[Thank you I actually wasn't referring to Italian, but to a story I wrote a long time ago ... so I explain it here as nobody else has read it!]

Kythramil smiled again, the laughter of the girl resonating freely around the spaceship. He imagined her quicksilver nature served her well amid the Corsairs, and he admired that. It was good to see what was possible, away from the Path - not always death and disaster. Though he, the young Wanderer, saw his current Path as as much a Path as any other.

"That answer is very simple," he said, leaning back against the opposite wall so that he could look at her while she spoke, and watch the stars outline her like an ever-shifting corona, "I want to discover something that will help us - the Eldar race - survive, and prosper. Whether it be something old, lore or the thing itself, or some unyet heard of piece of information or treasure, I am looking for a way to save us, to make us stronger against our foe, to find a way to drive back the darkness."

Kythramil sighed.

"Laugh if you like, I shan't mind. Everyone tells me I'm too young and idealistic but I don't care, really - not if it works."

"And I even have some ideas about what to look for, and where. So - passion for discovery. That's it, in essence."

"Well of course I will laugh! That's what I do, Kythramil. Though in time if we travel together you'll get to learn that." She winked.
"That door at the end of the hallway leads to the command room. Different from the bridge, it is a small circular room with full-wall live feed of the ship's surroundings. You may like it in there, it feels like you're the Phantom herself."
The corsair then kicked herself off the wall.
"I'll go help at the Fleeting Moment hangar. If you're free you may find me there - or at the diner-hall, I love to eat!"

Kythramil smiled at that. The young Bonesinger reminded him of some of the people he'd known at home, the close company of his saensirrian. And it was still a relative novelty not to be shot at. Minnaloushe both put him at his ease - somewhat - and made him curious with her mercurial demeanour.

"I would like to see that," he said, "it sounds entrancing, and the stars laid out before one is an experience never to forget. I used to spend a lot of time in the observation-domes on the ventral surface of Alaitoc, and I felt as if I flew or swam among them. I don't think I would ever get tired of that. The only distraction is the thought of what's out there - what I could be missing, right at that moment."

"But I'm keeping you from your duties, and I believe that I should speak with the Captain. Perhaps I'll speak with you later?"

Taking his leave from the cheerful Eldar girl, Kythramil made his way to the bridge with a small amount of trepidation. From the formal structure of the Alaitocois ships, it would be a breach of etiquette for him to set foot there, but on a Corsair vessel ... well, who knew what the form was. He did not; and so he stopped, just on the threshold, politely waiting to ask if he might report to Captain Caedessin.

Minnaloushe observed the ranger as he stood there waiting for a cue.
"What are you? Waiting for an invitation?" She stormed forth, laughing, then placed her hand on the side panel to open the door... The mirage beyond was exquisite, as it seemed the Intemperate Phantom ended right before Kythramil's feet and Caedessin was somehow standing there in the middle of the stars. The imposing captain turned and her concentrated gaze turned soft and welcoming - if not a little seducing, as all Dark Eldar gestures were.
"Kythramil. Good job on those repairs - please, step in." The Lacerai turned again and Minna closed the door behind Kythramil as he ventured forth. If he would spin around his heel, it would seem as if there had never a door behind him - as if he was suddenly lost in a sea of stars, fall away from everything.

Behind the door, Minnaloushe sighed. She thought of Kythramil's words, of his hobby - visiting the observation-domes of his home-craftworld.
"Are you in for a treat" she murmured to herself, remembering her first time in the command room... She had turned in her breakfast.

"Yes," Kythramil said to Minnaloushe, shooting her a look as if to wonder why she would ask anything so obvious. And you might have taken me with you if you were just going to come here, he bit back. The young Wanderer wasn't really so annoyed, but the lack of logic to his mind was demanding more of his limited patience. However, he reminded himself that the ways of the Corsair fleets were not Craftworld ways, and kept his counsel.

And then, the world went out.

