Samson's face was really ugly to behold, covered in a mix of anger, hate and, to his own surprise, fear.

Withstanding such an intense hate was something Samson was not prepared for. He found himself shivering with emotions, as a cold, empty smirk, covered his desire to savagely delete the troubling look from the Rokian's face.

The small creature, still on top of poor Pope, was bearing his fangs. He really felt like he was able to see through Samson for what and who he was: a revolting monster, something he couldn't tolerate. Pain, worry and wild resentment were all welling up in the little creature's chest, demanding to be satisfied, to be unleashed... for a moment the Rokian thought he was going to lose it, so much was his outrage.

Finally, without thinking any longer about it, the Rokian inwardly yelled

-“Intimidating Croak!”

Pointing it at Samson. What came after, was definitely stronger than the one he had used earlier that day, but he was sure only Samson had gotten effected by it: only him was on his knees with a blank stare of anguish on his face.

Samson had indeed heard something.

Something far out of the human range of comprehension: all of those raw, bottled up feelings transformed into a single magical sound, aimed at his inner core, exploding, invading him, devastating him like he had become an ant being endlessly ravaged by a savage behemoth.

Samson grabbed his head tight with his hands, his eyes bloodshot, slightly twitching, silently screaming with terror.

He really looked like a pathetic, tormented statue. After almost a minute of silence, Samson suddenly “remembered” he had to breath. He coughed, then very slowly got to his feet.

Still shaking, and unblinkingly Samson raised his cane once more, feeling the urge to hit the Rokian, and Pope, primordially scared for his life: he was in danger and had to do something. He had to, or he felt he could just die.

He was less than ten centimeters away from clobbering them one more time, when Madame Boule grabbed his wrists, using just one of her big hands. She had talked to him since earlier, but under the effect of the Intimidating Croak, he had been unable to hear a word.

He sure tried now.

-Old man, I don't know what the heck you think you are doing with the merchandise, but this is my stuff now. More importantly, do you honestly think you can come in here and kill a man in front of me? Are you really that stupid?

She stepped towards him and with her other hand she grabbed his tattered shirt in the breast area, pulling him closer, before ordering through ground teeth

-I am going to give you six hundreds for these two, one hundred and fifty for all the other items and you are going out of my property, this very moment. Our business is done! For good. Get out of here... I don't want to ever see your face again.

Samson stared in the woman's eyes, at a loss for words. What had come onto him? He was damaging the goods and almost killed a man he was supposed to sell to one of the most influential lords of the region, in her house. This was going to be suicidal for his commerce.

Not only he was going to lose profit in the future, but this could badly affect his trading guild... If anyone ever got words of this out to them, he would be extremely lucky to survive.

Commerce for them was their religion: breaking its rules and offending influential customers was usually a one way ticket to a very dark place... often underground.

Even though killing was illegal, there were still ways to hire an assassin. And every big guild on Havenrock had their own killers on speed dial.

-I... he... I don't...

He blurted out without being able to make sense. He was filled with confusion, trying to get to the words which could have saved him from this dreadful situation, and yet the more he struggled, the more he felt he was drowning into an oceanic disaster of his own making... He was lost.

-Have I not made myself clear? Get the hell out of my residence, this instant, old fool! Hugo, drag this idiot out of here, please!

The tall woman shouted to a big and muscular hooded Rokian behind her before shoving a one thousand roll of Thalers into Samnson's open mouth, tossing him on the cart and slapping the weird mule away.

The cart moved away fast, with Hugo leading it. She even paid extra, knowing that she was going to be the end of his trading career. On Havenrock, overpaying, usually screamed bad intentions.

A murder: what kind of extravagant idea was that? Even if it was the murder of a Rokian. A person prone to extreme violence could easily escalate to humans and the authorities would always know.

Madame Boule was many things: a trader's employer, a profiteer, a retired warlord and much more... But she wasn't delusional nor jaded enough to just stand and watch.

And she liked to think she still had a droplet or two of integrity in herself. She went down to her knees, lifting the Rokian and moving him to the side. He tried to move back in again but she told him with what a certain degree of kindness

-Stay there for a moment, Rokian, I just want to check him out before it's too late.

