Chapter Text
That day, there was a lot of blood. Maybe enough for an entire village to drink from. It was impossible to know if there was really enough, without seeing anything. In any case, there was blood.
Yet he was not dead. He had already died, but not this time. This time, he was alive, again. On the other hand, he was in pain, so much pain, and felt just as alone. No one was waiting for him. No one, except a cowardly traitor who had sided with his brother. The air smelled of death. It could only be him.
He could not find his crown. It was his crown that allowed him to see. He was deprived of that sense. He remembered his brother's face, a monstrous face. He remembered the feeling of blood, flowing from his face to his hands. No matter how much he waved his arms in all directions and called out again and again, his crown would not come back to him.
He could no longer see anything. He no longer had a crown. Thus was the fate to which his mistakes had condemned him; he would never see again, never again.
- Would you look at that! That steak is huge!
Another day at the Lamb’s community camp, spent living a quiet little life as if nothing had happened. Leshy, former god of chaos, sowing terror and misery on a territory that none other than his followers dared to tread, now sows only spices on meat and vegetables, or leaves of who-knows-what herbs on a glass of homemade alcohol. When he is not busy serving the Lamb – which should already be enough to make him suffer his wrath – he is content to wander underground, to annoy the most naive followers or to teach pranks to children. Most of the time, however, he must work if only to really occupy his mind.
It is so frustrating to go from the Emperor of DarkWood to… This thing. This miserable little thing cooking miserable little steaks for miserable little followers. And the Lamb sees all this. He looks at it all, from the top of his supposed pedestal, with a smile that makes you want to break his teeth one by one. It is very likely that it amuses him, for him to be smiling so much. After all, it is the Lamb who killed him twice, it is the Lamb who seeks to reunite the former bishops, it is the Lamb who should be served as food to this strange spider at the edge of the Silk Craddle. It is the Lamb who should pay.
Today, Leshy is in charge of the kitchen. He is supposed to prepare meals for common mortals who sometimes gorge themselves almost as much as his sister (not as much, though, that would be an unprecedented record). He would like to fight, to let fools who think they are strong taste his crown, to do what he does best! Instead, here he is reduced to the rank of occasional cook, unable even to see what he is grilling - in this case, a piece of meat that could not bore him more. It smells very good, and will surely taste very good, like all the other pieces of meat he has already cooked since his resurrection.
Hearing a very faint sound of flapping wings, Leshy follows it with an instinctive nod of his head. He knows that it is a butterfly, judging by the weakness of the wing flapping and by its speed. It’s a small and frivolous butterfly, but not the kind to get caught in a spider’s web easily. A perfect appetizer. Yet Leshy can no longer say “This butterfly is beautiful, I’m going to eat it.” He can only eat the source of his second greatest frustration: the meals he prepares in front of this grill where he is forced to stand.
-Hey, dude, the steak! The steak!
Surprised, Leshy suddenly notices the smoke surrounding his head: the steak he was supposed to grill has indeed grilled well, well, to the point of catching fire. From the fleshy flames, a thick smelly smoke is released that quickly reaches the nostrils of the mossy worm. Finally understanding what is happening, he then deals several violent blows with his spatula to the piece of meat, almost as dark as a block of coal now, finally extinguishing the flames after a short struggle. On the other hand, no need to be still gifted with sight to make the most logical deductions: this steak is no longer good for anyone, even the hungriest of unfortunates.
-Argh, it's not possible to be so clumsy! complains his customer. A whole steak, good for the garbage!
Disappointed with himself, Leshy lowers his head, then facing his bitter culinary failure.
“Unable to see, and even cook,” he thinks. “Have I really become this weak?”
The disappointed follower leaves, grumbling, how from now on he will have to make do with berry gruel, because of him. Leshy could tell him the truth, force him to cook his steak by himself, or even shove the ash-filled meat into his mouth to give him a good reason to keep quiet; but for once he is not in a state. For once, he is exhausted by everything that is happening to him. These last few days, he has been unable to do anything; his mind is polluted by a constant reminder of what was stolen from him. You are blind, Leshy! You can do nothing without your eyes, Leshy! You no longer have your crown to compensate, Leshy! You will never be able to fully appreciate camellias again, Leshy! You will never see-
-Here! A gift for you!
Thinking he was alone until then, Leshy suddenly raises his head. Trying to figure out who is there and what can be "offered" to him, he sniffs the surroundings. He does not recognize the scent of the follower, although it is vaguely familiar, on the other hand he knows perfectly well the scent of the object under his nose, a scent that he particularly appreciates: a camellia flower.
Perplexed, he grabs the flower with a delicacy that he rarely shows, and breathes in its scent again: it is indeed a camellia flower, freshly picked from his field with care. Its petals are fragile, enough to be crushed by a simple grip, but nevertheless full of life, judging by their soft texture like cotton. The flower probably grew to the East of the fields, taking advantage of the sunrises to gorge itself on its rays.
- You’ve served me here and at the bar several times, the attentive stranger states. I wanted to thank you for your work, and the Lamb told me you liked camellias. I picked it myself!
