were transformed into a broad, steaming snout, he grew horns, and now he was a wild boar, finer than any Alejandro had ever seen in his territory for major hunting. Intermittently, the reflected light of an ancient waterway passed over the creature’s face, and through a clearing in the mist Alejandro could see that the bridge spanned a silver stream with wild grasses growing on either side. The elf had about him the same fragrance of eternity that filled the young general with the greatest reverence. The second creature in the escort, a brown-haired man whose horse, a moment later, seemed made of quicksilver, inspired the same respect. His coat glinted with great beauty, a beauty preserved by the fur of the hare into which he was ultimately transformed—beige and brown, extraordinarily silky, and rippling with gentle quivers.
“The Guardian of the Pavilion and the Head of the Council,” said Petrus.
What land is this, that creates leaders like gods? thought Alejandro.
“That is the impression the high-elves generally give,” murmured Petrus.
Behind the masters of the mists, two elves displayed their fine human features and their lustrous coats of wild horses, while the third species turned out to be a squirrel for one, and a polar bear for the other. One was not overcome with deference in their presence, and it seemed to Alejandro that in comparison with the high-elves they must be minor elves, but their beauty was perhaps all the more moving in that it was instilled with innocence. Now Petrus advanced onto the descending arch of the bridge, and Alejandro and Jesús followed him, disrupting the enchantment to notice how, surprisingly, they were growing accustomed to the black sky. When their elfin companions stepped onto the path of stones and were transformed in turn, they could see that they all contained an essence of man and horse, and that Petrus, in addition, became the prettiest, most jovial, potbellied squirrel one could ever hope to meet. Then he gave his place to a little chestnut horse with lovely thoughtful gray eyes. Next to him, Paulus also turned into a squirrel and Marcus became a large brown bear. Just as they all regained their human form, a strange garment covered their bodies. It looked like a soft, organic cloth shot through with ripples which ceased the moment the human part of the elf vanished. It was difficult to identify the fibers the cloth was woven of, but it adjusted to the body while preserving the glow of the animal, and Jesús would have liked to touch its light and flesh.
As for Alejandro, it was the path that led to the pavilion that fascinated him above all. The stones were wide and flat and reflected the trees in the hollow below, as they were actually above the stones. There were no trees along the lane, but the flagstones radiated a swinging of branches in the wind which gave an impression of walking beneath thick foliage. Alejandro stepped onto the first stone and was surprised by the invisible, stream-like wave that went through the mineral hardness of its surface.
“Soon you will see liquid stones,” said the adorable chubby squirrel Petrus had once again become.
Behind the four elves, a priest in a cassock brought up the rear of the delegation. His face was open and magnanimous, his form freighted with a paunch that attested to his delight in earthly pleasures. Although as a rule Alejandro did not like priests, he immediately took to this one, as did Jesús, who revered the men of the cloth, whence we may conclude that they had not met just one sort of man in the Church, for there are so many sad souls there, but also true scouts who set off to explore unknown lands with no aim to enlighten any other consciousness than their own. Above all, the priest’s good-natured contours couldn’t hide his gaze, that of a man who had observed and, upon observing, grown. He was walking with one arm around another man’s shoulder, a tall, very handsome man, the same age as the good father—perhaps sixty or so—and this man, according to Petrus, used to be a painter. The man smiled at them with the sort of elegance that is born of the mockery one reserves for oneself, and the equal and opposite consideration which, on principle, one displays toward others: Alejandro and Jesús liked him, too.
The young woman was raising her hand in welcome. She gave off an air of singular authority, although her