Kors became very sad. How good it was to be ignorant of the lies that reigned around him, suffocate with love and delight, squeezing “his boy” to his chest, the boy who he considered Nik to be, in a slightly rough and passionate embrace. To look into those transparent eyes, often made up, lined with black and burning on a pale face, to hear his groans, to see and feel how Nik cuddles and clings to him. How could Kors assume that they themselves, and not at all their ill-wishers, would destroy such an ideal relationship? And now what? Now what?!
There is no longer his little white boy, his beautiful doll, so sweet, affectionate and obedient, and bright eyes in long eyelashes will no longer look up at him from the bottom up, waiting for him to order. And seductive lips will not pout cutely from frustration because of offensive words. And now, from the bitterness of unfulfilled hopes, Kors himself had treacherously tears in his eyes. All immersed in his grief, he didn’t immediately notice Zaf, but he rode up to him, and Kors, recollecting himself, quickly wiped his wet eyes with his palm. “Damn, what does he want?”
“Vitor,” Zaf looked at Kors very seriously.
“No, this doesn’t look like flirting or some kind of tackle at all,” Kors thought quickly and said politely:
“Good evening, Zaf!”
“You know,” continued Zaf, without answering to the greeting, he seemed agitated, “you can always call me mentally. If you want. Don’t endure or bring it to a critical situation, ashamed to ask for help. Vitor, just call me and I’ll come and try to do my best.”
“Zaf, what are you talking about?” The way Zaf carefully continued to look into his face, and these words about some kind of “critical situation” that could happen, made Kors feel as if a spring tightened in his stomach, and these were very unpleasant sensations.
“There is no point in playing a hero,” Zaf continued, “it won’t help you in any way. It you will feel bad, call me. I have known the White Lord for a very long time, but I know only one thing about him for sure: you can expect anything from him. So call me, I myself offered help, this is not your weakness.”
Kors froze in the saddle. He looked at Zaf’s flattened broad nose. Because of the plugs, it didn’t have a nose tip as such, there was just a flattened flat cake with a small vertical notch in the middle. Poor Zaf, he was once handsome, long ago, before they performed this disfiguring procedure on him – it seems that his father did it. So he told Kors. From Shagezh’s childhood memories, Kors remembered Zaf as young, with still very small stones in his nostrils, his nose was not so terribly flattened. Everything happened gradually, and now Zaf’s face was irrevocably damaged. That was a sign of belonging to a clan, family. The younger belongs to the older. Could Kors ever do something similar to his son, disfigure him like that? No, he was not able even to cut off a lock of Nik’s hair!
Zaf is also a Demon, what is his animal essence? Who is he? The human bodies of Nik and Arel are not like their bestial essences. Nik doesn’t resemble a reptile at all, well, maybe only with movements sometimes: either completely motionless, frozen, or sharp and fast. How is Arel similar to a bat? Is it his dark hair color? No, all this is somehow unconvincing. If Kors himself has goat horns on his head, then there is absolutely no evidence for this in his physical body. Who are you, Zaf? He can be anything.
