Book One – Chapter 11

            He had endured for over three weeks,
                 –but the constant pain had become unbearable.
    Yves had tried to suffer through it,
                      to talk it out,
             to distract himself,
                      to simply press forward regardless,
             but the desert
                                           stretched endlessly,
                    mirroring
                               the unyielding passage of time
                          he spent
                       in
                  this
                     wretched
                          place.

                His body was ravaged,
       far beyond any prospect of self-healing.

             The weather was brutal,
   punishing even for the non-injured traveller,

           and the oppressive presence of the Vicha
weighted heavily on him.
      It felt horrible beyond words,
              worsening with every day.

There had been a few fleeting moments
      when Yves found solace in talking to himself
        or engaging in imaginary conversations in his mind.
There had also been moments
–     when nothing but rage surged within him,
         directed at everything and everyone responsible for his unbearable plight
             – at elves and witches,
          at the VICHA and himself,
                   at the sun and the desert
              and at all the fucking rock piles that were always, always, always in his way,
                           and very much at the whole world in general.

                                    But these moments were
                                         mere ripples
                    amidst endless hours,
                                     days
                                       and weeks

                                                   of AGONY.

            Yves felt

        the need to speak,

     to rationalise,

       to plead

         for a momentary relief

        from the ceaseless torment.

                                                       But there was no one here
                                                 to listen.
                                                           There was no one
                                                                    to challenge his reasoning.

                                                                   And so,
                                                                                       he retrieved one of the three feathers
                                                                                     from their case.

         Shortly thereafter, the most beautiful melodies emanated,

  filling the vastness of the unforgiving north-eastern desert with serenity and solace.

           
––As his vision blurred, dark thoughts took shape.
                  If he lost his sight,        would he still hold meaning to Midnight?
                              Would their bond remain,   or would she leave him once his magic waned?
                         Would he lose her, forever?

He would never ask her to tarnish her pride with pity.

Yves would not beg her to stay if he had nothing to offer her, yet he could not fathom how to live without her.

She had always been with him, their bond and her senses entwined with his existence for as long as he could remember.

             But all these thoughts faded into the comforting embrace of the melody.