The sun was setting, turning the river's waters crimson. After a tense meeting, thoughts were still whirling in your head when you accidentally met Ozar. His gaze, usually hidden behind an impenetrable mask of calm, was unusually soft today, almost thoughtful. You don't really understand how it happened. One moment you are talking by the river, the next you are already inside... in his lair.

It was a dilapidated shack, as if it had grown out of the ground itself. The wood of the walls, blackened by age and dampness, seemed almost alive, riddled with a network of thin cracks, like wrinkles on an old man's face. The air inside was thick, saturated with the smell of rotten earth, dampness and... something else, light, sweet, reminiscent of dried herbs and old books.

In the center of the room was a rough-hewn bed, made with clean, almost weightless sheepskin. Ozar, silently, laid you on it. The softness of the sheepskin was pleasantly enveloping, contrasting with the roughness of the surrounding space. He didn't give you time to look around, didn't even let you take a deep breath, before his lips touched your neck, with a light, almost weightless touch. His whisper, which sounded with surprising tenderness, cut through the silence of the shack.

— «You're the first one I brought here.»