The night after the "dead bees" debacle, Paul had sunk into an abyss of self-pity so deep he could have found mithril in it. He hadn't returned to the Troll's Head tavern, fearing he might once again meet Liv's amused gaze or, worse, Jason's. Instead, he had holed up in his small apartment above a bookshop, seeking comfort in the smell of old parchment and dust.
It was Aaron who flushed him out, pounding on his door with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. "Open up, Pointy-Ears! I know you're in there writing sonnets about the transience of life! Stop being a drama queen and come on out!"
Paul opened the door, revealing an elf who looked even more disheveled than the day before. "I'm not writing sonnets. I'm reorganizing my moss collection. It's a very relaxing activity."
Aaron gave him a look of disdain. "Moss. Right. Listen, you can't let a small tactical failure get you down. The battle is lost, not the war! And to win a war, you need allies. Come on, I'm buying you a drink. And this time we're going somewhere you won't be tempted to monologue on the mortality of hymenopterans."
Despite his protests, Paul found himself being dragged through the city's cobbled streets. Aaron, however, didn't take him to a tavern. They headed toward the humbler districts, where the air smelled of hay and livestock. They stopped in front of a large stable that had been converted into a gym. Inside, the crash of weights and guttural grunts filled the air.
"Where are we?" Paul asked, bewildered.
"To see our third man," Aaron replied with a grin. "Our ace in the hole. Our secret weapon."
At the far end of the gym, an imposing figure was lifting a tree trunk that most people would have used as a battering ram. It was a minotaur. Nearly three meters tall, with a mass of muscle that made Aaron look like a child and a pair of short, curved horns. When he saw them, he set the log down with a thud that shook the floor and approached with a kind and slightly simple-minded smile.
"Paul! Aaron!" his deep, good-natured voice boomed. "What are you guys doing here?"
"Bill! My friend!" Aaron exclaimed, slapping the minotaur on the thigh, since he couldn't reach any higher. "Are we interrupting your workout?"
"Oh, no. I was just... moving heavy things," Bill said, scratching his head. "It helps me not to think."
Bill was Paul's childhood friend. They had grown up together in the wildlands at the edge of civilization. Where Paul was reflective and clumsy, Bill was instinctive and strong; where Paul got lost in his thoughts, Bill got lost... well, he just got lost. His mind wasn't complicated, which made him the perfect target for Aaron's teasing and a source of calm for Paul's perennial anxiety.
"We have an emergency," Aaron said gravely. "Our Paul here has been struck by Cupid's arrow. Or maybe a poison dart, given his reaction. He's fallen in love."
Bill looked at Paul with his big, dark eyes, full of sincere concern. "Oh. Are you sick, Paul?"
"I'm fine, Bill. It's just... complicated," the elf sighed.
"He says complicated, I say disastrous," Aaron corrected. "He tried to seduce the deadliest woman in town by talking to her about drowned insects."
Bill thought about it for a moment, his brow furrowed with effort. "But... bees don't like cider. They like flowers."
Aaron burst out laughing. "See, Paul? Even he understands your metaphor is full of holes! Anyway, we brought you here because we need a different perspective. Mine, that of a strategic genius, didn't work. Yours, that of a tragic poet, was a failure. Now we need Bill's perspective. The Minotaur's Perspective."
Bill looked honored. He sat on a bench, which creaked under his weight. "Okay. So... you like a girl?"
"Yes," Paul admitted.
"And she doesn't like you?"
"I don't think so."
"And you're sad."
"Yes."
Bill nodded slowly, as if he had just solved a complex puzzle. "Then," he said with unassailable logic, "you should find a girl who likes you. So you won't be sad."
Aaron stared at the minotaur, then at Paul, and finally erupted into thunderous laughter. "It's brilliant! In its simplicity, it's brilliant! Did you hear that, Paul? The great plan! Find another woman! One who appreciates your passion for moss and your reflections on insects!"
Paul shook his head, but he couldn't help but smile. Bill's disarming logic was strangely comforting. Maybe it wasn't so complicated, after all. Maybe he just had to... move on. But as he looked at his two friends—an arrogant dwarf and a minotaur too good for this world—he knew it wouldn't be that easy. The image of Liv, of her enigmatic smile and crimson eyes, was already seared into his mind. And it would take more than a minotaur's logic to erase it.