The Heat Behind His Eyes

The Heat Behind His Eyes - Chapter 11

"It's about the shaman." I'm buckling my coat when Konoe's voice breaks the morning's silence.

"What?" I ask.

"Yesterday, at the grove. A forest on the other side of town. I think he's probably there."

The hell? How would he have a clue? My tail is probably indicating my doubt as I turn to face the smaller cat.

"How do you know something like that?" My tone isn't exactly patient. I admit, mornings are not my best time of day, and I had a rough night. I also happen to be looking at the source of
my current foul mood right now.

"Last night, I heard a song as we were coming back from that grove." His voice is surprisingly confident, which further irritates me.

Oh really? "A song?" I wonder when this was. I didn't hear shit.

"The Poet that I often see was there, and he sang something like this: 'The all-seeing eye, pointing to the depths of the forest where a wise man lives in a shrine.' And then he pointed into the forest."

All right. So, this cat sees a poet character, wandering around the woods in the dark, who happens to know we're looking for a shaman? Maybe this is something I should have known about before now. I find my ire growing. Exactly how much is this kitten hiding from me?

"What happened to him afterward?" And more importantly, why didn't I see him? 

"I don't know. When you called out to me, he disappeared."

"Hmm." I think on this for a moment, and check Konoe's face. He appears earnest and believes what he is saying. I don't think he's doing this just to be childish or rub me the wrong way.

Dropping my gaze to the floor, I wonder if this might be part of newly awakened Sanga abilities, which is why I hadn't perceived anything. Or, perhaps he'd been visited by a spirit who was frightened by my approach. Maybe it sensed this madness I'm fighting... I push that thought down quickly, noticing my tail is swishing back and forth.

Even so, I would have sensed something. My guess is Konoe was simply overwhelmed and tired. He'd been singing and fainted. Plus, he'd cried his eyes out earlier, thanks to the birching, and then exhausted himself with sword training after that. He must be mistaken.

"I don't believe it."

"But I've seen him many times. Both in Karou and in Ransen." His voice takes on a childish insistence. God, why am I enjoying this? I should be pissed he's arguing with me. 

"Have any good evidence?"

A small stuttering noise sounds from the smaller cat. "That..." And there we go! His eyes drop to his feet, almost as though he doesn't believe what he's saying himself.

I can't help noticing these kittenish gestures—his actions make him look so young and naive. Is he aware of it?

However, he lifts his face to meet my glare once again. Rather stubbornly, I might add. It's adorable.

"I don't have any proof. That being said, I don't think he's an enemy. I just have that feeling." His tone is insistent.

"Isn't it just wishful thinking?" I ask doubtfully.

"No." His reply is strong and argumentative. I would normally never accept this tone, but, strangely, it's giving me hope and heightening my anticipation, igniting my imagination once again. Plus, I may have another disciplinary measure to address today. I can hardly wait!

I don't say anything. I'm afraid if I open my mouth, I might sound gleeful. I continue staring him down, gauging his reaction, watching if he will break eye contact. I'm not-so-secretly hoping he won't, in fact.

In my peripheral vision, I see his small hands clench into fists. Hmm, interesting. He's serious!

After a few moments, I figure I'll give him this one. Maybe this will be the springboard of the disciplinary measure I've been fantasizing about since last night.

"Stubborn, aren't you." It's not a question.

"Either way, we don't know where to find the shaman, right?" He tries to sound matter of fact.

He's got a point.

"That's right."

"So this beats looking around blindly." Again, trying to sound matter of fact, but ending up sounding more childish than he thinks. It's cute.

"Might be a trap." I've never met this so-called poet, nor would I trust him if I had.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We can't make conjectures about that now."

"... Hmmpf." That was surprisingly well-spoken, especially from a kitten such as the one before me. It's odd how this cat swings widely between childish and something approaching sense in a matter of minutes. But I don't want to encourage him in his recklessness.

"Like I thought, you'll die young." I actually really do worry about this, more than I care to admit.

"I don't want to hear that coming from you." At his retort, I have to smile. It can't be helped.

We finish preparations and head back to the glade. I don't bother slowing my pace for his sake today. This may be his idea, but we're doing this at my pace. I can feel the wheels turning in my brain, trying to work out a disciplinary plan. I enjoy it more than I care to admit.