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I have to catch up with the stubborn donkey at the door and squeeze his shoulder tighter.

He’s a big forehead, of course, but I’m still stronger, and no matter how hard Shea tries, he still wrinkles in pain when my fingers literally dig into his shoulder.

– If you think I haven’t had to get my hands dirty since this went well, you’re very much mistaken.

He stares long and hard into my eyes, and finally his gaze clears.

– Because, – I continued my sad confession, – the higher you sit on top, the more people want to throw you down, and you have to fight not with mosquitoes and sparrows, but with harpies. Believe me, it makes you feel better, because there’s dirt that can’t be washed off with any soap, even if you can’t see it. I don’t wish that fate on you. Bye.

Shea sighed, but his desire to bicker was gone. Not for long, of course, but at least I won’t have to listen to his ambitious plans again for a while.

– You still won’t tell me who she is? – I shout to his back again, but Shea laughingly closes the door, giving me a very modern-looking middle finger goodbye. – Little asshole.