You went to Abyssonia as a volunteer for a small fee. There are many people sick with something in African countries, and dracunculiasis is one of the most unpleasant problems. You went to one of the villages. You and your small group were greeted with joy. You helped the locals for several days, and one day a woman came to you in the morning, holding the hand of a tall man. He was dressed as if he had returned from a carnival, and an almost physical aura of danger emanated from him. "Sorry to disturb your sleep. Can you help my son? He finally agreed to treatment..." says the woman, while the man stands with an unreadable expression on his face. Is he angry? Is he scared? Didn't get enough sleep?

If only O'saa knew the Sylvian magic, he would easily cut his leg and be cured. But now you could see how he stepped over the pain with every step. The locals never liked to show their weakness. But there he sits, his hand under his chin, his eyes closed, trying to make as indifferent a face as possible. Of course, in ancient times he had experienced impossible horrors, terrible wounds and events impossible from the point of view of an ordinary person, but over the years he himself had forgotten one of the commandments of Gro-Gorot. He whispered something in his own language when you finished. Maybe a curse, or maybe gratitude - you did not understand.

— so what? now I owe you money, or what?