Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cold snow piled up around the forest like a woolen blanket stretched across the landscape. Trees, some barren of leaves in the winter chill and others covered in thick green needles, poked through the blanket of snow. Now and then, a frozen gust of mountain air would pick up, sending branches clicking against each other like wooden wind chimes and stirring up clouds of the thick snow before it resettled.

Kuon huddled in a thick winter aperyu with a hood pulled up tight over her dark hair. The clothing was white and wool lined, which Kuon knew would only make her easier to lose in the snowy landscape, and the fabric went down to the top of the thick leather boots she wore. Her favorite part of the aperyu was the dark blue hood that was pulled over her shoulders, as it helped shield her face from the worst of the wind.

Flakes kicked up by the breeze pelted at Kuon’s face, as she stepped forward to continue her journey down the mountain. Beside her was a woptor, a dinosaur-like creature that stood on two legs. It was covered in thick black feathers with a white underbelly and its tail ended in a spread of bright blue feathers. Currently it was laden down with rolls and bags filled with the items that Kuon needed for her trip to the ruins she had gone to visit at the top of the mountain.

Kuon trudged further onward, the woptor yanking at the lead as it tried to nibble on the plants along the way. As she nearly tripped on a root hidden under the snow, Kuon was silently glad that the wind had mostly died down from earlier, where it felt as if she was going to be blown off the mountain. Running her hand through the feathers on the side of the woptor’s long neck, she carefully took another step into the snow.

A shrill scream pierced through the winter landscape.

Kuon stiffened immediately and looked around the dense covering of trees, trying to pinpoint where the noise had come from. Her fluffy white ears perked up from under the hood as she pulled it down to better hear her surroundings. The woptor beside her stopped when she did and drew back a couple steps, shuffling from side to side and twisting its head to scan the surroundings.

There was a thwacking sound of wood hitting flesh and a low growl.

Snapping her head towards the noise, Kuon darted off pulling the woptor with her, which did not hesitate to follow. Leaving it behind only risked the chance of it being eaten by the monsters that lived on the mountain. While woptors were strong, this one was laden with bags and couldn’t do much against a pack of orke or gigiri on its own.

Soon Kuon saw the source of the scream. A pack of orke surrounded a child, who bravely held up a stick in defense. The child couldn’t be more than eight, and was dressed in a thin white garment that hung down to his ankles. As one of the orke advanced, saliva dripping from its sharp teeth, the child backed up while raising the stick even higher. He looked brave, but his arms trembled and tears rolled down his face.

Dropping the reins of the woptor, Kuon darted into the fray. A skinny brown furred orke immediately turned towards her, correctly identifying her as the stronger opponent. Reaching in her sash, Kuon pulled out the iron fan that she always carried with her.

A couple of the orke leaped at Kuon, who swiftly swung the iron fan smashing them away. One of them bit her, but she paid it no mind, kicking it away from her. Within seconds she was standing in front of the child, shielding the child with her body to discourage the orke from leaping at him again.

After Kuon killed a couple orke with the iron fan the others backed off. The orke and Kuon faced each other in a tense stare for a minute, before the orke finally retreated. One let out a sharp bark, the others flicking their ears back as it did so, and as one they darted away. Kuon watched as they left, their dark forms vanishing among the shade of the trees.

A sniffle and the sound of feet shuffling on snow finally brought Kuon’s attention back to the child. Turning, she carefully crouched down so that the two of them were at the same height. The boy was crying, thick tears running down his face while he wiped them away with hands which were red from the cold. A thick stick was still clutched tightly in his right hand, although it looked like it had suffered a beating, the wood scratched up and Kuon was pretty sure she could see what used to be the other half of it laying in the snow nearby.

He had short black hair that was growing more wet with slowly melting snow that Kuon lightly brushed off his head. The white square of clothing he wore was flimsy and barely counted as clothes, never mind protecting him from the elements and cold. On top of that, his feet were bare and thin scratches ran up his legs. Kuon had a feeling that if she checked his feet, she would find the bottom of them cut up and bleeding from walking on the mountain trails.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re safe.” Kuon said while forcing herself to smile. The boy sniffled and watched her silently. “Do you have a name you can give me?” She asked.

“…I don’t remember.” The boy said after a pause.

“Do you know where you came from? Or why you’re here?”

“I just woke up and was walking. Then the monsters attacked me.” He clutched the stick tighter as he said that.

Kuon frowned as she heard that. Amnesia? Or did someone abandon him up here? She thought, her mind whirling with possibilities.

“Do you know who your parents are? Or what village you’re from?” She continued.

“I don’t know the name,” The boy said while his face scrunched up and he frowned. “I don’t know if I have any parents…”

“That’s okay, I think.” Kuon said with a smile. Probably his parents died and his relatives didn’t want him, so they abandoned him in the mountains up here to die. Although, we’re quite far from any villages, so they had to go out quite a way to leave him here, I think, Kuon thought hearing the boy’s responses. While it was possible that something had happened to affect the boy’s memories, that wouldn’t explain why he was left in such flimsy clothes and so far up a mountain.

With a warble, Kuon’s woptor slowly emerged from the trees. It scratched at the ground with the clawed toes at the end of its feathery feet before it headed over towards Kuon. Clearly it had judged that the orke were far enough away now, which was a good sign as the woptor had a better sense for danger than Kuon. The boy turned to watch the woptor, his eyes going wide as he raised the stick once more.

“It’s okay, that’s just my mount.” Kuon said, before reaching for the stick the boy held. She waited patiently for a moment before he handed over the stick and Kuon placed it on the ground. His eyes didn’t stray once from the woptor.

“What’s a mount?” The boy eventually asked, taking a subtle step back when the woptor moved its head down to rub against the side of Kuon’s head.

“It’s a creature you ride to get to places. Although in this case, it’s just carrying my luggage, I think.” Kuon responded, reaching up a free hand to bury in the feathery head of the woptor and lightly scratch at it. “Sit here for a moment.”

Standing up Kuon walked over to the packs slung over the woptor. With some tugs on the straps of the woptor’s packs, she freed a thick blue woolen blanket with white patterns that she used to keep warm while she slept. Tossing that over the boy, she lightly wrapped it around him before turning back to the woptor.

It didn’t take her long to rearrange the bags on the back of the creature so there was some space on its back. Not enough for her to sit on it, but enough for the boy, since she didn’t want him walking around on bare feet and she lacked any shoes small enough for him. On top of that, his feet were almost certainly scratched up and it would be painful to walk on them.

Struck with a reminder of the boy’s feet being injured, Kuon flipped through the bags again. Pulling out a small satchel of medical items, which Kuon was careful to keep stocked with anything she might need on her journey as well as herbs she found along the way, she turned back to the boy and sat in front of him. He had pulled the blanket tightly around him and buried his face in its folds, shivering as he did so. Kuon distantly noted that the shivering meant that she didn’t have to worry about hypothermia for now.

“Can you tell me if it hurts anywhere?” Kuon asked as she placed the bag down carefully on the snow-covered dirt then flipped through it.

“My feet hurt and my arm,” the boy responded, his eyes poking out from the blanket.

With some prodding and carefully shifting the dirt-stained white garment, Kuon pasted some salve on the boy’s arm, which had a long cut down it, and wrapped it tightly in bandages. She did the same to his feet, before carefully inspecting his fingers and toes. Satisfied by the lack of signs of frostbite, she convinced him to let her pick him up and place him on the woptor. He was scared the entire time, but soon he was sitting up there, clinging to the saddle. Kuon carefully draped the blanket around him, tucking it in so that it wouldn’t end up tripping the woptor or falling off. The boy merely blinked heavily and rubbed at his eyes.

“I’m on my way down the mountain to a nearby village, then we can find out if you’re from the area, I think,” Kuon said with a smile. The boy merely blinked at her in response.

Kuon grabbed the reins of the woptor and began to lead them down the mountain, heading at a slightly slower pace than she had before, as she was afraid of the boy falling off or getting scared. The boy, however, merely clutched at the saddle and rubbed his eyes.

Within a few minutes he was nodding off, his eyes sliding shut and only opening my sheer force of will. Kuon didn’t say anything but began to gently hum a song that one of her mothers, Eruruu, had taught her when she was young.

After a bit his eyes were shut and he was asleep on the back of the woptor which forced Kuon to slow her pace even more as he was no longer tightly clinging to the saddle. She briefly checked over the saddle, making sure there was a low chance of him falling off, and carried on. The woptor she had was fairly gentle, and with the bags and blanket wrapped around the boy it was unlikely he would fall off.

Once the sun began to set, Kuon decided to find a place to set up camp for the night. It didn’t take her long to find a small clearing alongside a narrow river that ran swiftly down the mountain. The edges of the water were frozen, but the rapids kept it from completely freezing solid. The woptor immediately walked over to the water and lowered its beak into the river, carefully standing on the rocky edge.

She picked the boy up off the woptor, causing him to slowly blink awake from the unexpected movement, and placed him leaning against a recently fallen log near the edge of the clearing. Then Kuon quickly set up her tent and gathered wood for a fire. Soon the boy was staring at the flickering flames with awe, while Kuon hung a pot over the flames and searched through the bags for ingredients to toss in.

