Perhaps… – Is there something bothering you?

— Uh… no. Well, yes. – Said Raymie, a bit unsure. Unstable, shaking of cold as well.

— So, how's your mother doing?

— Mom? She's fine.

— And your brothers?

— Fine too.

— Are they sleeping?

— Yes, they are. Except me.

— Only you?

— Uh… – After a quick exchange of words, Fratley deduced that something was wrong with Raymie. Yet, he didn't know what, or the reason why. Just woke up, with the hearing of a heart.

— Are you hungry? – Said Fratley. He ain't a doctor, despite already knowing that the boy's thumb was empty like his own, but he sees no problem at asking. It's better than taking sudden conclusions.

— A bit. – So Raymie said. Something still bothered him. Mother and brothers are fine, but what about…

— And little Phoebe? How is she doing?

— Uh… I want to slap her.

— Why? – There was no hesitation in Raymie's words. It wasn't a bluff, which bothered Fratley - don't you think it's a bit mean to your sister?

— Was it mean when she drooled on my shoulders?

— Oh, Raymie… come on. Your mother and I never complained when you drooled on our shoulders.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

— But when we cried, sure you did. Can you believe that I woke up before Phoebe? – Said Raymie, before another heart was caught by Fratley, followed by a 'coo'. Sometimes, that's all that Phoebe seemed to say with the mouth, besides bubbles of spit or phlegm when her nose is clogged.

— Hi Phoebe. – Said Fratley, to the infant who crawled into his room.

— You see, I took her out of the crib, Frattie. – Said Raymie, coming near his sister. – If not, she would cry and wake mom.

— Your sister cries for many reasons. Attention is one of them.

— But to bite me with teeth, though… OUCH! – And then Raymie yelled, all of sudden. – See? She's doing it again…

— She is feeling the whole world with her mouth. I see no problem.

— You can't see anything, Frattie.

— But I hear well. – As much as I know where my clothes are, thought Fratley. Except for a traveler's hat, nowhere to be found, and his attires are usually kept inside the drawer at the left side of the bed.. – You, and Phoebe. How is she doing?

— Phoebe is fine. Same for her teeeee… – Suddenly, Raymie stopped talking, almost yelled, and began to whine doing little jumps, in a way he was about to say a curse word. – Why, Fratley? – The boy asked, and the way his voice sounded seemed as if he was drowning, almost crying.

— That's what Phoebe wants to know too. She doesn't bite you because she wants to be mean.

And with the pants worn, whose holes are easier to find than the ones belonging to his black shirt, together with a green like dry moss jacket, whose smell reminds Fratley of melon, though he was never fond of it. Same for Raymie, but he's young, can learn to eat tomatoes, any vegetables without pouring salt over them. More salt than vegetables, which's bad. Anyway, with the basic wear, he is ready to… then Fratley remembers he can't stand up. Almost trips in a stupid way, in front of children.

— Are you okay, Frattie? – Asked Raymie, demonstrating a bit of concert, as Phoebe just kept watching.

/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/

— I… I'm fine. – Said Fratley, coming back to the bed's tip, looking at Raymie. Facing, because even when he opens its eyes, revealing a kind of depth in green, he still can't see that boy, but to hear his heart, however… – Where was I? Oh, yes… Raymie, do you know what it is to be mean for a baby? They don't know.

— Then I should be mean to her. – Said Raymie, as he softly pulled its little sister's head away. Another failed attempt, for someone stuck like glue.

— Please, Raymie. Don't you know why the dinosaurs were extinct?

— Dinosaurs? Hey, I know how! A meteor came to this planet, and BOOM! All dead! – Raymie likes dinosaurs. They don't seem that frightening, yet he wondered to himself why Fratley came up with this talk about dinosaurs. – My sister ain't that old. Well, there are the little dinos, who bite. All extinct, except for sis.

— Yeah, right… But like wars, there must have been plenty of reasons for why it happened. Reptiles barely move when it's cold, but that's not my point, not the very important one. Well, Raymie, I believe that one of the reasons why dinosaurs went extinct is because they didn't respect each other.

