“I shouldn't be telling you this. I-I am being really inappropriate. I didn't mean to... oh, Goddess, I'm so sorry!” She's hiding her face in her hands.

 In my life I saw and heard a lot of things I probably shouldn't have, though it got me to grow up very fast. I have always been pretty immune to any kind of bad words and negativity: I'm not just a woman - I'm a woman with power (during official ceremonies and banquets in academy or in the palace, rich blue blood ladies usually grit their teeth but have to treat us, lowly sorceresses, as equals; sometimes they have even lower position in society, since they are nothing without their husbands or fathers). But for whatever reason Svartalf's words stuck my heart; they do make me feel unbearably lonely. She's right: no one truly wants me. I'm a tumbleweed: anywhere the wind blows.

 “Listen...” Elfia stutters, shifting her weight from side to side.

 “Why should I listen to you?” I say in a croaky voice.

 She comes to me trying to look into my face.

 “Will you forgive me?” Svartalf says with hope. Does it my imagination or I see her elf ears drooped like of a sad puppy. I mean, she has these ridiculously funny skills that I never even knew existed: elves are always so stiff that it is easy to confuse them with works of art forever frozen in graceful poses.

 I can't help laughing: an idiotic state of mind when you want to cry and laugh at the same time.

 “Don't worry babe, we're not friends so I have no reason to be mad at you, besides, you don't really need my forgiveness, do you? I’m simply just another nameless vagabond,” I chuckle bitterly. Tears choke me. At times like these, I miss my beloved Malva so much.

 She realized that she screwed up badly. Elfia wants to touch my unpleasantly post-winter white hand, and I almost let her do it, but something on the shore of a large lake draws my attention. Her slim dark fingers almost touch my palm, but I abruptly raise my arm and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I don't want her to think that I'm wiping away the treacherous tears. The wind at the top of the mountain is quite strong: let her think that my eyes are red and watery because of this. 

 I turn my back on her and resolutely march towards my object of interest that unexpectedly appeared on the shoreline.

 I have seen the dead before: several times in my childhood and later when I’m an adult, but each time my heart shrinks from pain and fear. The scariest thing is that the body reminds me of my Malva. The rich white hair, pearly white skin, and soft diminutive figure. It feels that she should not be here: her naked back looks unnaturally white against the background.

 “Who is she?” asks Svartalf in a hushed voice. She has been following me to the lake. Elfia can't see what I can see: a tail is hidden under the water surface.

 A mermaid raises her nice round face. I stop looking at her with fright feeling relieved. She’s alive. The mermaid wants to swim away, for she looks perplexed and frightened.

 “Please, stay,” I beg her. “We won't hurt you. We are going to leave the place soon.”

 The mermaid looks worried, but she stays. The water creature sits facing us with her back to the lake. I notice how sad and miserable she looks, to say nothing of her coy silence.

 Battle witches usually kill evil and dangerous creatures: werewolves, volkolaks, lower vampires, kikimoras, basilisks and many many others. At the academy, we spent years learning the habits, anatomy, and habitats of these creatures. I can't count the number of times we’ve gone with our teachers on practical assignments to forests, caves, forsaken ruins of temples and castles or old cemeteries. But mermaids are considered lower intelligent creatures: witches certainly do not hunt them. In ancient times, some tribes even worshiped mermaids. Now they are quite harmless creatures. Usually they are friendly, talkative, a little silly, and not prone to melancholy: men simply adore this type.

 “You are a woman,” she says unexpectedly, gently touching her milky white scales on her tail.

“As far as I know,” I grin, rubbing my neck.

 She looks at me from under lowered eyelashes that resemble dandelion fluff, “But you are different. When I first saw you, I thought you were a man.”

 “Sorry for disappointing you, dear.” I smile with my lips but not with my eyes. The mermaid reminds me of something forgotten, besides, her loneliness is almost palpable. Well, seems we have a pot-kettle situation here!

 Mermaids are very sociable, and quite often they can be found in the company of other mermaids or sentient water creatures. River mermaids like to make long necklaces from fishing nets into which they weave water lilies, spatterdocks or other water flowers (these decorations do not cover their nice breasts but neatly frame them); sea ​​mermaids do the same thing, only instead of water lilies they decorate their necklaces with shells and corals.

 “You're not from here, are you? You are a sea mermaid. How did you get here? I squat down next to her, watching her seashell necklace. “You did not come to this mountain of your own free will.”

 She shrugs her shoulders in a very human way, but she immediately winces in pain. Her thick hair falls on the back, exposing the right shoulder: it is wounded.