“What’s this?” The boy asked while reaching out for either the flames or the pot, Kuon wasn’t sure which, but she moved quickly to stop the boy. With a flick of her tail, she knocked his hand away.

“Don’t touch it. It’s very hot and will burn you,” Kuon said, then she frowned. “It’s fire, have you not seen it before?”

“I don’t remember.” The boy curled in on himself.

Kuon watched the boy for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing. While she could understand forgetting where he’s from and his name, forgetting what fire was seemed unlikely. Has he not seen it before? Unlikely, all the villages have fires, especially in the depths of winter like this, I think. Where could he be from where there isn’t fire? She thought, unable to come to a conclusion that she liked.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing at Kuon’s long white tail, which flicked from side to side as she thought.

“That’s just my tail.” He should know what those are, right?

The boy nodded as if he understood and went back to staring at the fire. Kuon decided that whatever memories the boy lost had a pattern to it that didn’t easily make sense to her, and resumed making dinner.

The fire crackled and lit up the darkness of the forest around them, casting eerie shadows onto the snow-covered ground and trees. After a bit, the soup had been warmed through and Kuon ladled both the boy and herself a bowl. It was a mishmash of what she had remaining in her bag, as she was running low on supplies, but it would do for tonight.

At first, the boy took a small bite, carefully raising the spoon to his lips and swallowing. But after a taste, his eyes lit up and he dug into the bowl ravenously, causing soup to cover his face. Within a few bites the bowl had been emptied and he was looking up at Kuon eagerly.

He must not have eaten for a while, I think. I hope this won’t upset his stomach, Kuon thought as she ladled him seconds. The second bowl was quickly devoured and he flopped back after that, clearly full. Kuon lightly chuckled at the sight, then finished off the pot of soup before quickly cleaning up and packing away the items they had used for dinner.

Throwing a few more logs onto the fire, Kuon went through her pack for anything the boy could wear for the night. While she would make sure he was buried in enough of the blankets she had packed so that he wouldn’t freeze to death, she wanted to get him out of the thin white cloth that he was wearing.

Digging out a long strip of fabric she tried to weave it around him, but it was still too large and bulky in the end. Giving up, she decided that was an issue to solve when they reached town, as children’s clothes weren’t something she tended to bring with her. For now, she wrapped the boy in a brown and white outfit that was too large for him, but was still better than the torn and filthy cloth he had been wearing before. That article, which barely counted as clothing, was tossed into her bags.

Carefully, Kuon tucked him into the blankets in the tent, where he quickly fell asleep, his eyes slipping shut as he curled up in on himself and his face relaxed with sleep. Kuon watched him for a bit as he breathed in and out, carefully restraining herself from reaching out and petting the boy’s hair, as she was afraid that would wake him. As she sat there, her shoulders relaxed and her tail softly curled around her.

What am I going to do if his parents really abandoned him? I can’t just leave him. I found him and as such I am responsible for him. Kuon tried to imagine leaving the boy with a pair of strangers that weren’t his parents. Even if they were kind people that had agreed to take him in or would raise him until his parents were found, she didn’t want to do that. It would be cruel not to give him back to his parents or relatives if they were looking for him, but if they had truly abandoned him then…

Kuon stood and began to get ready for bed. She stripped out of the clothes she had worn for the day, shivering when the cold winter air touched her skin, and quickly changed into a softer set of garments for sleep. Most of the blankets were piled onto the boy, except for a single thick blanket Kuon had left for herself. The cold didn’t bother Kuon as much as she knew it would bother the boy, although she still put on an extra layer of clothes before she curled up under the blanket.

It didn’t take long for Kuon to fall asleep, drifting into a dream.

Kuon was a child again, running through the halls of the castle where she had grown up. Her feet slid on the wooden floor, the surroundings a blurry haze that her dreaming self didn’t make clear. Distantly she knew she was hiding from her uncle who would drag her to her tutors, although her uncle never appeared in the dream. For a moment, she stopped to hide under a table, her dreaming self deeming it a necessary step in the process of escaping her pursuers. While she crouched there, Kuon slowly pried open her small hand, staring at a small white flower she had been clutching, slightly crushed from her running around. It was something she had stolen from one of the vases around the castle.

Poking her head out of her hiding spot, Kuon surveyed the area and quickly determined that no one was looking for her anymore nearby. With a flick of her tail, she was off again, ears pricked for the slightest sound. The walls warped around her, bringing her instantly to her destination in the dream; a side door of the castle appeared ahead of her, already open and waiting, with warm sunlight flooding inside. Darting down a set of stairs, she zoomed out of the door and to the outside of the castle, almost tripping at the bottom.

As she crossed the castle yard, she slowed down, knowing that guards were around and that she was much more noticeable running across the yard compared to the halls of the castle. Her dreaming self knew that her uncle had warned them to keep an eye out for her, and to drag her back inside if she was spotted, as she should have been in lessons for the day.

Carefully, Kuon hid behind trees and among the bushes across the yard, slowly making her way to the back of the castle. There was a small gate back here that was weakly guarded and no one really paid attention too, but Kuon ignored the gate itself, which required a key she didn’t have, and instead focused on a shallow hole under it. It was barely a hole, which was probably the reason no one had bothered to fill it, but Kuon had carefully dug the shallow divot under the gate with the help of Mukkuru, a large white tiger that lived on the castle grounds. It was barely large enough for Kuon and some smaller dogs.

In the dream it only took Kuon a moment to slide under the gate, not having to worry about getting stuck underneath. Her clothes quickly became covered in dust and dirt, although Kuon was barely aware of what she wore in the dream, it was more the knowledge that her family would scold her for it later. She tried patting some of it off, but quickly gave up.

Slowly she made her way uphill along a path behind the castle. In reality, this path would take a while for her small legs to climb up, but in the dream, it was only a moment before she was at a lookout gazing upon the castle below. A small stone grave sat there at the top, grass thickly growing around it. The stone was worn, but it was surrounded by wildflowers in shades of purples and whites that slowly wavered the gentle breeze.

Balancing her crumpled flower on top of the grave, Kuon sat down with a huff, leaning her back against the stone. The view here was perfect, looking out at the castle and the surrounding town, with small specks of people moving around down below. It was one of her favorite places, to sit against the tombstone of her birth mother, Yuzuha.

Even though Kuon was always surrounded by adopted mothers, fathers, and siblings, she made sure to find time to slip away and come here. They loved her in an overbearing way, and in a way that suggested they were always looking for Yuzuha and her unknown father in her face. While they cared for her and she was never lonely, Kuon felt that she could never fill the gap her parents had left behind, and sometimes, she wondered what her life would be like if her birth parents were still there.

The sun slowly began to set, and the horizon became hazy. Eventually the sky slowly faded to a blackness deeper and darker than the night lit by moon, which consumed the landscape below her as her dream slowly came to an end.

Chapter Text

Slowly Kuon’s eyes opened. Tears had gathered in the corner of her eyes, and with the gentle movement of her eyelashes, they slowly dripped down the side of her face. She laid there for a second, staring at the roof of the tent. Breathing in and out, slowly, as she watched the dust motes drift through the air. With one final breath she slowly sat up.

Looking over to the side, she saw that the boy was still deeply asleep. He was burrowed even deeper in the blankets than he had been last night, as if he was trying to encase himself in a cocoon of them. Only the top of his head poked out, the ruffled dark hair escaping.

Kuon quickly changed into her travel clothes, then got a fire going with the wood she had gathered the night before. The woptor looked up from where it had been loosely tied to a tree, chirping at her lightly and stomping its feet against the ground. Hearing the calls of the woptor, Kuon sighed and walked over to feed it some seed and hay, as well as making sure it still had access to the river nearby. Once that was taken care of, she ducked back into the tent and dug through the bags she had brought, finding a stale bit of what was once fluffy aman along with some honey. It wasn’t much, but they would be back in the town by sunset if they went quickly.

Kuon sliced the aman and placed it on some stones near the fire, leaving them to warm up in the heat radiating off the flames. The fire crackled as Kuon tossed more sticks in, warding off some of the cold winter winds that caused her to wrap her clothes tighter around her. Hopefully the aman would warm up and give the two of them something warm to eat before trudging through the thick snow. With a quick scan of the clearing to make sure that Kuon didn’t see any small creatures watching the aman in hopes of grabbing a bite, she ducked back into the tent.

The small boy was still buried under a mound of blankets, and didn’t stir as Kuon approached him. Clearly yesterday had worn him out, and Kuon frowned at the idea of the boy possibly going through dangerous things before she met with him that she might not even know about. Slowly, she ran a hand gently through his hair, skimming down along his ear and carefully freeing his face from the blankets. His skin was soft and warm from sleep, and she brushed away some of the brown hairs that had fallen on his face. His face scrunched as her fingers tickled his skin, and he turned his head to the side.

“It’s time to wake up, I think,” Kuon said, moving her hand to the boy’s shoulder and gently shaking him.

