of the roundness of his young snout, the delicate line of the stripes on his back, and the adorable neatness of his silky hooves. How could such a pretty animal become so ugly when it grew up? he wondered—for although the wild boars of the mists are a more handsome species than those to be found on human earth, they are not particularly refined, either. Petrus was already not crazy about hazelnuts and acorns, but the thought of digging in the ground to feed off them turned his stomach (moreover, like his fellows, unless circumstances dictated otherwise, he only fed when he was in human form, and he even suspected that his horse self was allergic to forage).
The young wild boar, captivated by his contortions, was still scrutinizing him unabashedly.
“You drank too much tea,” he said, “I saw you at the way station, you were really thirsty.”
“I wasn’t thirsty,” snapped Petrus.
“I can give you a vase,” said the boar, ignoring his answer. “It’s a present for the Head of the Council. If you like, you can borrow it, you can empty it when we arrive and give it back to me discreetly. Your clothes wouldn’t be enough,” he added, realistically. “So that’s why I thought of the vase.”
There was a prolonged silence, then Paulus cleared his throat.
“That’s very kind of you,” he said, “but we cannot do that.”
“And why not?” asked the piglet, turning into the most admirable little human specimen you could ever meet.
His blond hair was perfectly matched by his blue eyes, which were virtually impossible to look away from. Was it the fact they were so light, almond-shaped, magnified by sweet lashes that were also blond, and garlanded with perfect brows? Or were those eyes so beautiful because of the spark that migrated from those artfully drawn pink lips, lighting an exquisite fire in them? The young elf was smiling at them, and it seemed as if the world was glistening, so much so that Petrus, bewitched by such an endearing face, briefly forgot his torment.
“A vase intended for the Head of the Council cannot be used as a urinal,” continued Paulus.
But he couldn’t take his eyes off the splendid young face either.
“It won’t diminish its beauty,” said the boy, and he smiled again.
Marcus, Paulus, and Petrus, lost in that smile as if they were in a forest carpeted with periwinkle, all felt their resolution give way at the same time.
“It simply isn’t done,” said Marcus, in a final effort at decency which lacked all resolve.
The elfkin reached for the vase, which was wrapped in a soft poppy print fabric and stamped with family seals in flat tints of ink. Elves have two seals, that of their animal self and that of their personal house. The seal of wild boars, in tribute to the species’ preference for nocturnal life, consists of a waning moon above a tea plantation. Added to this was the piglet’s own family seal, a spotted iris against a background of tiny stars. Said piglet checked that his parents were asleep, and he went over to the threesome, whose will was as weak as their reflexes. There was a hypnotic fluidity about his movements, and while he was removing the vase from its cloud of poppies, Petrus, Marcus, and Paulus looked at him dumbly. He set it down before them.
“It’s an urn,” murmured Paulus.
It was indeed an urn, of light, changing bronze, alternately fawn, gray, brown, or, finally, a milky comet white.
“It comes from the oldest bronze foundry in the mists,” answered the elfkin. “We came to Hanase for it, and we are taking it to Katsura to give it to the Head of the Council.”
“I thought that urns didn’t travel,” said Paulus.
“Only bottomless urns,” he replied.
He changed into a colt, a ravishing bay colt—but however adorable he might be, the spell that had bound the threesome was broken, and Petrus shook his head as if emerging from a dream.
“I appreciate your offer,” he said to the colt, “but I cannot accept it.”
And as the moment was dire, and he didn’t think he could wait any longer, he took a few steps toward the back of the barge, turned to one side and, revealing his white buttocks, removed his clothing. Then he turned into a squirrel and relieved himself as discreetly as he could. It felt so good and so wretched that he could have wept twice over, and in the end, in fact, it was tears of gratitude that came, because in addition