And The Forest Whispers

13

The room beyond the front door of Nezumi's cabin was more of a small loft with wooden floors and a domed ceiling studded with tiny baubles than the massive hut Shion was accustomed to. There were no windows, which Shion was realizing was a staple of Maoese architecture—but the walls were completely lined with bookshelves. Hundreds of leather tomes and hardcovers, thick and thin, well-worn, and still in pristine condition. Simple furniture created small, distinct living spaces: a sitting area, a dining room, a kitchen, separated from each other only by weaving columns of wooden bookshelves.

          It was beautiful. Shion had spent so long surrounded by the chaos of Kronos' plain wooden buildings and lack of wildlife that being in the cottage was almost overwhelming. Both environments seemed to suit Nezumi perfectly. He fit in well with the well-structured cabin he occupied, but he could also rough it in the depths of the woods. He walked a fine line between these two worlds, blending seamlessly into each of them. Shion's heart clenched as Nezumi shut the door, cutting out the faint winter chill fluttering from beyond.

          Shion followed Nezumi through the makeshift living space. He wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he stopped being amazed by Nezumi, and immediately dismissed the thought as nothing less than utterly ludicrous.

          He never wanted such a time to come.

          Nezumi went straight for the kitchen. He shrugged his heavy black cloak off in the middle of the room, leaving it to rest in an inky puddle in the middle of the floor. Beneath it, he wore a plain brown tunic and a pair of black slacks tucked into a pair of sturdy boots.

          Shion watched him cross to the shelves he had lined across the wall above the cauldron and counter he used to prepare food. The pots and pans lining the wall looked oddly familiar—and then, with heart-wrenching warmth, Shion realized they'd come from his cabin back in Kronos. Like the crops planted outside Nezumi's cabin, Shion's personal items mended comfortably into Nezumi's home.

          Shion's heart sang as he watched Nezumi pull some of the supplies he'd snatched from Shion's cabin down from the wooden shelves and place them on the stone counter-tops.

          "Still some chicken," he mumbled to himself, organizing the supplies and searching through the food he had stored away in his cabin. "Pretty sure that beef's no good anymore. Pretty sure it wasn't good when I bought it. Never buying from that woman again."

          Shion stood next to one of the bookshelves and watched while Nezumi gathered an assortment of pots and pans. In a few minutes, Nezumi was pouring water, diced vegetables, and herbs into a rather small cauldron.

          "I didn't know you could cook," Shion said, marveling at the swift, precise way Nezumi began to dice up a hunk of cooked chicken from a cool storage area. "You're amazing, Nezumi."

          Nezumi clicked his tongue, as if Shion had said something completely ridiculous. Shion couldn't help the wave of frustration that rushed over him like a warm wave. How could Nezumi not know how wonderful he was? After all the wonderful things he'd done in such a short time, all the energy he'd expended to bring Shion into his village, uproot his crops and replant them in his own yard, and bring Shion's important items into his cabin for safe-keeping, how could Nezumi not know that he was the most amazing person Shion had ever met?

          Shion closed his eyes and decided to focus on something else before. He wandered steadily around the cabin, looking around at the bookshelves. He couldn't read several of the titles imprinted on the leather spines, but he sensed that they would keep him occupied for years if he could only take the time to learn the language.