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Murata drops his head on the ground in a bow, rattling it for whatever formal speech his parents taught him.
“The summer has been unforgiving, and there has been a drought. The, uh, great lake sustaining our village has been reduced to a salt plane. Please, to the god of storms and the god of water, take pity on...my family and our friends.” Should he be repeating this? Well. He does it again anyway. Another time for good measure.
The air around the offerings seems to rattle with some sort of laughter or exasperation. Maybe both.
A few long minutes makes Murata stand with aching knees, clapping his dirt-crusted hands together once more in prayer, and he takes his leave.
——-
Zenitsu picks up the bough of peach blossoms with a wry smile. “I see Tanjirou hasn’t been doing his job very well. Or maybe you’ve been lazy?”
Giyuu frowns at him as he goes to inspect the carefully embroidered silk drawstring bag filled with—daikon seeds. Sweet. “...I suppose I haven’t been compensating for the sudden rise in temperature.”
He pauses as he tucks the pouch into his sleeve. “But why has Tanjirou been so...”
Zenitsu pokes at a dried up flower. “Inflamed?”
“I would say impassioned, but...yes.”
A flap of the hand. “I heard Kanao sent him a gift. You know how shy they both are with eachother.”
“Ah.”
——-
An hour before sunrise, Zenitsu and Giyuu overlook the flat, cracked earth and sigh inwardly.
Giyuu holds a hand out silently. Zenitsu laughs quietly and gently places his fingertips on his. “I suppose it’s time for a bit of landscaping, water god.”
There’s a crack of lightning in the bleak sky, and sudden dark clouds roll over the land.
——-
Murata steps out the next morning rubbing his eyes in tiredness, and blinks when his feet sink into mushy, wet clay rather than the usual dusty red soil he was expecting.
He looks up to see the village children shrieking in laughter as they play around in the banks of the newly flooded lake.