She didn't remember anything further.

Before offering a horse a carrot,

make sure he's not a cannibal!

The chestnut horse, which a moment ago had been absolutely and undoubtedly dead, rose to its feet, shook its head and stared at Marius with burning eyes. The black mane rose up like a cloud and stayed that way. The fur darkened: it was bay with a red tint, exactly like a ripe chestnut, but it became brown, like dried blood. A deathly greenish glow appeared in the eyes.

And the worst thing is that Marius had no idea what kind of creature this was or what to expect from it. Master Turvon didn’t talk about anyone like that.

Whatever you say, a noble upbringing has its advantages. I desperately wanted to give up on everything and run away, but the mentor’s soul was still wandering beyond the Boundary, which meant that he needed to stay in place and keep in touch. No matter what happens. Even if a whole herd first dies on these stones, and then turns into otherworldly creatures!

“There’s no need to play staring contest with me,” Marius muttered, proving to himself that he was doing well and generally wow, and didn’t even think about being afraid of anything.

The horsewoman stepped with her hooves, loudly clicking on the washed stones, and snorted mockingly. Somehow it’s not just not horse-like, but even, one might say, human-like. One to one, as Aunt Amalia snorted, wanting to show her nephew without words the entire boundless depth of his stupidity. I would have punched him in the impudent face! “Mentor, come back already!” – Marius mentally prayed. And, as if this was not enough for Master Turvon! The connection twitched especially strongly, the mentor’s body rose, opened his eyes – and, just when Marius froze from horror and impotent panic, human meaningfulness returned to the empty gaze of the living corpse.

The master caught the student’s stunned gaze and rejoiced:

– Get used to it. This is exactly how they return from the Grani. Who else is this?! – he saw a girl lying on the stones.

“And this is it,” Marius waved his hand at the creature baring its teeth. – The horse bolted and was killed right here, in the circle. He dumped the girl, and… here he is. First he died, and then he rose.

Without looking any more at the unfortunate maiden, Master Turvon approached the horse. He ran his hand along his neck, as if feeling the air. He muttered something like “well, well” in response to another malicious snort. And then… the glances of Master Turvon and the horse creature collided, and it seemed to Marius that in a couple of moments these two managed to say so much to each other – the words of the whole night would not have been enough for a conversation!

“My student is brave,” the mentor chuckled. – Clueless, but brave. This is not a raised creature or even an infused spirit. This is – meet me, young man! – Ancient One incarnate. Or rather, the Ancient One is on the verge of incarnation.

– D-ancient?! – Marius hiccupped. It’s not that he hasn’t heard of the old gods at all, but, the Great One sees, it’s one thing to listen to all sorts of fables, and quite another thing to meet them in reality like that! And how are they all still alive?! Although… is that all? “Um-mm…” Marius drawled. – Greetings, glad to meet you and all that, but, master, what’s wrong with the girl? Is it possible to touch her? At least move it from here and see if I’m badly hurt. Help…

Whether Ancient or not, this creature screamed – stallion stallion!

“I’ll show you,” the mentor sighed heavily. – How to check that this is still a living and intelligent girl, and not a creature from the abyss that has moved into her.

And he showed it. Four times until Marius understood and managed to repeat it. And the horse, Ancient or not, neighed, snorted and generally showed its contempt in every possible way.

On the fourth test, the girl opened her eyes, and it immediately became clear that she was no creature and was generally no more dangerous than a lamb. True, the mentor was not touched by the innocent girl’s gaze.

– Look and remember, student, this is exactly how they will look at you before devouring your soul. The truly dangerous will never seem frightening. Those who are afraid of being devoured themselves are frightened.

“But that was offensive,” the girl suddenly spoke. – Eating souls is not my thing. Better treat him with a sandwich.

The voice seemed familiar to Marius, but the intonation… When he heard this wonderful, ringing-tender voice last time… when was that? Visiting someone, but who? So, then this voice was not at all so confident, cheerful and even, perhaps, aggressive, but on the contrary, it evoked yawning and despondency. Exactly! Dejection! Same…

– Virita degli Bornio! – Marius blurted out. And what kind of demons, one wonders, brought this timid doll here?!

Virita froze, bowing her head as if listening. She shook her head:

– No. If you want your Virita, I can try to push her and drink her out, but… No, it’s unlikely. Sorry. A delicate violet in a deep swoon.

– Where – fainting? – asked Marius. It sounded extremely stupid, but the girl understood. And she even answered, tapping herself on the forehead:

– Somewhere here, probably. But how I ended up in it is the question! And who, I ask you, will answer it for me?

“I don’t understand anything,” Marius admitted.

“It would be something to understand,” Master Turvon grabbed the girl under the arms and put her on her feet: “Stop sitting here.” Let's go to the house and we'll talk there. “And I’ll open a window for you, my mansions are not designed for horses,” he told the Ancient One disrespectfully. – And the only treats are carrots. Shouldn't I offer you hay?

Master Turvon’s “mansions,” to be honest and frank, were not designed for guests at all, especially girls from noble families. In the basement of the tower, the same one where the necromancer received rare visitors, there was a kitchen. Rough stone walls, a primitive hearth in which you could roast a whole deer if desired, a shelf with simple pottery, a huge table, several squat oak stools. Door to the pantry, hole to the basement. The Virita deglia Bornio that Marius remembered would have been afraid to look here out of the corner of her eye, let alone calmly enter. And the girl, whom the mentor had seated on a stool by the fire, looked around with interest and declared approvingly:

– It’s beautiful here. Atmospheric. At such a table, it’s not about chewing sandwiches, but about stuffing meat.

“Bring the meat, student,” the master ordered. – Just open the window first. “That’s it,” he waved his hand to where a dark horse’s muzzle loomed behind the cloudy glass. – And don’t even think about giving him a carrot!

– And what?

– Yes, the same as for us. Just put it on a tray so that it’s convenient to eat with a horse’s muzzle.

I had to put aside curiosity and do what students are supposed to do under the master – that is, “cook, bring, serve” (and thank you that mentor Turvon did without the final “get out”!). Smoked venison, fresh village bread (just yesterday I ran to the baker for it!), foamy beer in a keg – a real feast. Although not exactly the kind of treat that should be served to a noble maiden. But the guest ate and drank with visible pleasure – and with the same visible lack of manners. It was probably a good thing that the real Virita was somewhere out there, fainting in her own head. Otherwise I would have fainted again, for real.

“So, our dear and so far nameless guest…” Master Turvon began when Marius set out the treats and sat down opposite the girl.

– Why is it nameless?! – without listening to the end, she became indignant. – My name is Natalya. Yes, Natasha.