855: Unaccustomed to the Dryness

Unaccustomed to the Dryness

Tycondrius was expecting his river journey with his young companion to potentially last multiple suns before finding anything worthy of note.  2

He was wrong-- but the surprise was a welcome one. 

Not even half-a-bell had passed before Tycon spied a quaint log cabin near the riverbanks, partially hidden by thick foliage and a trio of naturally-formed hills. 

"Is... that yours, Young Master?" He pointed. 

"Dunno. Could be?" Tamaki placed his palm over his eyes, peering into the distance.

...As the sun shone through the boy's ghostly hand, the minute action seemed... not so effective. 

"Even if it ain't, we sh'd still check it out," Tamaki added. "Whatever fella lives o'er there-- I wanna compl'ment him on account o' their fine workmanship."

"Ah," Tycon nodded. "Of course."

Tamaki of House Kimura was a genius. 

Earlier, Tycon had determined that the young man *was*, in fact, affected by the waters of Letherna. However, either his will was strong enough to stave off its greater effects or he had an item or ability that otherwise did the same. 

Then, if Tycon was assuming correctly... Tamaki had designed a... reckless work-around. 

The young Fisherman would paddle upstream, submerging himself in the waters for noodling purposes. Afterward, he would place his spoils in his basket and allow his raft to drift back downstream... towards a place of familiarity that he was compelled to explore. 

Tamaki tied the raft to a tree on the riverbank, then led the way to the cabin... navigating around a retinue of primitive but debilitating traps. 

Tycon wanted to be impressed. 

It was excellent foresign to defend the cabin so thoroughly. However... traps so easily discovered were not particularly effective.

Granted, Tycon reasoned he might have blundered into one or three of them. 

...if he was in a hurry. 

--and devoid of certain senses like... vision. 

Tycon removed his cap as he followed Kimura Tamaki inside. 

Along the walls were a number of effects unique to the young cultivator, which confirmed the cabin's owner. 

Sect robes hung on a hook. They were largely bleached by the arid sun, but once, they were colored with the vibrant orange dyes typical of Martialists in the Ivory Judge sect. 

An unstrung bow lay against a wall beside a quiver of arrows. When Tamaki was alive, that was his weapon of choice. 

Beside that was a stone hatchet, bound in twine, appropriate for chopping wood. Years prior, the boy had taught Tycon the manner and form to do so effectively. 

"The smell that bad?" Tamaki frowned. 

Tycon turned away to hide his reddened eyes, "I am unaccustomed to the dryness of this place."

"Ah, right," Tamaki grinned. "It didn't take me long at all ta get used to it. Maybe. I dunno?"

The boy shook his head, chuckling affably to himself, "At any rate, make yerself at home. I'mma fix up some dinner fer the both of us."

"...Fixing. Yes. That... sounds lovely."

Tycon watched Tamaki place his basket of fish down, then mill about the single-room cabin, retrieving various cooking items. 

Of course, Tycon offered his expert assistance-- but for his trouble, he was scolded and browbeaten into sitting at the table like an incompetent lout. 

Thankfully, the boy performed admirably, seeming to operate on rote motions rather than conscious thought. 

In the span of mere minutes, Tamaki had 'fixed' a cookfire ablaze underneath an iron pot and set the table with plates and chopsticks. 

The dinner setting was simple and mundane... but more than Tycon feasibly could have expected.

Wood and iron... the young man must have been quite resourceful to have amassed so much material. Further, his workmanship was superb, especially considering his age. 

"Young Master Tamaki," Tycon pursed his lips... "Have you truly lost your memories?"

"Oh, I defini-tively did," Tamaki smiled. 

"That is not how you use that word."

"My body's just... sorta movin' on its own," The translucent boy continued, "Now's I think of it... I think at's prob'ly why I kicked the bucket in th'first place."

He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he took a knife to the Lethernan behemoth on a wooden countertop... "I 'member... someone bein' in a lick o' trouble-- big trouble. Maybe it was me? But I think... it was probably someone else-- jus' as important."

He gave a thoughtful smile as he turned to meet Tycon's gaze, "Wasn't time fer thinkin' with mah head. So I followed mah heart."

"Since I've wrested control of my own life," Tycon frowned, "I've actively tried to *not* do that."

"Seem's ta h've worked just fine for me-- whoops."

A splash of purple blood marked the boy's ghostly face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand as he continued, "Err... or I hope it did. But anyroad, I ain't doin' too bad!"

"You are *deceased*, young man," Tycon insisted. "In general, humans think of your situation as... *not* fine."

"Yeah? Huh. Well, I guess we're gonna have to agree ta disagree."

Tycon shook his head in disbelief. What exactly was the boy disagreeing with? 

Tamaki began pouring a coarsely ground white powder onto the fish filets. It was likely a frying agent. 

"Ya gotta look at the bright side, Mister Tycon. The weather's real nice. We got food-- we *kinda* have water?" 

"We'll be drinking from the water stores in my spatial ring," Tycon insisted-- "and that is not a debate."

"Ooh, that'll be a treat," Tamaki smiled with a shine in his eyes, "Then, after dinner, we can pop open a coupl'a jars o' shine I been steepin' fer ten-eleven days, now."

Tycon dropped his gaze, staring down at his dinner plate... 

He often pushed away his regrets to the back of his mind, but... sharing in Tamaki's company brought them to the forefront. 

Sharing Tamaki's company was... nostalgic. 

It was... pleasant. 

It made Tycon feel like a petulant child for being so... 

"Why ya lookin' so ornery, big fella?" Tamaki asked.

Tycon shut his eyes, steepling his fingers on the table. 

"Kimura Tamaki... I am the leader of an adventuring guild.

"I send young men and women of integrity and valor to their deaths in exchange for coin and false promises of glory. 

"I... do not deserve your hospitality... nor do I deserve your forgiveness."

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