Three shadows meet, they conspire innocently. Perhaps society was born to satisfy their needs, but they gladly abandon it, today they feel it as a bondage, too many responsibilities, too little leisure is bad for the soul, and I don''t even have any.


    She is not perfect, she is not, but for them, not to say it, just to think about it, is impossible, because she is, she is perfect. Her thighs are thick, her hips are hidden for good from their gazes and the empty conversations of long friendships.


    Her belly is scanty, her back curves like a mathematical function. Her nose is straight, her lips thick. Her skin quartz, her eyes sapphire, her hair amber. Not a freckle is missing, each one strategically positioned. Her breasts... The consequence is obvious, she was coveted.


    They always flank her, one on each side, for which of them would want to have the other between her and him. In all things be fair, in all things moderate, so I''ll flip a coin, if the obsidian Pillar comes up I''ll start with the bricklayer, if the face of the Father of All comes up, I''ll talk about the waiter. I advance you, none is better, but equally of her prisoners.


    Face. A typical face, a common face, a face in which everyone sees a possible friend, perfect for the beer and wine business. We talk about the thinner in features, the more pointed nose, the more pronounced cheekbones. Maybe less tall, but it depends on the boot.


    At least he can say he is less fat, although the beer hormones are already starting to make a difference. The hair black, the voice clear. Because he rejoices in singing and only sings better because he enjoys it the most. In fact, now it''s the only thing he enjoys, aware that the trio''s relationship has soured, but he''s not going to give in, even more aware of her.


    Pillar. Because he has erected many pillars, not in new homes but in old houses, older than the land registry that counts them. Every day he slips, every day his back hurts a little more. He is already tired and has just finished his first age. Three more hours on shift? Please, let it be over already.


    At least he''s gained muscle, but only in his arms and legs, and because of the little use outside, they don''t even pay off. His hair is ruby, but soon it will matter little, for he fights a battle hard to win, every day his red soldiers give ground and soon only a field of loneliness will remain, a wilted hill. But first, and only first, he must win a war, although he does not know whether of hearts or of attrition.


    Finna was her, the blonde, the smooth, the warrior.


    Beleg was him, the friend, the acquaintance, the evergreen waiter.


    Mim was him, the strong one, the red-haired one, the one who fixed our roof.


    If they were to talk about the day they met they would lie, none of them remember, it''s one of those cases where the relationship precedes the talking and the walking. Come to think of it, it would be a good excuse to say: I was friends with her first.


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    Now they gather, like a congregation of hooded heretics, to break the laws of the established order, in the name of a cause as worthy as spending a sleepless night doing something new. Tomorrow there is no work, but the day after that there is.


    “Follow me as soon as I get up and don''t look back, I can''t say for sure that no one is watching us. Loki the lame sometimes sleeps in the hut of some tower, I tried to detect his pattern, but I think he is rather ruled by beer and where it catches him when the Sun falls.” When she speaks wittily, as on this occasion, they laugh heartily. Every interaction counts, every skirmish pays off.


    “Let''s go” and they shoot off after her. “Just a minute” and they all crowd in. “Okay, it''s all right, there''s no one there” and at last they come out through the gap. It''s pitch dark behind the wall, but to light a torch in that desolation would be the height of stupidity.


    Today was the day, today a little of that forgotten moon enters, the last anchor with those nights of camping of the travelers, because there are no more trips. In less than a rooster''s crow at the chosen point they have arrived. A last cliff, a single high step.


    To the right the fortress. Black stone merges with black wall; there are towers with battlements, but few make use of them. It is more beautiful here than inside, though they think of something beautiful that is closer; she does not, she sees it clearly, the centuries that have passed, the buildings that have been abandoned. Literature made her dream of places where to plant the flag, where to extend the kingdom, where to put iron to use. But deep down she knows that her father, veteran of no battle, is right in this matter.


    There is no kingdom but this one, she will bequeath these stone walls to her children, and they to theirs.


    While she looked at the garrisoned city, they took advantage of the direct entry of moonlight to see not above but below. The crack deep into the bedrock was, under normal circumstances, a glimpse into the blackest and most unfathomable abyss one could imagine by closing one''s eyes and placing one''s hands over them.


    Today it was a mystery to be solved that was difficult to approach, for the presence of magical moments can never replace material reality: any false step would surely mean certain death.


    A certain death. A death. How easy it would be, wouldn''t it? She looks away, the stone is slippery as if it had been made to cause terrible accidents, one in which a friend or a rival could die. After all they no longer speak to each other, they no longer love each other, they are just a hindrance, a problem for each other. If only it would happen by itself, without the need to give the push, then everything would be so simple.


    They were both very close, looking into the depths, pretending to be fascinated, pretending to be interested. Each time they craned their necks closer, as if trying to reveal more of the depths. Each time the bricklayer''s hand came closer to the other''s back. Each time the waiter''s foot slid closer to that of his partner.


    Only a sharp, cruel blow restrained them from sin. Not to them it was delivered, for they were petrified now, with incredible tension in their necks and heads. The blow was bone on rock, announced only by an exhalation. In a very brief moment they raised their heads, yielding to each other the opportunity to consummate the crime.


    They saw only the blond mane, tied to an already unconscious body, sliding down the cruel rock into the blackness of the crevice. There went their dreams, there went the prize of their joust, there went the life of a girl, of a soldier. There went the reason for their hatred, here came a reason to shake hands, for nothing made sense if they did not find success in this mission.


    Without saying anything, with a face of serious panic, they decided to go down.