— Uh? What do you mean Frattie?

— What I mean is that we aren't cold-blooded.

— (Oooh… now it makes sense.) – So thought Raymie. Out of many things said by Fratley, a few made sense for him.

— You need more than a single reason to be able to do something.

— So, that means I can't slap Phoebe only because she drooled at me?

— No, Raymie And I mean that you should never slap your sister, for no reason. – Fratley said, in a more serious tone, but not in a severe way. – If you do, then I would be more than disappointed. Same for your mom, because she didn't create you like this. Your task as a brother is to protect your sister until she can, on her own, understand?

— And what if they hurt me? What should I do?

— You are too young to be hurt this way, Raymie. Alright… can I talk to your sister?

— If you please. – A strange request, coming out of a strange guy that's Frattie, thought Raymie. But whatever, that was an opportunity for him to get rid of Phoebe's embrace.

— Don't touch anything else other than books in this room, Raymie. Okay?

— Okay. Despite the old books covered in dust and a few poisons lying on upper plates, some of Fratley's research still lies on the tables. A skull that used to be lethal like the living being who wore it, pens who can write in invisible ink, but what really worries Fratley is objects like the hammer and a nail belonging to a railroad, both which he uses to make sculptures.

A bit of sawdust still lies on his table, together with a palette of pigments which he made a painting out of it. Fratley believes in what Raymie said, while most of the time he doesn't allow kids to come in. But to allow them to come to this world, on other hand…

— Hey… How are you doing, Phoebe? – Fratley spoke to the baby like a normal person.

— Coo. – That's all that little Phoebe seems to say. These aren't words, not yet, but Fratley knows how to speak them. He lays on the floor, standing on the same position to the one he's talking with, equal by equal.

— Have you drunk enough milk?

— …aaa… aaa… bblrblrlr!… – A few breaths are succeeded by mere babbling. Raymie carefully flips an old book's page behind, while his sister Phoebe doesn't know what are capital words, neither tiny. All she does is noise, which Fratley hears well. He also hears the continuous sound of pages flipping on its back.

— Are you hungry? – Fratley asked, then he heard nothing for a while. Nothing new, but same rain outside, same wind chimes ringing, and a mouth covered by a tiny hand. A hand dirtied, but not enough to make Phoebe sick. Bacterias are currently growing on her guts, which Fratley can't hear, but the squeezing of organs smaller than his thumb alone is enough.

All is well, he considers, before sitting in an Indian position, instead of lying with its stomach down like a snail. The clothes are a bit dirty, but that doesn't bother Fratley that much, nor Phoebe, whose miller is still closing in. He can't see, but the baby stares at him with a kind of fascination, and a privilege as well.

— She is looking at you. – Said Raymie, who stood upon a rolling chair, reading a book with interesting pictures.

— And you are looking at one of my books. Which one? – Fratley was curious.

— The one with skeletons and muscles.

— Skeletons? Right… – Fratley heard a tiny laughter holded by Raymie. He must have seen a very funny picture in an otherwise horrifying, nightmare-inducing book 'De Burmecian Corporis Fabrica' is.

— Phoebe must be trying to find you, given the way she looks at you. Mom always plays hide and seek with her, and you do it every time without hands, Frattie. – Raymie said. For Fratley, it doesn't make a difference whether his pupils are closed or not. He feels nothing at all, but others do feel pity.

— Well, my eyes aren't covered in darkness because I wanted to hide from this world. And you, Phoebe? For how long will you be quiet? – Fratley stared at the baby as he showed around his room. – Sure, I can hear you. I'm here for this, and more. When I'm not here, I'm still doing something for you. See that spear over there? There… Look where I'm pointing at. Can you see it? That's Agartha. It's the name of my spear. Spear, javelin, Agartha… so many names, same for the one who holds it.

— …cooooo… – Phoebe yawned. That's the usual reaction of anyone who listens to Fratley for too long

— You know, my name is Fratley, but I am a Dragoon Knight, a Sir, a lodger, and most of all, your friend. I am all these things, but most of the time I can only be one of them. Understand? Guess not.