Leshy takes his time to feel the scent and sweetness of the camellia, as if he’ll forget everything the moment he lets go of this precious little flower. However, he usually pays little attention to the flowers that come from the camp—the ones from Darkwood are much more robust and smell much better. This flower stands out from the ones growing at the camp, but the former god of chaos can’t explain it. All he can notice that’s different is a surprising but pleasant warmth.
He also feels hairs clinging to the stem of the flower, fine and soft, carrying their own scent: the stranger who gave him the plant is apparently a feline. Come to think of it, the only feline among the followers - not counting Narinder - is a cat, who arrived a few months ago. It must be him who is standing right in front of Leshy.
-I have to go take care of the fields, he explains. Would... Would you like to come? I could teach you how to pick the most beautiful flowers.
Completely disconcerted by this sudden invitation, Leshy hesitates.
This is the very first time he has had a truly calm interaction with a follower, without being forced to by the Lamb. Moreover, this follower already seems to like him despite the little contact they have had. He may think that this tomcat admires him, if only a little. Maybe it's a chance to finally meet someone, or find a partner in chaos, but...
- No, it's fine, Leshy says. I have to cook. Go away.
- Oh, that's too bad! Oh well, I bid you goodbye, then!
Leshy's very first discussion partner leaves, leaving him to listen to the sound of his footsteps before leaning over the flower again.
It still smells as good. It's still as delicate. Not at all, it was pampered all along its growth and chosen with the greatest care; it's a gift tainted of kindness. However, he doesn't say what kind of person is the one who gave it: friend or foe? Predator or prey? Chaos advocate or peace lover? Nothing seems to indicate the feline's intentions.
Besides, he called him by his name. Who would dare call him by his name, if not to challenge him? Is he not as intimidating anymore?
Leshy then notices that despite his confusion, he doesn't take it out on anything or anyone; he's even particularly calm, or if one can dare say it, appeased. Not so long ago, he would have gone to fight with the first person he came across; It seems that with time, he's becoming less and less aggressive. One day, he'll find someone more aggressive than him. One day, this someone will push him to the ground and give him the fatal blow. This idea is terrifying. Actually, no, not that much, because that's not the right word.
This idea is realistic.
It's already happened.
A smile that makes you want to break his teeth one by one.
Suddenly he opens his mouth wide and tears the flower as if he has a personal grudge against her. So small, yet the pieces that don't end up at the bottom of Leshy's belly fly everywhere, sometimes falling on the grill and meeting the same fate as the failed steak.
Eaten up by a new source of frustration, Leshy finally calms down, and clenches his fists; nothing remains of the flower. He scrapes between his teeth to detach a remnant of petals, thinking back to the curious invitation he received earlier, then an idea comes to him.
-Eh, why not, after all?
There is now nothing left of the flower that was offered to him, except for the ashes of a few petals that had unfortunately ended up in the flames of the grill. They no longer give off the sweet floral scent that is their own - just a burnt smell. Yet, Leshy regrets having eaten this flower - it was delicious, as sweet as a treat, that is not the problem. But he devoured it far too quickly and brutally; now he wants another one. Another flower, just as sweet and fragrant, that he can enjoy for longer, savor to the end. Another flower that he will take the time to savor just like one savors a good glass of wine.
As long as the taste of the flower masks this unbearable bitterness.
There must be some in the fields. Besides, the Lamb has set aside two spaces to grow flowers in order to use them as medicine or at the bar. The weather is good at the moment, a good time for camellias. The Lamb even brought new followers a few days ago, which means more people to make sure they grow well every day, are well watered, get as much sun as possible.
After all, who could blame Leshy for going to steal one or two? The followers working in the fields? He will only have to sneak underground and pick the flowers by the root. Heket? He will just have to buy his silence with the produce of the other fields, perhaps a large piece of meat if this one meets a less dire fate. Narinder, well, is too busy following the Lamb like a slave to pay attention.
No one will see him and he will be able to eat as many flowers as he wants. A feast within anyone's reach, as long as that anyone knows how to dig to hide underground.
This is the case of Leshy, an expert in underground galleries, who feels his stomach rumbling like thunder. By dint of cooking for the idiots around him, he sometimes forgets to fill his own stomach.
This might even be an opportunity to spy on this strange feline to find out more about his intentions - he will only have to pretend to have changed his mind about the strange invitation, if they cross paths.
His plan well-crafted, Leshy therefore goes underground, eager to throw his frustration, and his teeth, on the first roots that come through.
The camellia field is not very far from the kitchens, especially if you go through the earth. Leshy understands in an instant that he has reached his destination; the earth is fresh and airy, somewhat damp, dotted with fine roots. The flowers have just been watered and the earth is still loose; it is even easier than expected, he only has to reach out to get his fill.
That is what he does without waiting; his mouth already watering, he grabs a bunch of wires close enough to the surface, so as not to break them. As he is about to grab his snack, he is surprised by something that suddenly pulls them out of the earth, therefore out of his reach. There are people in the fields today. Too bad, he digs further.
