Havir the Great, dressed like a peasant, in rags that smelled like a dead weasel, ran after the happily jumping Phoenice and that was solely the fault of that sneaky elf. Sadly, after long arguments and searching for alternatives, the only way for Havir to get her and the book into the realm of the mages to be able to collect the Heart of the Star. 

Slowly, however, he seriously doubted that this was worth his life and beauty, and certainly not the smell of these clothes.  

"Way too flashy." Had been the verdict on his exclusive clothes, which perfectly suited his attractive body shape. A sacrilege to put him in ordinary peasant clothes in which someone had probably already died. Where did Aved get these abominations anyway? Was he secretly robbing any peasants, from those who hadn't bathed in a particularly long time? 

"Come on." Prancing, she wobbled toward him, playing with the single rays of sunlight that fell through the forest's leafy canopy. He was more than annoyed. He Havir, the unique, the magnificent, the beautiful one had to traipse after this inferior elf. It just wasn't fair. And he was pretty sure there was no dead animal dwelling in her dress. Lousy old man had ripped him off. Grumbling, he thought about how he could get to his destination as quickly as possible in order to get this action over with as quickly as possible. As far as he had learned from the healer, the king and the mage of the realm had been exclusively in the castle for weeks. Convenient for him. Because if Barack caught him, he had a problem, the good guy and he were both outcasts, only that Barack had been kicked out because of him ...As far as he interpreted the little assassination attempts of the last centuries correctly, he was still mad about it, mighty mad. He had been resentful since childhood, but Havir thought he was overdoing it after so many centuries. Sighing, he just hoped it would be over soon.