The boy made a groggy sounding noise and tried to pull a blanket back over his head. Kuon laughed slightly at the sight before reaching for the covers. With a sharp yank, she pulled them back, causing the boy’s face to scrunch up and he raised his hands quickly to cover his eyes from the light.

“Mmm… wha…?” The boy mumbled, slowly blinking as he lowered his hands.

“Breakfast,” Kuon said with a smile, “and then we pack up and get back on the road, I think.”

The boy looked around in a confused daze. Kuon supposed he had been out of it yesterday and it was likely that he was still processing everything that had happened. With a shrug, Kuon wrapped the boy in a blanket and then scooped him up. She hadn’t magically procured shoes for him nor warm clothes in his size overnight, so she was hesitant to let him walk out on his own. She also knew it had to be painful to walk on his feet, as they wouldn’t have healed from the scrapes they got the other day. The boy seemed to accept this fate, and burrowed his head into Kuon’s shoulder, hands gripping weakly at her shirt.

Humming a song from her childhood, Kuon carried the boy outside and placed him on the snow-free log near the fire. The blanket was trailing on the ground, inevitably being covered in all sorts of dirt and snow, but it was protecting the boy from the cold ground and acting as a warm layer for him, so Kuon didn’t particularly care about the state of it.

Picking up the pieces of aman, which Kuon was pleased to learn had warmed up nicely from the flames, the edges beginning to gain a crispy brown layer, Kuon slathered them with honey and handed a couple pieces to the boy. His eyes widened at the sight of the aman, carefully cradling a slice in his hands and Kuon watched as he hesitantly raised one to his mouth and bit into it, his eyes sparkling. He then began to quickly devour them, crumbs landing in his lap and honey smeared lightly across one of his cheeks. Kuon nodded at the sight, before eating her own, although much slower, carefully keeping the honey from dripping onto her fingers.

Once the boy was done, he licked at his sticky fingers, savoring the flavor from the honey. His eyes darted over at the remaining slices of aman still sitting on the rocks around the flames, which Kuon carefully reached for. With a smile, Kuon handed him the remaining pieces.

As the boy was finishing off the aman and honey, Kuon stood and quickly began to pack up camp.

The sun slowly lowered towards the horizon, creating streaks of gold and pink that lit up the undersides of the clouds sprinkled across the sky. A cold winter chill was beginning to pick up with the setting sun, causing the boy riding atop the woptor to pull the blanket he was wearing tighter around himself. The trees rattled with the wind and he looked up at them, staring at them intently as he burrowed into the blanket. Any small noise that echoed from the woods caused the boy’s head to snap around, seeking out the source, while his hands gripped at the blanket tighter.

“Are we stopping for the night soon?” He asked, looking out into the growing shadows with a slight shiver.

“There’s a village right over the hill there. We’ll rest at the inn there, I think.” Kuon responded, turning to the boy and smiling in a way that she hoped was reassuring as she led the woptor along the snow-covered paths.

The boy nodded, turning away from the woods and running a hand along the dense feathers coating the woptor. As he did so, he took a deep breath, and loosened his hand that was clutching the blanket around him in a death grip. He didn’t look away from the woptor’s feathers, playing with them mindlessly, although Kuon noticed that he still flinched whenever there was a loud sound from the forest.

Kuon scanned the path in front of them for obstacles hidden in the snow drifts, and within a few minutes, the trees began to clear. Stepping out from the forest path, a few scraggly fields barren of plants appeared before them and a small town with windows lit up against the white snow. It was a small town tucked away in the woods and it wasn’t hard to tell at a glance that there wasn’t much there to see or explore. At best it was just a waypoint to stop by for the night, especially since it was along a route that was frequently traveled, although most people wouldn’t make the journey in the depths of winter.

There were still a few people wandering the town that Kuon could spot in the light of the setting sun. Kuon had stopped by this town before and knew a handful of the people that lived here, whom she did not hesitate to wave at as she got closer. Some returned the gesture, while others continued on their path home or to the one bar in town, as there wasn’t much to do at night once the sun had gone down.

A couple of the townsfolk that Kuon passed stared up at the boy riding on the woptor. The boy in turn stared wide-eyed at the townsfolk, holding the blanket tightly around himself with one hand while the other clutched at the makeshift saddle on the woptor. He also scanned the buildings, squinting at them in the quickly falling darkness and trying to peer through the lit windows.

Kuon held herself back from laughing at the sight of the boy when she glanced back at him. She would have almost thought that he had never seen a town before, if that wasn’t an absurd idea, and instead she supposed it was more likely that this town was new to him, and especially with his amnesia, it likely came off as new. If anything, it made her relieved to see him more relaxed in the town than he had been in the woods.

Within a couple minutes of entering the town they made it to the only inn, and Kuon was quick to lead the woptor to the stables back behind the inn first. She left the boy on the woptor while she pulled off a couple of the heavier packs which she placed in a corner of the stable with the woptor, while some bags were still on the creature’s back, as she figured it would be easier to deal with after she got a room. Once the woptor at least had most of its burden removed, as well as access to food and water, Kuon plucked the boy off the woptor’s back and carried him inside the inn with her.

After ringing a bell left on the front desk, the two of them waited until the innkeeper appeared, who was dressed in loose fitting garment that was layered against the winter chill. She smiled when she saw Kuon and glanced over at the boy in her arms curiously.

“Kuon, I see you’re back already,” the innkeeper said, pulling out some things behind the desk. “I was afraid you might run into trouble when you said you were headed into the mountains in this weather, but I see that you’ve returned safely. Who is this, may I ask? I don’t recall you leaving with anyone,” she said glancing over at the boy, a hand lightly raised to her face as she studied the child.

“Ah,” Kuon said, shifting the child on her hip slightly. The boy turned away from the combined gazes of Kuon and the innkeeper, instead burrowing his face into Kuon’s shoulder. She slowly rubbed his back in what she hoped was a comforting way, letting him cling to her and hide away from an attention that he did not seem used to. “You see, I found him on my journey up in the mountains. I couldn’t leave him there, so I brought him back with me, since I figured he had probably gotten lost, I think. Although, he can’t recall where he’s from, nor his name, and he was left pretty far in the woods…” Kuon trailed off.

The innkeeper frowned at Kuon’s words, and placed one of her hands on her own shoulder, as her ears flicked lightly. It was easy for Kuon to pick up the concern in the haze of the innkeeper’s eyes as she continued to openly stare at the boy, although Kuon was unable to tell if the innkeeper had picked up her implications of the boy potentially being abandoned.

“I see…” The innkeeper said, “I haven’t heard of any children going missing or not being seen around town recently. I can poke around for you tomorrow though?”

“That would be appreciated, I think. In the meantime, is the room I had last time open? I think I’ll stay here until the weather gets warmer and the paths safer to travel. Plus, that would give me some time to ask around at the surrounding towns about missing children.”

“Yes, let me get your payment settled.” The innkeeper pulled out a thick leather-bound book from under the counter and flipped it open to a page marked with a thin wooden bookmark. Reaching for a small pile of polished stones on the desk, she frowned as she moved them carefully onto the counting board carved into the desk to calculate the total costs for Kuon. “I assume you’ll pay weekly like last time?”

“Yes, I think.” Kuon’s tail flicked to the side. The boy unburied his head finally, looking down at the counting board. His eyebrows furrowed as he studied the lines carved into the wood and the tokens that the innkeeper carefully placed down on them. Kuon watched him out of the corner of her eyes with a slight smile, and was unsure if the boy was studying the board because he hadn’t seen one before, had forgotten about them, or if he just had an interest in mathematics.

“It’s this much a night… and for a week…” The innkeeper mumbled as she worked on it, frowning at the math. “Right, I think this much is your total,” The innkeeper said along with a number.

“It’s wrong,” the boy mumbled, his eyes carefully flicking across the board then looking up at the innkeeper through his long bangs.

“Huh?” The innkeeper said with a tilt of her head and glanced at the board again. “Oh! You’re right, apologies.” She carefully moved around a couple of tokens.

“How did you know that?” Kuon asked with a frown, looking over at the boy. The people in this town were usually more learned than others, being along a popular route of travel, but even then, they usually needed the help of a counting board to do complicated math. On top of that, being more learned still didn’t mean there was any kind of formal schooling here, and at best it was usually just parents teaching their children what they could of math and such. In some of the surrounding towns, there weren't even many people that could read, never mind write. Their math skills were limited to simple addition and subtraction, and they wouldn’t know how to use a counting board even if they had one.

“I don’t know,” the boy said, burying his face back into Kuon’s shoulder.

Kuon frowned. To her, it felt more like the boy didn’t understand Kuon’s question and less so that he actually didn’t know. Carefully, Kuon reworded her question.

“Did someone teach you how to do math?” Kuon asked again.

The boy didn’t respond for a bit before slowly nodding into Kuon’s shoulder. This only increased Kuon’s confusion, as it felt unlikely the boy would have been abandoned in the mountains if someone had taken the time to teach him math. Maybe he had been part of a group of travelers and something had happened to them? But then why the amnesia?

