Page 18 of Mikoto and the Reaver Village
Was it a show of preference? That was really veryflattering, especially in Wardenclave, where folks took pride in being dogpeople. Mikoto wondered what Glint would say if he saw this … and smiled.
Fend sat back. Making way for the man, who was definitelytaking notice now.
Offering his hand, he cheerfully asked, “Who are you, then?”
NINE
Clay Pit
Tenma had never considered himself impetuous, but therewas no other word to describe his sudden urge to walk in the woods. He’d onlymeant to look around. Familiarize himself with the surroundings. Not strike offon his own.
But there was most assuredlysomethingoff in thisdirection. He’d learned to trust that certainty, even when it led him intostrange situations.
Like this one.
He was in the woods below the village, that much he knew. Sohe couldn’t be very lost. The creek hadn’t been a surprise. In his mind, mountainsand springs went together. At least, that’s the way it worked back home. Butwhen he’d reached a wide bend in its course, he found what looked like anexposed clay bed.
The grayish matter was just the sort of thing Goh-senseiliked to work with, and Tenma had thought to bring him a sample. However, ingetting a closer look and trying to collect some, Tenma had somehow foundhimself stuck. And sinking.
Struggling only caused him to sink faster in the miry clay. Hewas up past his calves, helpless to free himself. Tenma rubbed at his nose,knocking his glasses askew, feeling like a child instead of a grown man.
He would be missed. If he didn’t show up for the noon meal,Goh-sensei would notice and come looking. Unless he grew preoccupied with hiswork.
An hour might see Tenma sunk. Better to yell for help. Therewere plenty of Amaranthine in Wardenclave, and their senses were keen. They’dhear his voice, and they’d be strong enough to rescue him from his ownfoolishness.
A bird called then, sharp and close, and fluttered to theground near the edge of the clay. Cocking its head to one side, it studiedTenma with a beady eye.
Despite his desperate situation, Tenma was taken by thebeauty of the thing. Ever since graduating from New Saga High School, he’dtraveled constantly. Usually with Goh-sensei. Until recently, also with Inti.And one of the things Tenma marveled over was the existence of so many birds.What was normal and boring to one region was strange and new to a traveler likehim.
This bird had brilliant blue feathers, barred with black andwhite, and a distinctive crest atop its head. Striking and, Tenma hoped, overlylarge for its species.
“Hello,” he called softly. “Good morning.”
Tenma made a basic hand sign, identifying himself as areaver. Which wasn’t entirely true, but hewaspart of the In-betweennow. And he’d always gotten on well with Kith.
“By some chance, are you a friend?”
The bird spread its wings and beat them once, adding a call.
Tenma was convinced. “I’m glad you found me. I seem to havebecome stuck. Could you send for help?” He waved toward the village. “I’ve onlybeen here a few days. Well, nothere. Notstuckfor a few days.”He was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. “I only meant I’ve been here atWardenclave for a few days. So I’m not sure who to ask for. But if this is yourhome, you’ll know, won’t you? Does Wardenclave have some kind of patrol orsecurity team?”
“Both.”
The voice came from above and behind, and Tenma twisted,trying to see who had arrived.
Someone had settled comfortably upon a nearby tree branch.Had he been watching Tenma struggle?
Lifting two fingers, he repeated himself, this time inJapanese.
Tenma bobbed his head and murmured thanks. He could get byin English, but in stressful situations, his many language lessons escaped him.
The Amaranthine slipped from his perch, landing lightly onbare feet and strolling around so Tenma didn’t need to strain to see him. Hewore loose pants of coarse cloth secured by a double row of buttons thatmarched up his midriff. The throwback style gave him a rustic appearance, likesomeone who didn’t mingle enough with society to know when trends changed.
Not that Tenma was wearing the height of reaver fashion,which was a mercy. His good clothes wouldn’t have survived this mudpack. It wasno loss to further mangle the sturdy denim pants that he wore for work. Theywere already stained by clay from many seasons at the potter’s wheel.
His rescuer’s long coat looked like the sort of thing tokeep off the weather, as did the hat with its drooping brim. He pushed it backon his head, revealing a remarkable thatch of gray hair and bright eyes. ThisAmaranthine was very much in need of a haircut. And quite possibly a bath.
“What have we here?”
