A fire was blazing in the backyard of the house. Old newspapers, tattered pamphlets without covers, decayed rags, and tufts of grass that had been gnarled and dried beyond recognition were lying in a sloppy pile, to fall later into the ravenous flames.

Left unattended, the house was decaying and falling in value. Not wanting to continue paying taxes, the attorney handling the family's affairs dropped the price so much that the structure was worth less than a mid-range car. So cheap that even a student could afford to buy this barn, which was more suitable for livestock.

That's probably why you bought it when you were escaping from the city.

The air shook over the flames, the fire smelled good—some of the sheafs thrown into the fire were a bundle of aromatic herbs, and there wasn't a soul for miles around, so you could sit on an old blanket, thinning from many washings, and gaze up at the stars twinkling in the blueberry sourness of the night sky.

Another bundle flew into the fire, plucked from the kitchen wall. The flames shot out, sparks rained down, and the branches glowed as if raw. "Why did you call me... ugh!" A tall, disheveled figure with black visible veins in contrast to fair skin emerged from the smoke screen of the fire. The man waved his hand haphazardly to ward off the smoke and rubbed his eyes.