"Shut up, Black Coal!" Urien shouted in a shrill voice. He was wearing a black robe for magicians, his face a little grim. He watched as the father and daughter walked away. "Such a strong magic wave! The little girl is a genius? Or is that man a hidden master of magic?" he muttered.
"Now you're a real Black Coal." The green parrot giggled at the black crow whose feathers had been burned away, gloating.
"Call me honorable Fama Odin Ben, old man. My palace has been burnt down buy that little girl, so get me a new one quickly. And make a flamboyant robe for me, or someone may catch a glimpse of my beautiful body," complained the black crow. Then he sniffed around. "Good heavens, why do I smell a roast chicken?" he shouted.
Urien turned to look at his black crow. "Shut your mouth, or I'll feed you my new potion!" His face was expressionless, his voice as shrill as the voice of a demon that had crawled out from hell.