— …coo… coo. – Phoebe is not exactly fascinated at all by Fratley's heartfelt speech. .

— I wonder what that 'coo' meant. It can mean everything, since it's all you say. Well, I see you are trying to say, as much as you try to convey something. That's why you have a name, I have a name, your brother as well, despite all of us being the same. Complicated, don't you think? For me, it is a lot. I can't see you, but you can see me. And I wonder if I pointed to my spear, or if I pointed to nothing at all. I mean, I should know where Agartha is. It means a lot for me, because not only is my spear, but it was also my father's.

— … – Phoebe did not say a thing. She puts her tiny hand in her mouth. She can't eat it of course.

— Yes, Prescott Highwind… how much I miss him. – Fratley continues his narration. – Agartha's wooden shaft was made out of Yggdrasil's roots. That's the name of a pretty huge tree in the middle of Vube's desert, where the Cleyrans live. Geez… You see, everything needs a name. It's hard to remember all these things, but if they sounded all the same, they would be even harder to distinguish between.

— … c-c..a… aaa… ACHOO! – Phoebe sneezed.

— Reis bless you. Know who Reis is? She's our protector. – Fratley said, while he teached the young Burmecian about religion. – Well, there is Bahamut, the one above, but Reis is the closest we had to someone like us. She was a burmecian, a warrior, but I don't think I should go into details right now. All you need to know is that she was strong, and so do you. I know you are strong, Phoebe. To be living until now is something impressive. Same for your brothers and sisters.

— … – Phoebe looks around, this time she tries to chew her own tail.

— This is Raymie, that one you bite. – Fratley said, pointing at Phoebe's older brother. – Ingus, and… uh, Archie? Yes, Archie, and Danny too. They are asleep. Same for April. That's your mom's name. And, well, there is Albert. He isn't lying with your mother, and only his body is lying at a graveyard, together with a few flowers. He can't feel their scent, but that doesn't mean you can feel him, right?

— Blrbabablblarb… bab..blblbl…– Phoebe does not pay attention to anything but the weird noises and bubbles she makes with her mouth.

— I see you're having fun with bubbles. For this sort of thing being fun for you, and to later on turn out to be kinda disgusting… – Fratley reflected about his own childhood for a moment, feeling he lost his innocence somewhere in the way. – Guess you still haven't developed a sense of hygiene, Phoebe, despite your name's meaning being closer to 'radiance'. That was your mother's pick.

— …coo… – Once again, Phoebe finds herself putting a hand in her mouth. Raymie reads the anatomy book and wonders to himself what Fratley is trying to accomplish by talking to her if she does not say anything back.

— You see, everything has a meaning. You are trying to find them out, I'm sure you'll do. That's why we grow, in order to search for meaning. – Fratley felt like a wise man for a moment. – Though, as we grow, some things seem meaningless. Like what you're doing with your mouth, or the demise of Albert. He knew the risks, so do I know my own. Know yourself before you know the world, and know what? You know the world better than I do. I can't see it as much as you do.

— aaaa… aaah…– Phoebe said, or at least tried to say something. She reaches for Fratley's big nose but trips and falls flat on the floor like pudding.

— I suppose you are impressed. – Fratley said, imagining Phoebe as a piece of cotton cloud that fell from the skies. She did not look much of a menace as Raymie proclaimed before. – Don't know, others would be bored in your place after all this talk. Someday you'll learn to say 'yes' or 'no'. These words alone can open many doors, and close them as well. But, to where your father went, I'm sure that the doors were open for him.

— … – Phoebe chewed her own fingers as she stared at Fratley.

— Well, I didn't know Albert that much. A good soldier, April said. A knight with a javelin, so his portrait depicts. We don't carry swords around, but javelins sure are heavy. You are a bit heavy too, Phoebe, but you aren't here to bring any harm. No, you are here to learn, understand, care as much as we do for you.

— …ooo.. coo… blrlrlrooo… – Phoebe still did not reply, while Fratley believed that maybe one day he would hear her say a thing.