Caedessin stood outlined in stars, her exquisite figure glinting in starshine. A meteorite blazed past her face. Kythramil almost ducked, but held still, unable and unwilling to move lest he miss some hint of the celestial spectacle. His eyes widened as if trying to pull in all the light and commit it to memory.

There were nebulae, distant and clouded and as regal as the Captain herself. Closer stars glinted in shades of red, gold, and blue amid the silver dusting of the endless firmament. It was all he had longed to see and more, the floating void, the Dream of the Maiden made manifest as the White Moon first explored the heavens.

The good Captain, however, did not precisely have the maidenly cast of Lileath. There was a smoky richness to her voice, a seductive edge that gave sensuous pause to every word she spoke. She welcomed him to the star-chamber, and he bowed, feeling the need for a certain formality to mark his respect.

"Thank you Captain. Minnaloushe was a pleasure to work with."

The sky spun, and he dissolved. Without reference points beyond the stars, to the Ranger it seemed that there was no direction, but that no-direction stretched equally on all sides, pinning him at its centre. It was as if the Universe invaded him even as he sought to drink it in, to comprehend it, and he could not find enough of a still place in that infinitude to call here. Kythramil heard himself sigh, a sound of wonder and joy. A heartbeat more, and the solid feeling under his boots resurfaced, grounding him somewhat.

"Ma'am, you have an enviable view." he drawled softly, tearing his eyes from the stars to her.

With a gaze lost to the one true never-ending sea, the former denizen of darkness let out a barely audible, purr-like laugh. "I come here to isolate myself and daydream while I pretend I'm being the captain."
The raven-haired ghost turned to meet Kythramil's eyes.
"Dear fateful wanderer, as I said before this ship is now en route to intersect an imperial fleet - we are to... Help negotiate, the surrender of a certain... Hostage."
The slow manner in which this seductress choice her words felt more like a mockery at discretion.
"I said I could help you get some much needed experience before I showed you to these Harlequins, and this is one such chance. Do you think yourself capable of witnessing and potentially participating in a space battle? To begin with, what is exactly your experience in battle? How did it feel?"
The woman's body language was ever-so expressive, her deep voice elevating and lowering its tone and passion as she strode amidst the stars... Which began to move at incredible speeds - speeds that barely seemed like movement in the grandiose of space. The Inemperate Phantom had fully extended its sails.

The Ranger paused a fraction too long in his response as the stars whirled and streamed, the rushing corona mesmerising even as the Captain spoke. Her words and the hypnotic pattern of stars threatened to put him into trance. He forced himself to focus, bringing his attention back inside the control-room and back to the present moment.

"In battle. Well, though I am not a martial expert, I have some experience as a Guardian as we all have." Kythramil thought back to his time serving his Craftworld more directly.

"I was with one of the gunnery crews, a spotter for the field artillery - mostly Star Cannon, once with the Prism Cannon. That's more distance combat, usually, but it gives me some skill with the larger ranged weapons. Perhaps that would make me better with ship's cannon than a novice, but I am sure you have plenty of crew more skilled than I with those." Not that it wouldn't be interesting to try. "As for close combat, our position was overrun on my second to latest mission and we ended up fighting hand to hand with Orks. I learned the value of close co-operation with one's team and that one must shoot a greenskin until its brain registers that it is dead, and then shoot it again. Oh yes. And the value of being able to duck fast."

He brought his gaze out of the past and focussed away from the blood-streaked, yet triumphant faces of his fellow artillerists, cheeks flushed and panting as they shared the exquisite, heightened joy of simply being alive and breathing.

"Aside from that, I have some experience as a sharp-shooter on the Path of the Ranger."

He paused, lookieg at the elegant, sensual woman in front of him, His head tilted slightly to regard her. Everything Caedessin said had a subtle undercurrent from her body language, used - he suspected - with all the grace and skill one much more experienced than he could bring. Was he out of his depth here? Of course he was. He'd been out of his depth since leaving his Craftworld's safe and loving arms. That was how he learned. There is no comfort zone on the Path of the Wanderer.

