I have already mastered fishing as much as I am able. The great fish further out are too much for my meager strength--I leave this to my bigger, brawnier 'cousins' to handle.
I have even learned how to forage, should I somehow find myself alone for too long--getting lost on islands is a laughable idea, but I am embarrassed to say that it has happened to me on many occasions. The thick forests are so different at night; like they are split in personality between moon and sun. I can soothe the beasts of this land, too. I have surpassed my teacher now, and it is I who is called upon to talk with the animals before their transports across the Veiled Sea.
I care little for the resurrected whispers of how I am living up to my name. Gritting my teeth and ignoring their murmurs is about all that can be done. Ignoring Tsun's knowing eyes on me is more difficult.
Besides, animals are far easier to deal with than people. Simpler is not quite the right term, but they are... less complicated... in their needs. They do not hurt as much to speak with, and the headaches vanish, especially the further inland I venture. The further I am from Tsun and his people, the less agony there is. Their needs, their hopes and their aspirations, are so palpable. The closer I am to another sentient being, the more my head feels too full, like a clay pitcher about to burst at each crack, unable to contain anymore water.
I have realized I should not possess this kind of knowledge of my adopted brethren, and the increasing pain that lances through my head each day is unnecessary for pointing this out.
I will not tell Tsun about these things, nor this strange, latent... talent... I seem to have developed, or regained, or... whatever the case may be. He probably knows, anyway. No matter; he will never say a word. After all, I have seen enough of his silence to last me three lifetimes as is. I someday hope that my silence will be as frustrating to another as his is to me.
At any rate, I can provide for myself, and for the village, and I am useful at last. A purpose, however small, is something I am going to keep clinging to. I need this.
I have even learned how to forage, should I somehow find myself alone for too long--getting lost on islands is a laughable idea, but I am embarrassed to say that it has happened to me on many occasions. The thick forests are so different at night; like they are split in personality between moon and sun. I can soothe the beasts of this land, too. I have surpassed my teacher now, and it is I who is called upon to talk with the animals before their transports across the Veiled Sea.
I care little for the resurrected whispers of how I am living up to my name. Gritting my teeth and ignoring their murmurs is about all that can be done. Ignoring Tsun's knowing eyes on me is more difficult.
Besides, animals are far easier to deal with than people. Simpler is not quite the right term, but they are... less complicated... in their needs. They do not hurt as much to speak with, and the headaches vanish, especially the further inland I venture. The further I am from Tsun and his people, the less agony there is. Their needs, their hopes and their aspirations, are so palpable. The closer I am to another sentient being, the more my head feels too full, like a clay pitcher about to burst at each crack, unable to contain anymore water.
I have realized I should not possess this kind of knowledge of my adopted brethren, and the increasing pain that lances through my head each day is unnecessary for pointing this out.
I will not tell Tsun about these things, nor this strange, latent... talent... I seem to have developed, or regained, or... whatever the case may be. He probably knows, anyway. No matter; he will never say a word. After all, I have seen enough of his silence to last me three lifetimes as is. I someday hope that my silence will be as frustrating to another as his is to me.
At any rate, I can provide for myself, and for the village, and I am useful at last. A purpose, however small, is something I am going to keep clinging to. I need this.
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