— Uh huh. Somehow, Albert is still alive, even though he's dead. Hanging in a wall, he outsmarted death. Same did my father, whose portrait is on me to this day. Phew… You see, I'm not the kind who relies on exposition, Phoebe. My body was trained for action, but I couldn't resist talking with you, one of the few who listen to all I have to say without getting tired. You are full of energy, and wake whenever you want. I mean, whenever your stomach wants. Or when your bladder wants.

— … – Phoebe is restless and adrift, whereas Fratley remains calm and collective, if not a bit nostalgic.

— When you grow up, you'll get tired of hearing, amused of getting into action. Less is more, but you don't know what's less and what's more. You don't know the limits, only when I impose them on you. Sure, I could tell you at the moment to not bite Raymie anymore, but some things do not happen by second. You, for example, took half an hour and a plenty of effort coming out of your mom to be born.

— …aaa… abb-b-b..abrrlrrlr…

— You never get tired, do you? – Fratley swore he heard a word out of Phoebe, but still nothing. – Never satisfied. As much as I, you can only walk on your feet if you really want to, Phoebe. Sure, before time comes, you can keep crawling around, but not forever. Unfortunately. Your gristle will diminish, except the one at your ears and nose, and the bones will make it difficult, even painful, to crawl or even squat.

— … – Phoebe looked around, in search of something. Or, in this case, someone. Soon as she began to cry, Fratley comforted her with a hold of hands, followed by a warm hug. .

— But that's how you know you are alive, because you feel pain. You cry and there's someone to hear you. When you were born, the first thing you did was cry, besides feeling burnt in your lungs. New and fresh air, everything new, except April, who held you with an embrace of arms. I know it all because I was there, so here I am.

/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\

— But not for too long. – Said a young maiden coming out the door, whose heart was beating well for all these five years, so thought Fratley.

— I really would like to stay, but I have things to do. – He said, as Phoebe was taken care of by April's arms.

— Good morning, mom. – Said Raymie, closing the anatomy book as he left the room.

— Wait. – Well, not before April caught attention of him. – Is it filth in your hands?

— Uh… Yeah.

— And you cleaned your hands with your clothes?

— Oh… sorry.

— Go change your clothes. Wash your hands too, boy.

— Yes, mom. – Raymie then could leave the room.

— Mothers… You all seem to have a kind of sixty sense. – Said Fratley, as he raised out the floor. It ain't easy without his arms grabbing, or holding into something. Or to find gaiters in the dark lying below bed. Fratley takes both of them, but almost tumbles and falls again, had it not been for the tight hold of April's right hand. – Thanks.

— I should be thanked, Sir Fratley. Had not been for you…

— You know that I can't do it all by myself. None of us can. – Sitting on his bed, Fratley shakes the lints of hair out its gaiters, as soon as he wears both on his feet. – Other than blind, I'm also crippled. Had not been for the Dragoon, though… the cane, please.

— Don't you mean the javelin?

— No, April. I don't have compromises of such importance today. Besides, I'm not the kind who walks on the streets with a spear in hands all the time.

— But you can hear me better than I do. Well, it's one of the traits I admire in you, Sir Fratley.

— Everyone wants to be heard. – April listens to Fratley, following her footsteps being heard on his right, but what Fratley really likes to listen is... – Besides, I like your voice.

— Oh, thanks.

— I also like to picture what you look like, April. – Fratley said, picturing the Burmecian maiden on his mind, her movements akin to a dove in flight. – Blonde, 160cm, long strands, twenty-five, but you know I have no time for it. You also know that I wake up earlier to avoid the crowd, where I might get lost in a tidal of sounds.

— Not if someone is there to follow you. Here.

— The cane? Right. Where's my hat?

— You mean the one with the feather?

— Yes. It's a favorite of mine. I think it's lying on the stand, but guess I took it off somewhere.

— I see your hat. It's near the counter. I'll take it for you.

— Okay. And how's Phoebe?

— Asleep. – Cuddled in her mother's arms, Phoebe rested like a little angel.

— What will you prepare for breakfast? – Fratley asked, feeling a faint scent coming from the kitchen.

— Scrambled eggs.

— Please. I don't like eggs.