Kuon paid the innkeeper and headed through the halls with the boy. She stopped before a familiar wooden door that she slipped a key into before entering. The room was plainly furnished, a small fire pit was in the center of the room with a hook over it for warming food, and a small area was sectioned off in the back with windows that looked out at the forests behind the inn. The mats that lined the floor were simple and worn, making them soft beneath Kuon’s feet as she kicked off her boots. Walking further in she placed the boy near the firepit and ruffled his hair slightly. The bedding was tucked away to preserve space in the room, although Kuon already knew where it was since she had stayed in the inn before.

Kuon ducked out of the room and went to the back of the inn to grab some logs they kept for the guests to use before returning. Noting that the stack of wood for the inn was low, she made a mental note to offer to chop wood for the innkeeper tomorrow, which while she knew that the innkeeper would probably offer a discount on her room as thanks, Kuon was also more than willing to do the work for free. Returning to the room, she quickly got a small fire started in the firepit, which cast off a dull orange glow and slowly heated up the room.

“I’m going to grab our stuff, I think. Don’t touch the fire.” Once Kuon got a nod from the boy she left.

Within a few minutes her stuff was off the woptor and now tucked into a corner of their room. The woptor had also been groomed, with Kuon doing her best to remove the dust from the long hike, and was bedded with plenty of hay and feed. Kuon collapsed by the fire, her tail flicking up and down. Now that she was out of the cold, she was looking forward to warming up and maybe learning a bit more about her temporary charge.

“Do you know how to read and write?” She asked, looking at him. Simple math was useful enough in day-to-day life that most people could do it, but the boy was able to do more complex math in his head than most commoners from these small villages in the area would know. It would help her figure out what happened to him if she had an idea of what he was taught, since it would give her a better picture of his family’s situation and possibly what they did for a living.

“Maybe?” The boy helpfully replied with.

“Okay,” Kuon said and reached for one of the smaller packs that had been tossed in the corner with the rest. She pulled out a pad of thick paper and a brush, handing them to the boy. Then placed an inkstone, inkstick, and a bamboo tube of water next to the boy. “Here, try to write something then.”

The boy stared at the brush gripped tightly in his fist, then glanced up at Kuon, before looking back at the brush. It was the kind of grip that Kuon only saw from people who had never used a brush before to write, and possibly had never seen anyone else write before either. He ran a hand through the cream-colored bristles at the end of the brush, ruffling the tip and causing him to narrow his eyes at the brush.

Kuon was already doubting his ability to write, as she felt that brush grip would be more subconscious muscle memory and not easily forgotten even with amnesia. Her theory was further proved when he tried to write with the brush despite there being no ink on the tip. Seeing nothing appearing, the boy looked up at Kuon with a furrowed brow, then looked back at the brush and tried pressing the tip of the wooden end of the brush with his thumb. She then watched as he tried twisting at the decorative black wooden part near the base of the brush where the bristles were.

With a sigh, Kuon grabbed the bar of ink of where it was next to the boy, as well as the bamboo water tube and carefully made up some ink. The slow sound of the ink grinding against the black inkstone seemed to grab the boy’s attention, as he stopped playing with the brush and instead watched Kuon’s actions. Reaching for his hand, she guided the boy to dip the brush in the ink.

It took the boy a bit to get the hang of the brush. His first attempts were no more than wet blotches on the page, then slowly they changed to be more akin to inky scribbles. Kuon couldn’t tell in the slightest if they were supposed to be words. She wished she had an ink pen for the boy to try with, but hers had broken a month back, and she hadn’t yet been in a city large enough where she could buy a second. She made a mental note to get one if she needed to teach the boy to write, as it would be easier to practice with than a brush. Immediately she then brushed the idea away, as it wasn’t like she would be sticking around long enough to teach the boy to write, probably.

It took the boy quite a few attempts and several sheets of paper, but eventually he got the hang of the brush. His scribbled drawings at least looked vaguely shape-like at this point. After drawing… something, he turned to look at her, a bright smile on his face as he picked up the piece of paper and showed it to her.

“That’s a really good drawing,” Kuon said with a smile, assuming that the boy had forgotten her original request. “Can you tell me what it is?”

The smile fell off the boy’s face and he looked at the sheet of paper with a frown. “It’s supposed to say, ‘hi.’”

Kuon squinted at the sketch, but she really couldn’t see how it was words at all. “If you know the words, could you try writing, ‘I climbed a mountain,’ I think?”

The boy grabbed a new piece of paper and with a frown scribbled something on the paper. It really just looked like a mess of ink had descended on the paper scattered in blotches and markings in uneven lines. It maybe vaguely looked like a language, if Kuon squinted and applied some imagination, but even if it was, it didn’t look like any of the languages Kuon knew. Maybe a bit like old Yamato script, but much more complex and well, messy, which could be from the boy’s lack of knowledge on how to use the brush properly. Even then Kuon couldn’t read it.

“Oh, I also know a bit of this language,” The boy said and scribbled something else under what was supposed to be words on the sheet of paper. “I can’t say ‘I climbed a mountain’ in this language though, I don’t know enough words. So, it says ‘I saw a mountain’ instead.”

The shape of the scribbles was very different from the previous ones, and instead were much more circular, although similarly messy. That might have been from the brush though, which was now fraying from the amount of force the boy had used to write with and Kuon internally sighed as she made a note to try fixing the brush later.

This time it was easier for Kuon to at least be able to tell it was a language, but again, not one that looked remotely like any she knew. If anything, it looked like the language she had seen in the ruins during her exploring, but that couldn’t be what he was writing in as no one knew that language as far as Kuon was aware. It was possible that the boy had seen some ruins, and that this was gibberish based on the shape of the words he had seen in the ruins.

“I see… Thank you for doing that,” Kuon said. It was likely that none of what the boy wrote was actually words, but rather his best guess at the shape of them. It was possible that the boy believed he could write, when he actually couldn’t, and simply thought he could because he had a vague idea of the shapes.

Kuon took the brush and a piece of paper, writing out a sentence in the official language of Yamato, and again in a couple of the other native languages in the area that she knew bits and pieces of. Then she put down the brush and slid the paper over to the boy, who immediately frowned at it. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, starting down at the words with what Kuon recognized as confusion flickering across his face.

“Here, can you read any of this?” Kuon smiled, then sat back, watching the boy.

The boy stared at the paper intently, frowning and tilting his head from side to side. Eventually he grabbed the paper, the edges crinkling from where his hands tightly held it, and brought it closer to his face. It did not seem to help with his confusion though.

He looked up at Kuon with a frown. Placing the paper down he pointed at a word on the page and said, “This looks sort of like the word for bird, but written wrong. I don’t understand the rest at all.”

Kuon was surprised, causing her to lightly flick her tail to the side, as it was indeed the word for bird, written in the official language of Yamato, which is what they were speaking at the moment. She had written in the other languages just in case, but she had assumed that if he recognized any of the languages it would be the Yamato language. However, it really seemed like the boy could neither write nor read, with the exception of recognizing a few words.

The boy grabbed the brush again and scribbled on the paper. It was a messy scrawl, but looking closely at it, Kuon could see the similarities between what the boy had written and the Yamato word for bird. It was at this moment that Kuon wished she actually knew the old Yamato script, as she had a feeling it was more similar to what the boy had written. Although, not that it made sense for the boy to know the old script rather than the one currently used.

She eventually sighed and stood, stretching her arms above her head. This was only adding to her confusion and clearly wasn’t something that she could entirely solve right away. It was late and she was also sore from trekking through the mountains for the past month or so.

“Shall we get ready for bed?” Kuon smiled, looking over at the boy.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Kuon woke up long before the child, just as the first light of dawn was beginning to appear over the horizon. It didn’t take her long to throw on some clothes for the day before glancing at the child still buried in the blankets. She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

Looking over at the clothes she had brought with her, she was once again reminded that she didn’t have anything that would fit the child. While she didn’t mind lending out her clothes to the boy, the length of the cloth was awkward, and served as a tripping hazard instead. She figured that might be able to find a place around town that had clothes she could buy, although it was likely easier to buy old clothes off one of the villagers.

While she thought over the problem, Kuon’s eyes wandered over to the boy, who was still fast asleep. Glancing at the sky that was still dark from the night and the snow not yet shimmering with the rising dawn, she figured she probably had time to duck out and look for clothes for him before he woke up. Most people in small towns like this would be up at dawn, and she doubted the boy would go far even if he did wake up alone, probably. Besides, she figured that she could request that the innkeeper keep an eye on the child when she asked if the innkeeper knew of somewhere she could get clothes.

The shopping didn’t take Kuon long. The innkeeper had known of a family in town that Kuon could buy the old clothes of, as they had an older kid who recently went through a growth spurt, leaving plenty of smaller clothing that Kuon could pick through. When she knocked on the door and explained her situation, the family had been more than happy to sell Kuon some of the older clothes.

With that sorted out, Kuon headed back to the inn with a set of robes that, while worn, were still in good condition. As she walked, she kept running her hand over the soft and thick fabric, which would be good for the winter. It had been made from maran fur, skillfully spun and woven into a garment where it was dyed various colors.