Besides, there was some exhilirating freedom in simply answering a question without first hedging around the conventions of Craftworld society.

"How did it make me feel? At first ..." he paused, biting his lip in thought. "At first, there was no time to feel anything. It was a blur. I found myself acting on instinct. That I suppose is the value of drilling until one knows a manoeuvre as second nature. My muscles did what they needed to do. My brain calculated and I moved."

"After that - well, there was still no time to do anything much in the way of feeling. We shot and shot. When the enemy came towards us like a green tide, for a second I was afraid. But then I was angry. I was - outraged. I hurled myself at them, I nearly forgot to shoot. But then my lasgun was in my hand and I was aiming at eyes, throats, weapon hands. Shot. Shot. Shot." His hand swept up and down. "It was a terrible, exhilirating, mechanical process. After that - when it was all over - I looked down at myself, and I was covered in blood. I felt a bit sick. I felt a bit dizzy. I remember blinking, and taking what must have been the biggest breath since my first in this world. We got the all clear from the unit Warlock. And then I grabbed the nearest Eldar and hugged him so tightly I think I bruised his ribs."

Kythramil let out the breath he hadn't realised he needed to, running a hand through his hair. Now, without doubt, the ex-Commorraghan knew more about Kythramil the Wanderer.

"As a sniper ... all that gets pushed down. You don't feel, you calculate. Angle, wind speed, movement of the target, exposure from cover ... it all takes over. You make the shot. Then you move. Always move. Never make a shot - two at the most - from the same position. I once asked a Pathfinder what he felt when he made that fatal shot. He looked at me as he answered, and shrugged. "Nothing really," he said, "laser rifles have no recoil." I'm ... I am not at the point where he is. I hope to leave this Path when it's served me. I - what do I feel then? If I miss, I am too busy trying to work out if I've given my position away. If I've hit ..."

He paused. "If they've declared against us, I think: Got You."

He glanced down, at the starry floor still reflecting void up at him.

"Not that I keep a tally of my foes or anything. I'm not a barbarian. Just that it's good to know when you won."

Kythramil wanted to ask the sleek Pirate in front of him the same question - how did it feel to fight? - but he wasn't sure he was ready for her answer.

Caedessin listened to the ranger's words with as much attention as she could muster - glyphs suddenly blipped into view, holo-panels, audio requests and reports... But it was mercifully quiet, mostly. Hearing the ranger's reaction to his first melee made her let out a humorous sigh.
Her first fight had been against a chained human female, and she had experimented different blades with tiny little cuts before deciding on a razorflail. Must have taken her half a cycle to finish that poor creature - looking back at the experience after she had seen the civilized world and experienced the word "empathy" was just... Sobering.

"You seem to like the science of war, Kythramil. Spotter, gunner, sniper... All cold, distanced and numeric. It took me entire passings to learn the art of killing from af-" another glyph popped into view, right between Kythramil and herself. She swathed a hand to dismiss it.
"Afar."

The commorraghan took a deep breath and let it out in a melodic hum that seemed to calm her. She was walking to what seemed the middle of the room - if such thing could be found in the whimsical perspective the place created. There was a sit there, camouflaged amidst the stars, perceivable only because the woman curled up on in like would a lynx-cat on a mat.
"So it seems you have what's needed - that first reaction, the moment of do or die - is the one that makes or breaks a warrior. When you charged back, felt the ire, you chose a path from which there is no turning back."
Resting her head upon the one knee that had no armour, she let a moment of suspense go by - hoping curiosity had piqued the wanderer.
"In this hostage situation I mentioned, we will be helping a band of renegade craftworlders - Farseer Aranethyr and his ragtag group of now-exiles. Did you get a chance to hear from them? They stole a battleship! An entire battleship, from their craftworld, fully equipped! And they did so because Anamnialoc decided on turning a blind eye to our effort in routing out the tyranids."
Caedessin laughed shortly, in her eyes there was something unknowledgeable tinted with pride.

