6 Chapter 5: To the Intrepid

Bie's gaze roamed around the large hut, looking for anything of interest. His interest just so happened to be more weapons as of now, yet the place was almost ascetic in its simplicity.

A large bedroll. A black pot to which he didn't know the purpose of. A table made out of rock, presumably the gutted remains of a stalagmite. One single crooked window, and a large chair and a chair more fit for his size, which was to say it had a relatively small stature. The drab and dull energy the place gave off struck the child deep in his soul.

He had tasted his first experience of boredom. With a single track in his mind, he stood atop the chair similar to his size and used it as a leverage to jump and land atop the larger chair. With a soft thud he set his sights on the table next, and vigorously leapt for the center.

Plop.

Bie reached his objective while a playful smile danced across his face. With his eyes curled up into crescent moons full of amusement, he took a bow to an imaginary audience. For a full five seconds...which was just long enough for Amitha to walk in.

The herculean woman bent down in the doorway as she made her way inside the simple hut, quickly noticing the boy caught up in some kind of delusion on her table. With a snicker, she sat directly on the chair meant just for her and brought her gaze to meet Bie's.

"Ye think yer part of Cagelund, mind? Clownery is for Seers, ya know?"

Bie grimaced upon hearing the word 'Seer', though he felt puzzled as to where the disgust came from. With an inquisitive look and the quickened stop of his antics, his countenance was fraught with questions.

"Ya react well. A true Guide ye are. sir! If you're worried about what a Seer is. give it a wait until ye can fight properly. GAHAHA!" Amitha chortled a bit before brusquely moving on to another topic, "It's yer fun time. We're both undead, so ya won't hafta sleep or nothin' like that. It's still best ta take a break every now and then. which is very important for wee deadies like us."

"Ya see, since we don't rest our bodies normally don't recoup as fast compared to them living coppers. So if we tear a muscle from loooots of repetition, we're screwed for a bit. Breaks allow us to somewhat simulate sleep. and ya don't seem like the kind who can just patiently sit, so picl a hobby. Maybe something to do with yer Bridge?"

Bie thought about everything he had seen in the room prior, imagining the layout he previously witnessed. His eyes wandered over to the bedroll in contemplation, as an interested look corrected the confused expression he had maintained. He pointed at the subject of his gaze before laying out his current thought.

"Do you have any more fabric?"

Amitha nodded and laid her empty palm out flat on the table. Within a second, a large heap of similarly brown material appeared on top of her hand and was foisted towards Bie. With a cursory glance of interest, she motioned to Bie as if to tell him to go on with his line of thought. And he complied, yet and still curious about where it came from, but too preoccupied in his interests to really fixate on it.

"Stitching." His fingers pranced along the air while his brows scrunched up, his eyes trained on the cloth before him. The cloth, too, seemed to dance as it oscillated into various shapes and forms. Bie seemed to glance at Amitha every once in a while, nodding his head and playing with the dijon yellow part of his hair. A few minutes passed as his lips relaxed and scrunched up routinely as if it was playing along with the twists of the fabric, and a lukewarm pearl of sweat dripped from the leftmost side of his head,

And then the cloth danced no more. The clothing was a bit rough due to the coarse material, but its appearance itself was quite pleasant. With an interwoven lace oat tern on a sweater adjacent top and a plain but nicely put together pair of sweatpants, the clothes themselves were hulking compared to Bie's own stature, He pushed the clothes towards the surprised Amitha, with an expectant glimmer in his eyes and tightly shut lips.

"To think there was a Bridge like this...ya sure yer not a tailor?? It's my size and everything...?" The giant woman was puzzled, her antennae twitching rapidly as she tapped along the table. She didn't forget to take the clothing with her other hand, however. It shortly disappeared, while a triumphant expression was born across from her. A brilliant smile filled Bie's face as he grinned.

"So, ya've gotten a rather interesting hobby just ow. I was considering giving ya more of a break though, so sit tight for a bit while I make some more weapons fer ya? You DO want to get back to training, yeah? Ah ah ah! Don't answer, I can already tell that a fire's ragin' in yer eyes. Here's the deal though."

"We're going to be doing weapon training for...a week? If ya don't make any progress by then we'll work something else out and progress that way. Far as I can see though, ya've got no talent in using a weapon without smashin' it to bits..." With that said, she stood up and shambled her way out of the shed once again. The sound of rocks shifting reached Bie's ears as he figured he had nothing left to do for some time, and the bedroll clearly wasn't material he could play around with.

So, he thought about what Amitha said. No talent...he did have a concept of what those words meant for him. Although he didn't have very many experiences of his own, there was a strange itch in the back of his head whenever he attempted to recall something. A lot of the words he used and understood evoked this itch, and the meaning that normally would've been lost to him successfully became comprehensible. Bie had an ominous feeling about this, however... as he felt he and a lot of knowledge on things he shouldn't have any real concept of. And the more he tried to delve into this itching sensation, the more he was met with a crawling, scratching feeling that seemed to set off several mental alarms, forcing him to stop his mental inquiry.

Bie pushed his attention to something else, which was also perplexing but not nearly as concerning as the feeling he held about the so called 'itch'. It had to do with how the weapons would shatter after a couple swings. He felt like he understood the moves themselves, and he could even conjure an image of a blank silhouette doing the processes step by step. Each swing was like a brush stroke, weak enough to not splice the air and throw out the muscles but strong enough to leave a vivid impact. He replicated that feeling in his head as the hours passed by, wondering where exactly he went wrong.

He was reminded of the exhilaration he felt when the weapon shattered, and a small smile colored his purple lips. Still...

It would be nice to execute a stance.