While she had gotten used to the maran fur fabric from her travels, she was always surprised how different it was from the fabrics made of tree fiber from Tuskur, her home. The cloth she had draped over the child had been a Yamato fabric made from a flowering plant, which wasn’t as soft as the maran fur, and she hoped the boy wouldn’t mind the change. Although it would be harder to say no to a softer fabric, Kuon figured.

Along with the clothes, Kuon had managed to get a pair of fish-skin boots, which she was surprised by. They were less common in Yamato, where animal hide was more frequently used for shoes, however the shoes reminded Kuon of home, as fish-skin boots were more common in Tuskur. Somewhere deep inside, it reminded Kuon of her own childhood, and a soft smile rested on her face with the memories of running through the woods at home.

Pushing open the door to the inn, Kuon was surprised to see the boy sitting on the floor just inside and staring at the door. His hair was ruffled from sleep and he was wrapped in the large clothes, which spread around his body like a puddle made of fabric. As Kuon took a step towards him, his eyes lit up and he stood up.

He watched Kuon as she approached, his head tilted down slightly as he adjusted the clothes around him with his fingers and shifted his feet causing the fabric to ripple with the movement. Kuon sighed and patted his head softly, letting her hand run through the mess of his hair. The child leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and holding still as Kuon carefully smoothed down and arranged the messy strands.

“What are you doing sitting by the entrance?” Kuon asked, furrowing her eyebrows slightly and a small frown tugging at her lips.

“Was waiting for you to come back,” he said, looking up at her from through the bangs that fell over his face.

“I see, well I’m back now, I think. I also have some clothes that should fit you better, so how about we go change and then get breakfast?”

With a nod, the boy smiled widely at her and reached for Kuon’s hand, which she let him hold as they walked back.

The boy struggled to put the clothes on correctly and Kuon had to calmly help him dress, slowly showing him how to layer the fabrics correctly and wrap the cloth. He watched the process with rapt attention as she helped him. Luckily clothes for children tended to have few layers and be simple to wear, otherwise Kuon felt certain that the clothes would be easily messed up. Despite Kuon wearing fancy layers of clothes as a kid, she couldn’t understand how rich families managed to get their children to wear the complex layers without them immediately getting messed up or the clothes getting filthy.

On the way to breakfast afterwards, Kuon even caught sight of him running his hands along the fabric and pulling at the clothes to adjust how they fit. They were still a bit big on him, but he would grow into them, and if Kuon found his family they would certainly have better fitting clothes.

Breakfast at the inn at least was a quiet affair. The dining area wasn’t large, with low tables spread out that Kuon and the child sat before on cushions. No one else was in the room, either having already eaten and left or more likely, that Kuon and the child were the only guests currently at the inn. Winter wasn’t exactly the preferred time to travel after all, due to some of the routes being buried under snow.

The innkeeper was the one who served the two of them their food, placing wooden trays with an assortment of dishes before them before softly saying, “Please eat.”

“Thank you,” Kuon said, and the boy clumsily copied her as well, thanking the innkeeper.

The innkeeper smiled and left the two of them to eat. Kuon easily reached for the chopsticks before picking at the dishes in front of her, however she paused after putting the first bite of fish in her mouth and looked over at the boy. He was staring at the food with furrowed brows, the chopsticks clenched in his fist as if he had no idea how to use them.

“Here.” Kuon placed her chopsticks down on their holder and reached across the table for the child’s hands. He let her take his hands and rearrange them carefully so that the chopsticks were properly held, but he still stared at her.

“How do I use these?” He asked looking down at the chopsticks that he was struggling to hold and then up at her.

“Watch.” Kuon picked up her own chopsticks from her tray and reached down to grab a bite of the fish and raised it to her mouth.

The boy tried to open the chopsticks, but they just tumbled out of his hand. With a frown, he picked them up again and found that he had already forgotten how to hold them properly. Kuon softly laughed at his confused face, remembering the trials her family had put her through when she was first learning to use chopsticks. Luckily for the boy, she wasn’t going to force him to pick up seeds with the chopsticks until he could do it with ease, at least not right now, but it did seem like he needed some practice.

He might not be from around here if he was struggling with the chopsticks, the vague thought passed through Kuon’s mind. He might be from a more northern region from here where they use other utensils. If she had to travel to the far stretches of Yamato to return the child home, she would, but maybe this knowledge was just another thing the amnesia had stolen from him. For now, she dismissed the idea.

With a bit more guidance he could soon open and close the chopsticks. It was still hard for him, and he dropped them more often than not, but he was beginning to understand it. At this point he paused and looked at the dishes, unsure of which to try and reach for first, Kuon figured.

“Um, what are these?” He asked looking up at Kuon for guidance.

Kuon paused and looked down at the dishes on her plate. She hadn’t spared them more than a passing thought, as they were a common winter meal for the area. The boy had probably eaten them before, he just must have forgotten what they are, otherwise her thinking that he might be from further north might have some truth to it.

There were two dishes before them in bowls, and Kuon carefully reached across the table to point at the dish to the boy’s right with her chopsticks. “This is a vegetable soup,” Kuon said with a tap as her chopsticks hit the bowl. The broth was clear with a faint steam rising from the bowl, green plants floating around suspended in the liquid. “And this,” Kuon moved her wooden chopsticks over to the other bowl and lightly tapped it, “is a type of heshyuko.”

“Heshyuko…?” The boy said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

“It’s when fish has been pounded into a paste and stored. It lasts a long time.” It was a pink paste that usually turned off non-locals that weren’t used to the strong fish and salt flavor, but it reminded Kuon of the dishes back in Tuskur. Kuon reached over to the boy’s plate once more and tapped the lacquerware cup placed beside the dishes with her chopsticks before saying, “And this is tea, I think,” and finally returned to her own dishes.

The boy probably knew what tea was, Kuon figured. She wasn’t quite sure what flavor the barely flavored hot water was supposed to be, but just in case his amnesia made him forget that as well she figured she would tell him. However, considering he had forgotten the common dishes of the area, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had also forgotten what tea was.

Kuon watched out of the corner of her eye as the boy picked up a bit of the heshyuko and cautiously raised it to his mouth. Half of it had fallen off the chopsticks in the journey, but that didn’t stop him from eating it. As soon as the heshyuko touched his tongue he spat it out and grimaced at the bowl with a scrunch of his face, leaning back in his seat as he stared at the dish.

Unable to help it, Kuon snorted out a laugh, quickly raising a hand to cover her mouth. The noise made the boy look at her, the expression on his face unchanging, which only made Kuon laugh harder in the end.

Kids don’t like strong flavors, right? Kuon thought while trying to wrangle her face into something more composed. I guess it makes sense that he wouldn’t like it very much.

Luckily the boy seemed to like the vegetable soup and the tea, but he refused to touch the heshyuko for the rest of the meal. Kuon tried to encourage him to eat the fish, but in the end, she was unable to convince him. Not wanting to leave the bowls empty, Kuon ended up eating the boy’s mostly untouched heshyuko before picking up their trays to bring back to the kitchen. While the innkeeper would likely gladly clean off the tables for the two of them, Kuon knew that she would appreciate it if Kuon took care of the dishes.

After breakfast, Kuon chopped firewood for the inn while she had the boy carry the logs over to the wood pile. He wasn’t very good at it, and kept getting distracted, but she supposed that was typical for children, as he was lacking the strength and experience, especially with the way the boy stopped to stare at everything like it was something he had never seen before.

At first Kuon had tried to keep him on track, and make sure that he at least was trying to help, but it was hard to get him to focus. The grass under his feet, the people walking through the town, and the birds darting overhead all made him pause and watch them for a bit, the wood in his hands forgotten. She briefly wondered how he would react in spring when the trees were flowering and the insects would be back in full force. It would be much more vibrant then, rather than the muted colors of winter that drained the life from the land.

Sometimes, when an animal or person got too close, he would run over to Kuon and cling to her legs. She would stop swinging the axe, afraid of hurting him when he was this close. He would stare at the creature or person that caused him to flee until they eventually went away and he would return to carrying wood.

Kuon wasn’t sure why the boy was so quick to flee to her, when they had known each other for such a short time, but she had defended him from the orke before. Perhaps he looked to her for protection, she figured, which left an odd feeling of warmth in her. She was trained to be a fighter, to protect and defend those who could not do so themselves, and part of that was watching over the boy until he was returned safely home. The warmth was likely from the boy acknowledging her ability to keep him safe. A vague feeling that she could be relied on.

In the afternoon, Kuon got the innkeeper to agree to watch over the boy while she tracked down the village head. It took her a bit to find the old woman, who was sitting by the river near the village, a fishing line thrown out into the swiftly flowing water. A bucket sat next to her, a couple of fish she caught earlier swimming inside of it.

Kuon sat down next to the old woman, letting the winter breeze run through her hair, the fur on her ears puffing up as they tried to keep warm. The water softly whispered below the two of them, rolling over stones and tugging at sticks as they floated downstream. For a while, neither of them spoke, sitting silently there and watching the water rush by.