Finding another bunch of roots, this time seeming thicker, he prepares to try his luck again. This time the flowers are not pulled to the surface, and he grabs the roots, almost managing to bring his precious flowers to him; however, someone manages to hit him with a shovel, right on the top of his skull.
Leshy doesn't even have time to cry out in pain before a hand manages to dig enough earth to grab his head, and pull him out entirely: not particularly content with seeing him, it's Narinder.
The latter growls in his throat as if lightning was going to strike them. Leshy, knowing his smell and his expressions like the back of his hand, recognizes him immediately.
- What are you doing here?! You're not hanging around behind the Lamb anymore? he shouts. Do you want to earn enough to buy yourself some dignity?!
No answer. It is no secret within the community that unless he has been drinking, is spending time with the Lamb, or has been drinking in the Lamb’s presence, Narinder is not a talkative one. You have to tease him long enough to get a few words out of him, which are rarely words of love—and teasing people he doesn’t like is almost a passion of Leshy’s.
- Maybe you should buy yourself a sense of discussion first! he says, to add to the sting. Can you imagine if Shamura was here with us ? Now, let me go.
- No, Narinder replies. You’re going to leave the field fallow.
- A miracle, oh deities of the Old Faith, this traitor has finally spoken, from his mouth moldy with his own rot! Who would have the audacity to believe in such an event?!
Narinder will have spoken only once; Grabbing his younger brother by the back of the neck in a firm grip, he carries him to the edge of the field before throwing him to the ground. Knowing the strength of his elder brother, he has no choice but to walk away, tail between his legs, not without calling him a bunch of less than complimentary curses. In fact, he could raise his hand to Narinder, but in this weakened form and on an empty stomach, he has no illusions about the outcome of the fight – at least not this time.
It was a short, yet rather violent argument, and despite that the mossy worm can’t help but think that he has lost. He has always been a sore loser. With no dice to crush or cards to make confetti with this time, he simply walks away, grumbling and ignoring the incessant gurgling of his stomach. Losing to Narinder is probably the only thing worse than losing to the Lamb. Either way, both are equally infuriating.
Now he is frustrated for two reasons: his hunger and his defeat. Nothing has been going right lately. There was a time when his crown was enough to solve these problems, but it ended up as a trophy on a stone column. He, in the meantime, is hiding behind a large tree that the followers have not yet cut down. Maybe in this story, he is the ridiculous trophy, a perpetual reminder of a lost fight.
Leshy's stomach rumbles again, louder than before. A small flower will no longer be enough to satisfy his hunger, he needs a real meal, and fast. As he holds his belly, he sighs.
- I guess I've already been replaced in the kitchen, he thinks. I'm gonna take a bowl of soup, and then I'll go right back to my bed.
- Leshy?
- Wha- Aaah!
Leshy jumps and turns his head abruptly. He didn't hear anyone following him, much less approaching. As for the smell, he wasn't really paying attention. In any case, he recognizes the scent of the follower next to him: the cat, the same cat as earlier.
Trying not to lose prestence, Leshy adopts a relaxed pose.
-You're discreet, aren't you, he says to the feline. What do you want?
- Well, I saw how much you liked camellias, so I tried to...
Sensing his interlocutor's hesitation, Leshy takes the time to sniff and listen. He then notices a sweet floral scent, stronger than before however; camellias, freshly picked like the one he tasted earlier, but this time there are several. It is a bouquet, a harmonious bouquet of camellias wrapped in a large leaf. The feline hands it to him, his hand slightly trembling.
No longer able to contain his hunger or his irritation, the former crown bearer snatches the bouquet from his paws with much more confidence and begins to devour it too. Petals and stems fly everywhere, but Leshy catches them or comes to swallow them straight from the ground. How good it is to finally let off steam! How refreshing these flowers are! They would have made a great alcohol, but no matter! How well this snack falls! And what a delightful snack, too!
This subtle bouquet of camellias didn’t last long – now it’s resting deep down in Leshy's stomack, who seems to have somewhat relieved his hunger for the moment. Having admired the scene, the cat lets out a soft laugh.
- And to think that I bothered to do a good dressing ! he says jokingly.
- The aesthetic aspect is not what interests me the most, you get why. On the other hand, there’s something else that makes me curious.
- What is it?
Leshy gets up, trying to look confident – something complicated with the remains of the flower around his mouth.
- You've been awfully formal with me since we met earlier, he points out, wiping himself with a movement of arm. Why that, and why this offering?
- Well, I didn't really see this gift as an offering, the feline then admits with a hint of embarrassment. I was thinking more of a pretext to approach you.
- Approach me? Leshy repeats. I don't feel like fighting, I've had my fill, for once.
- I didn't come to fight! In fact, I...
He then takes a deep breath, as if he wanted to confess everything in one breath, and finally lets it out.
- My name is Nao, I joined the camp a few months ago and I'm trying to make real friends! Could you help me?