When the smoke from the exploding energy ball disappears, I understand that the assassin has disappeared too. I am angry with the fact that I did not recognize a sorcerer in that man, a very weak one, but still.

 The head of the village is alive; he looks around dumbfounded, probably, trying to realize that he has escaped death.

 I am very pleased with myself. Now they will thank me for saving the rich farmer’s life; maybe he will give me gold.

 "The witch tried to kill our head!" shouts the owner of the tavern at the top of his voice. He is nervously echoed by his ‘nauseating-looking’ wife, his big nosed son, and even the villagers who have just come running to the noise.

 What???

 I am surrounded from all sides; a robust farm laborer pushes a child forward to prevent me from attacking. As if you can stop witches hiding behind children! I clenched my fists, ready to defend myself and make my way to the exit. In my experience, I know it is useless to make excuses.

 “Stop!” I hear a loud voice. Everyone turns around, even I am interested in the one who wants to protect me. A familiar head in a red shawl peeks out from behind the bar. All this time she has been sitting there. I notice that she is dressed differently. The traditional butterfly dress has been replaced by tight pants and a short sheepskin coat, too warm for late spring even by the standards of cold Woodland. “You will only piss off this damned witch! I know how to deal with underhumans like her. Elves are taught this from early childhood! Make way, dear villagers!”

 Did she eat hallucinogenic mushrooms? What kind of bullshit is she talking about? I'll definitely give her a good kick...

 I am about to spank this tight elf ass when I notice her wink. It's unlikely that she's flirting with me right now. I decide to see what happens next. She is walking towards me waving her arms and muttering some childish patter.

 “Are you ready to give up and come with me?” elfia asks me in a grave voice.

 “Oh yes, my fair lady, I’m ready to come with you,” I answer, barely holding back my laughter.

 She takes my arm and leads me away from the peasants. Shall I salivate a bit as if I’m under a spell to make it look more real for the crowd?

 "I'll lock her in the cellar, then I’ll summon a magical commission through my secret elven channels," Svartalf says solemnly.

 “Thank you, our brave savior!” the owner of the tavern cheers. "I owe you! I’ll raise your salary!" He looks around nervously as if someone is ready to attack him any minute.

 “Amixantra bless your elven soul!” echoes the head of the village. 

 When we descended into the cellar to the villagers’ applause, I finally ask her:

 "What's next?"

 In one slight movement, Svartalf grabs my hair and cuts it off with a short dagger.

 I'm so taken aback and outraged that I can't say a word, gasping for air and touching my hair that is shorter than shoulder length now.

 “Keep quiet,” she whispers to me, braiding my hair and throwing the plait on the solid cellar floor. In its place appears an exact copy of me with hands and feet tied. She looks pathetic and boring. If I really look like this, then things are really bad for me.

 “Your copy won’t last long, it’s time for us to run.” She boldly grabs a heavy-looking hiking backpack (which has been waiting for her all this time behind a box full of moonshine bottles) and pulls towards the back exit.

 I follow her, marveling at her adventurous spirit. I am entertained by her company - everything is better than going to a neighboring village alone to look for another job.

 We only caught our breath when we crossed a farmer's field with a suspiciously tall sunchoke. While we were running, Svartalf told me that it was the owner of the tavern who hired the half-educated sorcerer to kill his older brother. “I started suspecting him long time ago, but I didn’t know when he would make up his mind to act. He is the farmer’s half-brother, a bastard; the farmer has no sons, his daughter is still an unmarried damsel without male children, thus, after his death, the owner of the tavern would have received everything, leaving the widow holding the bag. The birthday party was the perfect time for a crime: lots of relatives, travelers, friends and friends of their friends, even the domestic serfs were there all together. It would be easy for a killer to be unnoticed. Now Mitta will be discouraged from killing his own brother after today's performance. I think the sorcerer will come later anyways to knock out his teeth for letting a battle witch in the tavern.”

 “Well, look at you! Great idea with that elven hypnosis,” I laugh. “Have you performed at the Royal Theater before? You are a true actress. And I, as always, found myself between a rock and a hard place.”

 “We shouldn't linger. I need to go to the top of Crow Mountain where there is a lake in an extinct crater. The road is easy and not long. We can get there before midnight.”

 “Why are you so sure that I will go with you?” I ask in a surprised voice.

 “You owe me for breakfast. Have you forgotten?” she says smiling. “I need you.”  Her hazel eyes are looking at me so tenderly. She takes off her red shawl and hands it to me. I know that such a gesture means a sign of trust in some elven houses.

Svartalf’s glance is full of confidence about me agreeing to it. For some reason I was sure that her hair is long just like all elfias, but it is short and braided tightly into whimsical waves and circles on her scull; her skin, as if glowing from inside, is filled with warm evening light of the spring forest.

 For a moment, it warms my soul, as if a small seed of hope has been planted there. It’s ready to take root, but I instantly crush it without letting the false feeling spread.