Autumn's Feast - The first love

Part 2

The walk towards the forest, on the hill where Uvo's hovel was, wasn't very long. A short distance from his there was another smaller hovel and others scattered further away.
Carrying Phinks on his shoulder, Franklin recognized Nobunaga's clothes drying in the nearby shack and his eyes widened.
He smiled.
"Ahh, now I understand all that drumming and howling stuff...!"
"Since you are about to enter my house you better not mention the dry, if you want to stay whole. And don't touch anything, it's my stuff and it has to stayexactlywhere you see it."
Franklin adjusted his 'ballast' and muttered a smile.
"But please..." he laughed "I'll give them to you whenever you want, that's for sure."
"But do me a favor, you've never returned home safe, not even in a dream, if you're missing from the infirmary one day they'll come looking for you... Meanwhile for today the battle axes are buried."
Uvo stretched out an arm in front of them, smiling, unlocked the knob by turning it slightly and opened the door.
"Welcome to my home!" he smiled at them, lowering his voice and entered.
Phinks raised his head to stare at the high beams of the entrance. Hearing him move, Franklin turned to him.
"What are you staring at?" Franklin asked, turning to him.
"I don't see any carcasses hanging at the entrance. Nor severed heads or bloody limbs."
"Christ, this isn't the antechamber of hell. Let's give them hope."
"Well, okay, someone gets a reputation as a terrorist and then doesn't keep it. Stay there for a while, that moment...!"
"Come on..." the boy who was carrying him on his shoulder protested reasonably. "True, a braggart is a braggart, not a terrorist."
Then Franklin lowered his head a little, glanced at the boy inside who was standing with his back to them, unpacking a bag. He looked at his friend on his shoulders, stretching his neck, and lowered his voice
"Come on, maybe he's not that bad... It's true, we've known him for a few months and he's a bit abusive, but in my opinion Uvogin isn't as bad as many think, he's not stupid, I've heard him think and he thinks well. "
Phinks lowered his head in confusion.
"How come you suddenly like it?" he asked, in a low voice, very serious. "And what did he say?"
Franklin shrugged.
"Well I don't remember exactly, but it's not all brawn and no brains. He was at the carpenter's shack and explained to a new boy how to make an L-shaped joint without nails. He has a head, he's not stupid. And while he was explaining he had a patience that I can't tell you about, he wasn't arrogant as usual..."
He lowered his eyes while from inside the house, without knowing it, two green eyes stared at him.
"And it made me think 'Wow, that's some cool behavior!'I liked how he behaved: he seemed to be the real him even if he reminded me of someone else. Once you remove the braggart patina that he spreads on himself when he speaks loudly, it's not bad."
"Was it a girl?"
"No, no, a boy our age."
"Could he be a faggot?"
"I really don't think that was the attitude..."
Phinks thoughtfully rolled his eyes, his mouth tight like a chicken's ass.
"He's nice, Phinks. It's just a little whipped up. He's there, but he wants to pose. You can see he must have been through a lot too..."
Phinks scratched his tall hair; his friend sighed and raised his eyes, meeting Uvo's green ones inside the house who were scrutinizing him. He was as if caught red-handed and shook his head.
"But yes, I agree on one thing." smiled Frank "I could see the carrion as trophies at the entrance to his 'den'!"
"There, you see it too?"
"Ahem!" the owner of the house cleared his throat from inside the living room "If you want, The "terrorist" offers a drink. I stole some bottles. Whole. And full."
"Wow, let's get our throats wet!" the blond from his friend's back exulted calmly. "Do you also have brain juice or eyeballs to eat as an aperitif?"
Franklin shook his head and closed the door. As he turned, Phinks' foot hit the wooden beam, causing him to groan and screech in agony. Its bearer laughed.
"It's enough for me as a pledge. I'm so satisfied that maybe I won't mind you for a month, I'll wait for your foot to heal!" Franklin said satisfied.
"Uhngg.... You bastard...!" Phinks gasped, holding his sore foot.
Even Uvo smiled, uncorking a bottle of an intensely smelling amber liquid.
"Yes, yes, laugh, laugh. Come and drain this and then I want to see how well you sing."
The two entered the poor little house and looked around: it wasn't even as bad as it seemed: it had a gigantic sofa which looked quite comfortable even if it was broken, in front of it a low wooden table probably made by hand, a rudimentary stove placed next to two open windows, next to a tidy pile of wood and an open cabinet with a few dishes inside reassembled with a shiny material. Next to a rectangular tin basin with a plug at the bottom, underneath there was a connected (welded) pipe leading out over the wall and another pipe at the top mounted as a tap, connected to a push pump , connected in turn to a large tube. Outside there was a cistern, you could see from the windows, connected to a hand-dug well. There was really no denying it: Uvogin's home was the result of truly innovative ingenuity for a child of that age.
In front of the living room, in a corner created specifically for this purpose but far from the stove, there was a high wooden dining table, with a few stools and wicker chairs. An open cupboard-type piece of furniture housed a stone top, on which stood a wooden knife holder and cutting boards of various shapes and sizes. There must have been other utensils in the drawers. Inside the doors above, covered by pieces of plastic instead of glass, various things were neatly stored, including many bottles of various alcohols. Next to that, an open window illuminated the kitchen corner, in front of the table where they would sit.
Uvo opened one of the cabinet doors to reveal a rudimentary but functional ice chest, clad in stone and other materials that Franklin didn't have time to study.
They continued to look around.
Phinks noticed the famous drum kit that stood in a corner of the room assembled from drum pieces and various objects - probably the result of assiduous research - the shape could be guessed under a white cloth. On the walls animal skins, heads, horns. No paintings, but there was a particular taste in the furnishings.
Continuing, beyond a curtain, a gust of wind revealed a second part of the house with another room and a bed, probably Uvo's room. They were surprised to find such a "modern" house in less than 50 square meters, compared to their miserable shacks and in silence they could not help but appreciate it.