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After Hackapel had fallen asleep, Leon and Varg left the cavern without exchanging a single word. By the time they returned to the tent at the peak of the rocky mountain, the sun had already set.
The sky was painted in twilight. The sun, sinking below the western horizon, dyed the heavens crimson as it went down. Like even the most beautiful flower must eventually wither, the rising sun too could only sink.
A truth so obvious it hardly needed to be said, yet on this day it pressed heavily against the chest.
“Are you back…?”
Varg’s voice came cautiously from behind Leon, who had been gazing at the evening glow. His instincts were calm now, but one could never be too sure. Leon turned at that reaction and gave a faint, awkward smile.
“Yes, it was me. Did it startle you?”
“To say it didn’t would certainly be a lie,” Varg admitted without resistance, then his eyes widened, filled half with excitement, half with awe. “However you did it, I must ask—was the man who just moved your body… was that… him?”
It was not something reason could accept. If Leon had claimed to be imitating him, that would have been a dozen times easier to believe....
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