Turbinio

Macela Leaves

''If you wanted to reduce your weight, cutting that hair would be more effective than taking your clothes off.'' You joked, already knowing that Gyro wouldn't laugh as much as you did.

You, Gyro and Johnny were alone in the stables. A small bandage had been improvised on Valkyrie's injured leg, and a terrible feeling came over you at the idea that Diego was capable of doing something like that. Subconsciously, part of you wanted to believe that was all an accident.

Johnny was drenched in sweat, but it was nothing compared to Gyro's extreme dehydration. He told you that in an attempt to reduce the weight and increase his speed, Gyro discarded his equipment, his clothes and, when the going got tough, much of the water in his body. He was much thinner and frailer than you ever imagined. His green shirt was soaked, forcing him to take it off and leaving his torso naked to the waist, refraining from removing his pants in front of you.

Gyro's silence was disconcerting. He obviously accepted the water and juniper berries you offered him, but nothing came out of his mouth but raspy sounds of anger and frustration. You thought your presence was a nuisance, but Johnny insisted that you stay to check on his friend.

You spent a few minutes crushing Chilean boldo leaves and talking to Johnny in whispers.

''Do you think he'll be okay until the next stage?'' Johnny asked. He was sitting on a bale of hay, leaning on his horse and bending down to get closer to you, talking so softly that Gyro couldn't hear him.

''Gyro? Of course.'' You said without bothering to speak softly. ''After that, if Gyro thinks about leaving the race... Vai chover canivete.''

''I'm fine, Johnny.'' The Italian's sudden retort made you both startle, you turned your heads and looked at him together. ''The same way I took the water out of my body, I can recover. But I left my steel balls behind along with the rest of my equipment. I just have to go back and get them.''

You saw Gyro trying to get up with difficulty and ran to stop him.

''Gyro, did the dehydration affect your brain?'' You grab him by the shoulders. ''You look terrible, and your horse is injured. In these conditions, you'll barely make it out of the stable!''

Angry and slightly wretched, Gyro yielded to the slightest force you exerted to make him sit back on the ground. You spun on your heels and looked at Johnny.

''Johnny, is it okay if you go get Gyro's stuff? I'd go myself, but as I said, I didn't see the race, so I don't know where to look.''

''Sure.'' He nodded calmly, slid up and mounted his horse expertly. You still didn't understand how he did it.

''Wait a minute.''

You approached Johnny with long strides. Climbed onto a bale of hay and stood on tiptoes to reach his face with your hands. He didn't quite understand what you were up to, but bent over to help you, and retreated in a reflex when he felt your icy hands touch his forehead and neck. He was hot, but a heat typical of the physical exertion he had made. What worried you most, besides the dehydration he shared with Gyro, was the presence of a subtle inflammation in his shoulders.

''Your body is as dry as the Arizona desert, but you can ride.'' You remarked, taking your hands from his face. ''We'll sort this out when you get back. Now go, if Gyro waits any longer he might pass out, and I don't want to carry him around.''

Without question, Johnny obeyed you. You figured he wouldn't take more than ten minutes, so you wearily sat down on one of the hay bales. The place was stuffy and had a pervasive smell of manure and dry grass. You started to sweat and wiped your face on your clothes.