— Uh huh. – These are only words for April, but Fratley can already feel the scent of breakfast. Yet, in reality, he only feels spit accumulating on his mouth, and his stomach yelling quietly. For eggs, of all things…

— Can you give me an apple?

— An apple? I thought you lawyers were against bribes.

— Heh… sure we are. Me, at least. – Said Fratley, as a smirk went on his face, and April's own as well. He heard the muscles of her face move, before they both followed the stairway to its descent.

— It's surprising how you can still walk, Sir Fratley. Do you really need a cane, after all? – April asked in concern, as she went to the kitchen, away from Fratley who stood near the door.

— Sure I need it, April. It ain't easy, for real. You may not notice, but when I walk, It's like I'm taking control of both feet outside the skin.

— It must be really painful for you.

— It ain't. Just… well… – Fratley scratched his head in discomfort.

— Odd?

— Kinda. I don't know how to say it. I already told you many times, and to this day…

— It's fine. I mean, I'm not a Dragoon to know.

- Sometimes, to be a Dragoon can be a wonderful thing, April. But in others, it feels more like a curse. – Fratley explained. – But as long as I have a balance, I don't have to worry about these. As long as I have people like you on my side…

/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\

— I feel the same as you do. – Besides a hand, and a fruit given, Fratley also feels the same as April. He doesn't need to say, as much as she has eyes to see. And a heart that beats, and reveals a lot about a person, given the context.

— Uh… April?

— What is it?

— This ain't an apple. – For a moment, Fratley felt pathetic. Hungry, as well. – What is this?

— A banana.

— Oh. Right. You know, bananas do not have seeds, like pineapples. The black dots found inside are supposed to be ovules, which will never be fertilized. So, in a way, all bananas are females, just like worker bees. Now, did what I've said made any kind of sense?

— Maybe it did. – Said April. She isn't a cult person, but at least someone who listens to my words, so thought Fratley. He looks to the direction of the door, knowing its there, always there. It's strange when it comes to talking to people without looking at their faces, or by being forbidden to feel their touch. Even now, it's something strange to be felt.

— It's surprising how you can do anything with only one hand while holding an infant with another, April.

— Well… Mothers never leave their sons alone.

— Only when it's time. – Said Fratley, before he heard knocks at the door, so did April, but the Dragoon took her place instead. Tiny knocks, coming from below, a heart heard before. – Oh, hi again, Raymie.

— Hey, Frattie… – Said Raymie, as he went inside home beneath Fratley's legs. The latter heard a voice behind, belonging to the child. – I was playing outside, when a purple lady came in. She wants to talk with you.

— Hrist… Yes. Well, guess it's about time. Behave, okay?

— Uh, okay. – Yet, something in Raymie wasn't okay. – But Frattie, aren't you going to say bye?

— I didn't take my javelin, so why should I?

— Will you be back?

— In flesh and bone. Take care, Raymie.

These were Fratley's last words, before he patted Raymie's head, closed the door and went outside. He knows that these won't be his last words, though they were Albert's epitaph. That's what he said before he was devoured, slaughtered, the worse happened. It always happens, but they say he died without fear.

Just like my father, so Fratley thinks, for a while. A while before Hrist, standing in the middle of the road, interrupts with her words. Some Fratley happen to notice, others he does not. On mornings like this, his head needs a bit of concentration, a polite way of saying shut up. Yet, not all words said by Hrist are junk, or useless, or irrelevant as her hair entangled on a comb. It once happened with Fratley himself, but he doesn't feel the need to give any more details. They both walk somewhere, in streets empty before the main city arrives, together with its scent.

— … Are you hearing any of my words, Sir Fratley? – Generally, Hrist only mentions the title of Sir to give a sort of poignancy, or just be ironic to Fratley.

— I hear well. – Said Fratley, a man of facts, and many faces.

— So, how's your wife doing?

— April ain't my wife, Hrist.

— You two were made for each other. – Sarcasm ain't that subtle, or whatever was it who came out of Hrist's mouth. Sounded disrespectful, but that's one of her traits, ignore or not.