“You’re the traveler that passed through our village before,” The old woman finally spoke with a graveled voice as she pulled the line back. A small silver fish dangled on the line, thrashing as it was pulled from the river, flicking beads of water through the air.

“Yes, I think,” Kuon said, looking ahead at the trees across the river. Snow hung from their branches, but the ground near their trunks was barren of white, and instead was a pine covered dirt. “I found a child on my route back. I wanted to know if any children had gone missing lately?”

“Not from this village, no.” The old woman plucked the tiny fish from the hook and examined it for a moment. Then with a toss of her hand she threw it back into the water. It vanished with a splash, becoming a flash of silver, like light reflecting on the water, as it quickly swam away from the two of them and continued upstream. “I haven’t heard of anyone going missing from the surrounding villages either.”

Kuon sighed, “I suspected as much. I might go ask around the other villages anyway, I think. Maybe they’ve heard something.”

“Hmm, good luck.” Another lure was threaded onto the hook and the line was tossed back into the water.

Kuon carefully stood, flicking snow off her tail that blended in with her white fur, and stretching her hands overhead. Spring would be coming quickly, and she would need to start searching for information on the boy soon, not only to reunite him with his family as quickly as possible, but so that she could start making plans on where to travel if she needed to bring him far. Once again, she found herself wishing that she had a name or anything to identify the child and where he had come from.

Returning to the inn, she found the boy sitting behind the counter next to the innkeeper. He was watching her as she placed stones on the counting board, his eyes sparkling while she reached over and made an annotation in a small notebook next to her. Kuon picked up fairly quickly that the innkeeper must have been working on the accounting for the inn while the child watched on.

“I’m back, I think,” Kuon said with a smile.

The boy’s head snapped up, staring at her for a moment before jumping off the chair he had been sitting on and running around the side of the desk to Kuon’s side. He clung to her leg and buried his face in her hip, muttering a soft “Welcome back,” as he did so. Kuon froze at the touch for a moment, still not used to the boy clinging to her, before letting herself relax.

“How was he?” Kuon asked the innkeeper while placing a hand on the boy’s head and slowly stroking his hair. She was beginning to get worried that the boy wouldn’t want to return to his parents when she found them considering his attachment to her.

“He was wonderful,” The innkeeper said with a soft smile, carefully placing the ink brush she was using to write with down on the counter. “He was helping me with my math. You’ve picked up quite a smart child you know?”

“Is that so?” Kuon asked with a hum, turning to look at the boy clinging to her leg. She had never been good with math, the numbers swimming before her eyes, but at least it was better than history, which put her to sleep with only a few words. Several times her family had tried to teach her math with various rewards and methods. Eventually she had learned the basics of it, enough that she would need to know as the next ruler, but she had always preferred manual labor over mental tasks. With manual labor she felt like she was actually helping people, and could see the clear results of her work, unlike mental labor where her results were more abstract and her progress less defined. It seemed that the boy had a knack for math where Kuon did not, and possibly even liked it if he was willing to try to help the innkeeper.

“Any luck with your search?” The innkeeper asked, crossing her hands in front of her, as she cast a look at the boy with a gentle frown.

“Not yet, I think. I wanted to try traveling to the nearby towns and asking them. Is it possible that you can watch him during the afternoon these next few days? I will gladly pay.”

“Oh, no need for that, I’ll watch him. You already do so many tasks around town to help out, you know, just promise me that you’ll make sure he’s safe, wherever he ends up.”

Kuon looked over at the boy once more, who poked his head out, hesitant to meet her eyes. She smiled at him, while he stared up at her silently.

“I promise,” Kuon said with a whisper.

Later that night, Kuon laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling while under the plush covers. The scratchy fabric pulling at her skin, and warded off by the night clothes she wore as a barrier between the two. Outside the window a night bird called with promises of a nighttime hunt and reminding Kuon that lying in bed would not provide the answers she was seeking.

But still her mind was racing, uncertain of what was going to happen to the boy or how she could possibly help him. If his parents had been travelers and he had gotten lost on the mountains, they would surely come down to the surrounding towns to search for him, if they cared for him at least. Kuon remembered the thin garments she had found him wearing and the way that everything startled the boy as if it was new. It was as if he had been locked up his entire life and this was the boy’s first time experiencing the world.

There was a rustling in the room as the boy rolled over in his sleep followed by a soft sigh. Kuon sat up slightly and looked over at him, curled up under the blanket with his eyes tightly closed and a fist curled around his head. The embers of the fire in the room crackled softly, the residue heat lingering around the room like an extra blanket from the cold outside.

Kuon sighed and laid back down, pulling the blankets closer around herself to ward off the chill. Sliding her eyes shut she decided finally to try and sleep. There was a chance that she might never find the boy’s parents, but she was reluctant to leave him with anyone else when she was the one who had found him alone in the mountains. He was her charge, and that left her with a duty to make sure that no matter what happened to the boy, he would be alright.

Chapter Text

The next week passed like the swift and repeated blows of a sword during practice as Kuon rushed to complete various tasks in the morning requested by the villagers and traveled to the surrounding towns in the afternoon. One morning she had even refused work and instead traveled out to a couple of the further towns, but she had no luck there either. No one claimed to know of the boy or where he had come from.

The snow was finally beginning to loosen its hold on the mountains and the towns that nestled beside them as it melted away turning the dirt to mud. The first flowers of spring began to poke through the earth, like green needles jabbing through the blankets of white. Through the woods there were sounds of chirps and distant calls which had been missing during the long months. While the cold season was not fully over, with promises of more snow in the dark clouds on the horizon, Kuon could still acutely feel that she was running out of time.

In the evenings, Kuon spent her time with the boy, teaching him some simple card games from her childhood or letting him draw on her limited paper supply. He was fascinated by everything and a quick learner, so Kuon soon found herself teaching him how to repair clothes with a needle and thread or how to braid her long hair. She made sure to get a variety of the local dishes for him to try and every time he seemed not to recognize the food, staring at it with awe. He was eager to eat whatever Kuon put in front of him, stuffing his face, although Kuon quickly picked up that he didn’t seem very fond of spicy foods but loved sweets.

At this point Kuon didn’t know how to continue her search beside crossing the mountain and trying the villages on the other side, but there was no way that the boy had made the crossing alone, in the winter, wearing only the thin robe she had found him in. For now, she figured that she would wait until spring and see if a traveling group came looking for the boy, although she was beginning to think that might not happen. While there wasn’t much for proof, Kuon was becoming more certain in her idea what the boy had been abandoned on the mountain to die.

The boy, despite having a knack for math, didn’t understand much of the world or how to interact with people, suggesting that he had been isolated from the outside. And if he had been kept so isolated, it made sense why the surrounding villages had never even realized he vanished. Kuon clenched her fists whenever she thought of the idea, her eyes having raked over the villagers when she visited the neighboring towns looking for a glimmer of guilt that proved whoever did it regretted their actions. But she found nothing in the end.

Today she accompanied the boy around town, walking a few paces behind him as walked along the edge of the village, staring at the woods surrounding them. Every once and while he would glance back to make sure Kuon was still following, and she would smile and wave at the boy. He stayed away from the busier sections of town, keeping to the shadows where he could watch people without being bothered by them in turn.

He also took an interest in the various plants around the town or on the edges of the forest. Kuon, having been raised by an herbalist, was quick to provide the names of plants that he would stare at, along with their medical uses if they had any. Eventually the boy started asking Kuon for the names of the plants they saw. He didn’t even seem to mind when Kuon talked at length about the plants, or spoke of other herbs that didn’t grow in the area.

I wonder if he would want to be an herbalist when he grows up? Kuon thought as she watched the boy run his hand along the trunk of an evergreen tree. Even if not, I should probably teach him what I know, since it might save his life or others in the future. At this idea, Kuon paused, realizing that she was thinking about a future with this boy, as if he would be remaining by her side as he grew up rather than just this brief moment. She wanted to push the thought away and maintain her distance with the boy, but she still hadn’t found his family. Instead, she let herself briefly imagine a future where she ended up raising the boy.

Later, Kuon thought with a shake of her head, his family still might show up with the arrival of spring. I cannot claim him as my own when they still might be out there, nor should I carelessly take on a child. Her tail flicked at the thought and she continued to follow behind the boy as he meandered along the village edge.

It was during dinner that night when Kuon decided to ask the child, “Are you looking forward to me finding your family?”

“No, I don’t know them,” The boy said while looking up from the amamunii he was struggling to wrap, which was bursting with the various fillings the boy had stuffed it with.

Kuon had already offered to help him, but the boy was too stubborn and had refused her help, instead attempting to push the aman wrap closed. She supposed his answer made sense, given his current lack of memories around his family, but she had hoped that he might have remembered something or at least had some lingering feelings towards the topic.

They were currently seated in the dining room of the inn, which while in the past had been empty of anyone except Kuon and the boy, today there was a band of Yamato soldiers that had recently arrived. Their table wasn’t too far from the soldiers’ which contained a lot of shouting and drinking, from what Kuon’s ears and nose could pick up on. They made her tense when they first arrived, as Kuon knew the kind of destruction that soldiers could engage in when they were traveling, but luckily, they had stayed out of the way. Normally Kuon would wander over to get information from them, but she was hesitant to do so with the boy present.

