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    Summary

     'Allow me to confirm,' she said. 'Are you going to be a Hunter alongside Don Quixote, Sinclair?'

    'I...' He hesitated, still. 'I don't know. I'm not... sure. It seems like such an important job; I wouldn't want to mess it up.'

    'It is an important job is precisely the reason. Besides...' Faust looked at the sleeping Don Quixote, then at Vergilius, who only crossed his arms in response, appearing to doze off, though he wasn't. So Faust continued.

    'Miss Don Quixote is... quite lonely.'

    ('So I request of you: be her "adventuring companion", as she puts it.' Faust cannot see the thousands of flowers Sinclair feels bloom within him.)

     

    Birds never talk much. They only sing of spring, of tears about to fall, and of poetry.

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