Mayen could not sleep. Though the moon was up high in the sky, marking between midnight and the second hour of a morning still drown in darkness, a dark cloud enveloped the adolescent’s mind. Part of him wished he could just rest at least an hour; it had been an exhausting day, dealing with a bunch of girls teasing him with the huntress’ game, then with a prophet, then this and that. He was bored, truly bored. Nothing caught his interest. Waiting. Waiting for the ruffians to come. Waiting.

He looked at the mountain kite, perched unto the back of a chair. So far there was not even a single dropping. It surprised him. She returned the stare, cocking her head. Every now and then, Mayen came close to believe she was more than smart. This connection between him and the bird was not very clear. According to both Commendar Spencer’s vision and Jemeryon’s prophecy, this bird would be the protector of Mayen and of his future twins; that said, who would have thought such an already amazing bird would be the equal of the sentient races?

-“Seems like I have my own adventure, my own story.” Mayen glanced at the open window, talking softly to the bird. “Always has been my dream, you know? Back when I was a kid, some knights saved me.”

He wondered why he was talking to the bird, then decided to reject the possible interpretation that he needed someone to confide into. Proud heroes were stalwarts, brave. In truth, Mayen would have said brave and courageous, for back then he knew not the difference between the two. Weakness, hesitation, doubts, fears… Knights did not have those according to him. Bravery fitted the definition, but courage demanded one to challenge his or her fears by acknowledging and controlling them. As a result of having a misconception of what characterized a hero, his definition of cowardice was like an arrow missing its target and thumping into a tree instead: off the mark. Mayen facepalmed himself.