Kuon, acutely aware of where everyone was in the room, noticed when one of the soldiers moved to extract himself from the rest of the group. The other soldiers were reluctant to let him leave, calling out to him and keeping his attention. Eventually, he managed to slip away, and Kuon was surprised to realize that he was heading over to where she was sitting. She tensed as he approached, the tip of her tail flicking from side to side, but she maintained sitting upright and sipped at her tea as if she didn’t notice.

The man stopped in front of their table, a hand resting on his hips as he looked down at them with a smile. His hair was a spiky brown mess, with warmly lit brown eyes that met Kuon’s beneath the most arrow shaped eyebrows that Kuon had ever seen. There was a small goatee on his chin, and a mole under his right eye that Kuon’s eyes lingered on for a moment. A blue aperyu was thrown over his shoulders, and swayed softly when he walked, giving Kuon the impression that he wasn’t someone that cared strongly for rules. Even knowing he was a soldier, Kuon felt that he wasn’t a danger to the two of them. He wasn’t in uniform, but Kuon could recognize the training he had from the way he walked and held himself, with a kind of military efficiency and style that Kuon only saw in people who had training.

“Hey, I’m Ukon,” The man introduced himself with a grin, pointing a thumb at his chest. “I work for Oshtor, the General of the Right, and the innkeeper here said I should chat with you.” His eyes glanced over at the boy sitting across from Kuon, which caused her to tense minutely, her tail stilling from its repetitive motion. “Do you have a moment to chat?” Ukon asked turning back to Kuon.

Kuon slowly sipped her tea, eyes closed and still facing the table before her. She pondered his words for a moment, wondering if he knew something Kuon didn't know about the boy, or had some kind of hint to his origins. The innkeeper had asked him to speak with her, and while she trusted the innkeeper, she didn’t trust a soldier from Yamato. But, if things went sideways, she was more than strong enough to guarantee and she and the boy would make it out alive. There was no harm in talking to the soldier, as long as Ukon didn’t try and steal the boy away since he wasn’t technically hers. She had promised to herself that she would return the boy to his family if possible, and if not, make sure he ended up somewhere where he would be safe and cared for.

With a soft click, Kuon placed the now empty cup on the short wooden table. She got up from her position of keeling on the mat, relying on a grace that had been trained into her from a young age to make the motion look smooth. She gave a soft smile to Ukon that didn’t reach her eyes, and said, “Alright, there’s an empty corner over there,” she gestured to the other side of the room away from the soldiers.

Kuon then turned to look at the child, who had paused his eating and was staring up at her with wide eyes. Chopsticks were clenched in his fist from where he had been using them to stab at the various amamunii fillings, having given up on wrapping it properly. Kuon smiled at the sight, warmth filling her gaze when she met the boy’s eyes. “Hey, I’ll be right over there okay,” Kuon said pointing across the room. “I’ll be right back, I think, come get me if you need anything.”

The boy nodded in response, looking over at Ukon and shying away from his gaze. Ukon smiled in return, a full grin that showed off his teeth, which made the boy relax slightly, but he didn’t remove his stare from the man.

Kuon sighed, and began making her way across the empty room. Reaching the dark wooden wall, she leaned her side against it, crossing her arms, and letting her tail flick slowly. That way Ukon was forced to come around and face her, so that their sides were turned to the room and Kuon had a clear line between herself and the boy. She wasn’t facing him directly, but she also wasn’t stuck between the wall and the soldier.

“Yes?” Kuon asked while raising her eyebrow.

Ukon crossed his arms, tapping one of his fingers and gave her a lopsided grin. “Sorry, I know this is weird. Er, the innkeeper said you found the boy in the woods?” Ukon glanced over at the boy sitting at the table for a moment. The child was still attempting to eat the amamunii, occasionally glancing over towards the two adults, but clearly trying not to stare at them.

“I did.”

“So, uh, any luck finding his parents? How has the search been?”

Kuon sighed then spoke, “I asked around this village and the surrounding villages but I’ve heard nothing so far, I think. I thought he might be the child of some travelers passing through…?” Kuon trailed off, waiting to see if the soldier had any information he was willing to share.

“Hmm,” Ukon paused, and rubbed his chin, looking up and to the side, “Well, I don’t want to alarm you but there is a group of bandits in the area. That’s why we’re here, to arrest them.” He looked at Kuon, clearly expecting a response from her, as he shifted his feet slightly.

Kuon carefully held her face blank, then raised her eyebrow again, “I’ve heard about this problem from the surrounding villages. And?”

“Er, it’s possible that the kid is one of the bandit’s kids. He could also be the kid of one of the merchants that pass through the area. There was a rich merchant that went through three weeks ago, everyone was killed except for a servant that managed to escape. The servant didn’t mention seeing any kids, nor there being any in the group, but well, they could have left something out.”

“Then, I will have to rely on you questioning the bandits, I think,” Kuon said with a frown. She had heard about the bandits from the villages and wondered if there was anything she could do about them, but she was afraid of putting the villages or the kid at risk if she tried without careful planning. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered that the kid might be one of the bandits’ children or the child of someone the bandits had killed, but she had no way to contact them and ask. If he was the son of one of the bandits, they certainly hadn’t gone looking for him. It was more likely in her mind that the child’s parents were simply dead. Although she supposed that she should try and find his living relatives, not that she knew where to begin with that either.

“Alright! I’ll let you know what we find then,” Ukon gave her a wink and cheeky smile. “Although,” he straightened his posture and looked carefully at Kuon, his eyes staring heavily at her face, “What are you planning on doing if you can’t find his parents?”

Here was the question Kuon was fearing, but she carefully uncrossed her arms, letting them rest on her hips as she turned to look over at the boy. He met Kuon’s eyes, and looked startled for a moment, quickly turning back to the food before him. After a second, he glanced up at her nervously, then looked away as soon as he realized that Kuon was still staring in his direction.

Kuon smiled softly as she looked at him, unable to push down her emotions towards the boy. “You’ve probably already heard from the innkeeper, I think, but he lost his memories of his family or where he’s from. If his parents are gone, then I was going to track down his relatives. All I want for him is to be safe, I think. If I never figure it out then,” here Kuon paused, turning to look back at Ukon, “I will make sure he ends up with someone who will take care of him.”

“Are you planning on raising him if you can’t find his parents?”

Kuon was taken back by the question, her eyes going wide, and her tail moved to lightly wrap around her leg. “I… I don’t know, I think.” She finally said, looking down at the floor, where the swirls in the grain captured her attention. They felt like eyes piercing her through.

Do I want to raise him? Kuon didn’t know the answer to that yet. She cared for the boy, certainly, and she felt as if she had grown close to him, but that didn’t feel like enough.

“My own childhood was…” Kuon trailed off, uncertain of how to explain the swirling emotions she felt towards her parents who she had never met, and the many people who had raised her. They were her family certainly, and she considered them her parents and siblings, but she knew it was unusual, and she wasn’t certain she could raise a child. Unconsciously, Kuon’s hand dropped towards the metal fan she carried with her, tracing a finger slowly along the edge of it.

“I get it,” Ukon said, looking over at the child for a moment, before turning to look at Kuon with a soft smile. “Just make sure you do what’s best for him, okay? And if you need anything, I’ll gladly help as much as I can,” Ukon hit himself on the chest lightly with his fist.

She smiled slightly, feeling the tension slowly leave her as she realized that Ukon meant no harm to her or the child. “Alright, I’ll keep you to that, I think! I’m Kuon by the way,” Kuon said holding out her hand.

Ukon gripped it tightly and gave a light shake. “Nice to be working with you then, Kuon!”

Chapter Text

The next week passed quickly, the days blending together as Kuon did odd jobs around the town. Cutting firewood, clearing fields, and milling grain, all tasks that the small town needed done and Kuon was happy to help with, which earned her small change and gifts of food. It wasn’t much, as a town like this couldn’t afford to pay her much, but Kuon would have done it for free if she didn’t need the money for traveling supplies.

While Kuon could always return home or send a letter if she needed funds, that would mean letting her family know where she was. They knew she was in Yamato somewhere, she was fairly certain of that, but she preferred that they weren’t constantly stalking after her. They were overprotective to a fault. If Kuon became desperate enough to ask for money, then worry would drive them to come check on her.

Originally, Kuon hadn’t meant to be away from Tuskur for so long. However, she knew that at the end of her journey was a life of paperwork and administrative duties she couldn’t muster any interest in. Last time she had briefly returned home, they had tried to encourage her to take up her duties as the next ruler. Eventually, Kuon had fought with her family and ran out in the middle of the night, as she didn’t want to give up traveling just yet. The road taught her more than sitting behind a desk reading scrolls after all.

Kuon paused from sweeping away the dust in the burutanta pens that she was cleaning. Taking a moment, she glanced out at the field where the animals were in an enclosed pen the farmer had set up. Their large rounded pink bodies splotched with black were visible through the gaps in the fence as they nosed through the dirt for grubs and small insects to snack on. Luckily the farmer had shaved off the burutanta’s manes recently, as Kuon didn’t particularly want to chase them down and do it herself. Although this led to clumps of fur still discarded on the floor that Kuon had to sweep up.