"That is the kind of initiative that forges heroes, Kythramil. That is the initiative that almost got you killed in that alley, and the one that piqued my interest - you could say I am one for crazy causes. Hm." Her blood-red lips curled up felinely with this last syllable.

Kythramil watched the Captain move amid her stars. It was like watching an endless ballet. Though the firmament swirled around her only in pictorial form, the effect was still of the elegant female dancing her way across the room. Still, he reflected, that could just be the way Caedessin moved. It was hard to imagine one like her just walking anywhere.

Minnaloushe had left them to their starry playground. Her grounding presence might have been steadying, now, but the truth was that he was still finding it a little difficult not to look at the passing heavens. Unless he heard the sound of the Captain's voice. Then his Craftworld courtesy kicked in to ensure that he looked at the speaker when he was spoken to.

It was no hardship to look at the elegant figure, half-decorated, half merely accessorised in silver. Kythramil felt aware of a subtler prompting, at once simple, at once more ancient and complex. On the surface he wasn't sure if she was mocking him still, whatever else she might be at, and that knowledge was aggravating to his nascent pride. But then, as a practical, if dreaming young man, he knew the voice of experience when he heard it and his wounded ego acquiesced. Caedessin did truly seem to see something in him - something with the potential to form the narrative he sought, to make it a reality. That he could truly find the lost Sword of Eldanesh, or find something worth seeking in the effort. But perhaps ...

She was seductive, self-assured, and he was out of his depth when dealing with such a character as a woman. Certainly she could have many suitors even at home on the Craftworlds, all seeking to win her attentions. Perhaps she did. Kythramil would not have presumed to place himself in such company. Thoughtfully, he considered that Caedessin was no more conscious of her seductive nature than a gyrinx is of playing with its prey. Spiteless, instinctive. No less deadly. No, what he was seeing was probably what everyone saw, unconscious and beautiful. He had no doubt that she could employ far more devastating and determined tactics if she wanted to win over an opponent in that arena. But this wasn't a contest. The young Wanderer came to a sudden and startling realisation. There was a seductive, unknown force in the conversation, and it was his: his youthful, enthusiastic, idealistic nature.

Probably she did not see many people like that when she had been in the Dark City. Perhaps he was a rarity, interesting for the novelty of his experience. But he had no idea, no idea at all, of how to handle the effects of being just Kythramil on one who found it so intriguing. And so, for quite different reasons than many who looked upon the star-dimming beauty of the former Commorite, he coloured a little, sitting down on the floor that he could feel beneath his feet. Hands retied his topknot while he spoke, mechanically performing a task they had a thousand times before to give him a slight distraction from all the mental sensations.

"They stole a battleship. Well, that should give them something to write home about, at the very least," he deadpanned, keeping his attention on her face. Caedessin's smile was luminous. "Though as you say home is not likely to be very forgiving. Still, even Yriel returned, so perhaps they too will find a haven once more."

"The Farseer, I take it, sees a future that others do not?" He'd heard of such a thing, though it was rare for any of the great dreamers to deviate significantly from the visions of their compatriots. "I can certainly appreciate their nerve. I would ..." He paused. At that moment, he knew that if such a conviction came to him, he would do what they did. The self-knowledge was a little intoxicating. Kythramil looked up at her.

"I have a great respect for the visions of the Seers. If you had asked me while I was at home, perhaps even a week ago, what I would do if one of them disagreed, I would tell you that I would weigh the matter carefully but go with the majority. I would not consider myself to have the knowledge to choose as they do. But ..."

"Well, now, I would have to say that I would go with my own convictions." He smiled, feeling a little giddy. It wasn't the idea of going against the mainstream. It was that he might, after all, have something worth believing in, something more than wishful thinking. Now he was moving in different circles, now he was meeting people who might make dreams possible.

"You say that I have an intriguing nature. That perhaps, I have the potential to be a hero. Are you aware, Mademoiselle, what an effect your belief can have on others?" The understatement was a gentle one, as much praise as query.