He wasn't too sure what to make of the woman, but she sure didn't look worse than Samson, so he did listen to her.

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Madame Boule checked the kid's lungs with her ear: there was a gurgle in his shallow breath. She opened her hand and from her chest a light rose and went down her right arm.

When it was at her fingers, it focused on her index, pouring out into a small, compact fire iris. Madame Boule then opened Pope's mouth and sent the little flame inside of him, while little fiery wires, which looked like long thin roots, extended out of all her finger tips, snaking their way into the open mouth.

She closed her eyes to see through those flames. Soon she had arrived to the damage: one of the lungs had collapsed and had a tear in it, with blood pouring in.

Madame Boule had to act fast: she found the tear in the lung tissue, and making sure it was the only one, she closed it, cauterizing it with her gentle tendrils. Then she moved her probes outside the lung to check the area where the blood loss had generated.

She found the hole in Pope's back, already cauterized by the plasma and closed it with a small suture until there was no longer fluid oozing on the inside. It took her a good two minutes to finish the job.

All the while, the small Rokian had not lost sight of her, understanding what she was doing, more than actually seeing it.

When Madame Boule was done patching Pope up, she pierced his left side, pushing the blood that was causing the lung to stay collapsed out of his body. Eventually she closed that cut too. As she opened her eyes, she looked at the very worried Rokian and said

-I can't say he is going to be fine: the blood loss was severe and the shock was too, plus we can't bring him to a hospital for... reasons. I wish I could, really, but I am a criminal, after all, and I suspect they wouldn't believe me if I said it wasn't me. Do you understand what I am saying?

-Yes.

He answered, with a nod. She was very surprised to hear how much his gentle and husky voice didn't match his body.

-Good, then, if you promise you are not going to cause me any troubles, I will cut you out of that rope. Is that okay, little one?

He nodded again, vigorously. She covered one of her fingernails in mana of the same blue color of the dome on their heads and paying care as not to cut or burn the Rokian, she freed him.

The rope, had lost its magical capability and stood powerless on the ground. The Rokian went up on his feet, carefully, stretched a little, pulling his tail with his hands then asked Madame Boule

-Is there really nothing more you can do to help him?

-Well, sure there is: from putting him in a bed to recover, to fixing his spine, which I'm pretty sure is broken... I myself have smashed quite a few back in my warring days and that sure sounded like a very bad fracture.

-Well... fix it then, please. A broken spine is bad, isn't it?

-Absolutely, he will not be able to move at all, but then again, why should I? I have done all I could for being sure he survives, haven't I?

-But...

-No... you listen to me.

She cut him short with an impatient hand gesture.

-I am an honest woman, alright? I might have saved his life, for now, but I will only fix him when and, most importantly, if I feel like it. Now, if you excuse me, I am going to get something to drink: it is very hot here today.

She left him kneeling by his human companion. He looked at the woman while she disappeared inside her gigantic house; he only turned away his head after he was sure she was sadly, really gone...

But she was not really gone, secretly looking at the talking Rokian from the thick shadow of the doorway. She wanted to test him, see who he was, what he was capable of. She was indeed a crafty one. Or maybe just a fool.

The scaly young man didn't really know about magic or anatomy, sure not enough to repeat what she had done, but he felt like had to try something. Pope was still in a bad shape and he was... He felt like he was important to him, for reasons unknown. It could be that the small amount of mana he had absorbed from Pope the day before had actually slightly imprinted on him, giving him feelings of belonging, but so what if it did?

-Aw... Aw-k, are you there?

He asked with his small, gravelly voice. A square featured, little, silver and black female cat face with an arched eyebrow appeared in front of him

-No need to ask, master. I am indeed part of your magic.

-Good, how do I help my... “friend”? He has a broken spine.

-Are you asking me if there is a way for you to help him with magic? If that is the case, I can't say! Not like this, at least.

-Then how?

He was in equal parts curious and excited: he should have been worried, more than anything else, but he had been waiting since the night before to be alone for doing this. He wanted to check out his magic!