— So, I heard there is a newcomer… – Fratley decided to ignore what he heard before, to focus on the next point. One of the few important things said by Hrist

— Yes. But this one is my friend. Kinda of.

— What's the name?

— Oh, well… Freya. I haven't seen her for a long time.

— Freya… – Something in that name caught Fratley. Not by surprise, despite new Dragoons being kind of a surprise. Female ones as well.

— Do you know her, by chance?

— No. I don't know her. Which family?

— Crescent. – The name heard by Fratley holded many legends and a plenty of history, but in a world where anyone and anything can be granted a name, things become less special.

— Crescent?

— Uh huh. Now you know?

— I do. I knew a Crescent in my past life. But this me, though…

— 'This me?'

— I was a child. Jack was my friend. – Fratley looked around and noticed the windy weather washing off the streets and ceilings. When he was a kid, he once thought Bahamut flipped his scales to clean the houses. – Thinking about it, it's been so long since I have seen any of my childhood friends, and I only had a few.

— Heard about Lenneth?

— Lenneth Crescent? Yes. A bit. She was a Dragoon, right?

— Yes. – For Hrist, Lenneth was more than a Dragoon Knight. – Unfortunately, she passed.

— Passed? Oh. My deepest condolences.

— Well,it didn't happen all of sudden. Lenneth, that poor thing, had her lungs filled with water. Didn't deserve to die young, really didn't, but some say death is a kind of freedom. – Hrist said, feeling that one piece of her being was torn apart. – Anyway, her daughter is the Freya I mentioned before.

— So… what is this Freya like?

— You want me to tell you?

— (Guess I do.) – Thought Fratley, who had nothing in order to give himself a picture of this Freya. His hands, well…

— Huh. You blind people always want to touch someone's face, but are forbidden from doing such… okay. So, Freya… She is tall like a tree, has white hair, a bit silver, long nails… – The details given by Hrist were confusing at first for Fratley, who literally pictured a tree in white. But given the notion of proportions, and the feeling of exaggeration coming out of Hrist's words gone in meantime, he could picture a kind of familiar figure. Not that much, since they met each other only a few times.

— So, she looks like Lenneth.

— Indeed, a fearful symmetry.

— And why didn't you say it already? I knew Lenneth, if not a little.

— Because I know Freya better than you do. – Hrist said, borrowing a Freya encyclopedia inside her brain. – Well, I said all I know. The rest is with you, Sir Fratley.

— If you say.

— Huh… and I'm pretty sure that you'll receive her with open arms. – And Hrist is back to her insinuations.

— You say it as if I haven't received you in the same way.

— Sure you did, mister. Together with a bracelet. – It's useless for Hrist to shove it upon Fratley's face, but he knows she's wearing that bracelet made out of chrysoberyl, besides feeling a breeze come on its face, and the dead space in between happened to be an arm.

— Do you still wear it?

— It's beautiful. Besides, it ain't everyday that you see a gem like this. – As much as it ain't everyday that someone becomes a Dragoon Knight, so Fratley thought. He took it all well, but as for Hrist, being subtle ain't her strong point. – Perhaps you have a gift in your hands for Freya too.

— Lucky charm. And why not? I had far more clients than apprentices.

— Do you like your clients?

— They come and go. It's hard to like someone who you'll never see again. – The many faces Fratley never saw and just passed by… Such is the trial of life, he thought. – Speaking of it, I have a trial to attend. Hrist.

— What's up?

— Well… I forgot to take something home.

— You mean the 'lucky charm'? – Hrist said all of sudden, as if she already knew.

— Yes. Can you take it and bring it to this Freya?

— If you please. – Hrist leaves, and her footsteps can be heard from a short distance at Fratley's back. – Uh, where is it?

— It's in my bedroom. The first drawer of the center.

— Okay.

— Only the bracelet, Hrist. Remember.

— Believe in me. I'm no thief.

— For someone who steals a lot of attention…

— I do not steal, Fratley. I attract attention. – And then, Hrist is gone, together with the footsteps following the path behind. I'll be fine on my own, so Fratley used to say for a very young Hrist, but now he doesn't have a need to.