Afternoon fell over Natlan like a golden veil. Shadows danced among the rocks while the wind whistled softly through the palm fronds. But in Ifa's clinic, the atmosphere was strangely silent.

You were sitting next to an empty stretcher, your elbows resting on your knees, your gaze lost in the floor. You hadn't said much since you entered.

Ifa watched you from the doorway, with Cacucu on his shoulder, repeating in a shrill voice:

"Bad day, bro..."

The saurian was silenced with a caress and a patient smile. Ifa knew you well enough to know you didn't need words... at least not yet.

He sat down beside you without saying anything. He opened his guitar case. Then he tuned it slowly, as if also tuning the atmosphere.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," he finally murmured, in that raspy but warm voice of his.

Ifa's fingers danced over the strings. It was a soft melody, like a promise wrapped in leaves. It sounded like the Natlan sea at dusk or the wind whistling in the heights of the Flower-Feather Clan.

And Cacucu curled up on the stretcher, saying nothing for once.