It was hard work, especially with burutanta being notoriously difficult to raise. They would get stressed if their pens were even slightly filthy, which led to them needing to be constantly cleaned. Normally the farmer would be doing this work, but she had to make a trip to the town over for supplies, and was willing to pay Kuon a little if she took care of this instead.

The boy was helping Kuon, or at least trying to, grabbing armfuls of hay and carefully carrying it to the pens that Kuon had cleared. From there, he would toss it onto the ground and try to arrange it into soft piles for the burutanta, not that Kuon had asked him to do that. He was trying his best though, and Kuon did appreciate his help, even if Kuon was sure she could do his task in only a fraction of the time it took the boy.

If she never found the boy’s family, then she would either have to find someone who would be willing to raise the child or take him with her. She felt reluctant to pass the child off to someone else to raise. A child wasn’t a plant that could be left alone and occasionally watered, rather he would need someone invested in making sure he grew up healthy and learned the skills to navigate life. It wasn’t a simple task that would last a few months, but a lifelong commitment costing money and time. Kuon also couldn’t constantly return to check on the boy, especially once she took over Tuskur, and instead would have to trust whoever she left the boy with.

If she took the boy with her, she couldn’t wander until he was an adult and able to take care of himself. She had already put off returning to Tuskur for too long, and it would only make the country restless if she avoided her duties for years more. At best, she reasoned, she could spend a year or two away before needing to return and take up the mantle.

Kuon could bring the boy back with her to Tuskur, but that would be removing him from what was likely his home country, and squashing any remaining chance of finding his family if they were still alive. Although Kuon was certain her family at home would be excited to meet the child. She could guarantee that he would get a good education in Tuskur. The boy would also have the chance to train his skill in math, if that was something he desired.

Although Kuon was certain growing up in the castle was nothing like being raised in a small house. It would place pressures on the boy to constantly be doing better and learning more skills, as Kuon had been forced to. He would be watched and in danger from those that meant her family harm. Kuon trusted her family to be able to defend themselves, and to keep the nation of Tuskur safe, but there was always a risk. There were no other children in the castle currently, and it would be harder for the boy to make friends his own age there.

Kuon sighed, and swept the broom over the wooden planks of the barn floor. Dried dirt was kicked up by the broom and carefully swept into piles that were pushed out the doors. It was slow work, but it put Kuon at ease and she knew the farmer would appreciate the help when she returned home tomorrow.

The soldiers had left a while ago, not having stayed for longer than a couple days, before heading deeper into the mountains. It hadn’t taken them long to gather the information about the bandits they needed from town, which would help the soldiers track down the bandits and capture them. Kuon was unsure when they would return. The rumors around town suggested that the bandits were well hidden and well-armed.

Spring was rapidly approaching, and soon Kuon would feel safe to travel down the roads again. Kuon was fairly certain she already could make the trip to wherever she decided to head next with no problems, but she was reluctant to leave the town since she had yet to find the boy’s parents. What decision she made about the boy would also likely determine where she would go next, anyway.

The boy walked past where Kuon was sweeping, arms empty of straw as he went back to grab more. Hay stuck to his clothes and poked through the fabric like he was some kind of spiky creature, and Kuon reached over to pluck one of the golden strands out of the boy’s hair. The boy felt Kuon remove the hay, and paused, looking up at Kuon as he patted at his head in confusion. Kuon smiled and showed him the strand of hay, which he carefully took from her hands to examine.

“Do you want me to help remove the hay from your clothes? It must be itchy, I think,” Kuon said, looking at the boy’s shirt.

He paused and looked down at his clothes, seeming only now to notice the fabric was also made of hay as well. “Can you help?” He asked, rubbing his hand over the shirt futilely, as if the hay was only dirt stuck to the outside.

“Here,” Kuon leaned the broom against the wall of the barn and reached for the boy’s shirt with her hands. The boy watched, wide-eyed, as she slowly unwove the strands of hay and let them fall to the floor between them, standing out on the dark wood like curling strands of golden hair.

Soon enough Kuon had gotten most of the strands out. Kuon would probably have to wash the clothes later, and let them relax in the soapy water for a while so that the remaining strands would slip out on their own. The clothes were likely still a bit itchy to wear at the moment, but changing them would have to wait until their task was done.

“Thanks, mom.” The boy spoke quietly, with Kuon barely catching the words.

Kuon’s hands briefly stilled from where she had been pulling out another strand of hay. “Your mother might be sad if you call me that, I think.”

The boy didn’t respond. Eventually, Kuon looked over at his face to see the boy staring down at the wooden floor. He lightly kicked at the straw with his feet with his hands gripping his shirt in tight fists.

Kuon stared at his face for a moment, examining the way his lip jutted into a pout and his furrowed eyebrows. For a moment, she thought the boy was adorable in the way that small children were when there was something they were seriously considering. She began to wonder if this was how parents felt towards their children.

“I dunno,” the boy eventually said, still scuffing at the ground and pushing the hay around.

Kuon crouched in front of the boy, staring at his face, while he refused to look at her. He stubbornly turned his head and shoulders away from her, glaring over at the burutanta in the field speckled with patches of snow. Kuon didn’t force him to look at her, frowning slightly with a tilt of her head while her tail flicked against the ground, and instead thought over their short conversation.

It felt odd to be called mom, as if she was stealing a title that she didn’t deserve. So, Kuon had tried to discourage the boy from calling her that. But somehow, that seemed to upset him, and Kuon was struggling to understand why that was the case. Instead, she reflected on her own discomfort with the word, a deep feeling that she could not get attached to the boy, not when there was a chance his own family was still looking for him.

It was fear, Kuon realized, she was afraid that she would have to leave the boy and that both of them would struggle with the parting. She had struggled with her birth parents never being present when she was young. Despite having never met them, she could see them reflected in the way the rest of her family treated her when she was growing up. The many stories that were told of them and their impacts in the country of Tuskur itself. It was an emotion she struggled to reconcile, and one that she did not want this boy to have to deal with, the kind of ambiguous loss where she would vanish and leave him behind.

Truthfully, Kuon did not want to disappear from the child’s life completely, but she was aware that she might be forced to if the boy’s family was found or Kuon left him in the care of another. She would eventually have to return home and take over her duties. However, there was no reason why she couldn’t keep in touch with the child, she began to realize. It would take effort on her part, but she could write letters and maybe come visit him every once and while. Sure, he couldn’t write or read at the moment, but Kuon would be more than happy to teach him if needed, and she was certain that he would pick it up easily enough.

If she was going to remain in the boy’s life, then there was no reason the boy shouldn’t call her mom. Kuon herself called several of her family members mother despite having no blood relation to them, and she saw no issue with a child having multiple people they considered mother. If anything, she had likely hurt the boy by rejecting the title with an explanation that might not have made any sense to him. Especially if he had no memories of his birth mother.

“I’m sorry,” Kuon said, reaching for the boy’s hand and lightly holding onto it. If he wanted to it would be easy for him to pull out of her grasp and she would not resist it. “You can call me ‘mom’ if you want, your mother might be glad someone you trust is looking out for you, I think.”

The boy turned his head slightly to look at Kuon, while his tiny hands tightened around Kuon’s hand. She silently waited, letting him pull together his thoughts into words, and figure out what he wanted to say to her. He looked down at the ground and scuffed at it with his foot again.

“Okay,” was all he said.

Kuon wasn’t sure if the boy understood that she didn’t mind the title. Considering his silence and the way the boy continued to look away from Kuon, but didn’t try to move away, Kuon figured that he was still thinking. So, she waited, her tail flicking lightly across the hay sprinkled ground. Her patience was eventually rewarded when he spoke again.

“Do you really think my mother would be sad?” The words were softly whispered.

“No.” Kuon reached for the boy and pulled him into a gentle hug. He let himself be tugged to Kuon, wrapping his hands around her. “I’m not her, so I cannot speak for her, I think. It was wrong of me to make assumptions about how she feels.”

The boy didn’t respond to that, and Kuon kneeled in a hug with the boy, gently running her hand down his back. Eventually they parted and Kuon stood, grabbing the broom she left leaning against the wall of the barn. They spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the barn together.

After a week and two days, Ukon returned to the village. He arrived in the evening alone after Kuon had already finished eating. She was planning on taking a long warm bath, before finally going to sleep, while the boy had already passed out from the long day. Kuon felt drained, having spent the day grinding flour since the town’s mill had broken down despite the boy trying his best to help her.

Kuon blinked at the sight of Ukon striding down the hall of the inn towards her, pausing as she caught sight of his ruffled uniform. Ukon’s steps faltered when he saw her, giving a slight grin that remained confined to his lips. To Kuon, it felt like an expression he gave more out of habit than for any deeper feelings.

“You’ve caught them, I think,” Kuon said, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Ah yeah, the bandits really weren’t that much of an issue,” Ukon responded, running a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t have long, we’re heading back to the city now, I just slipped away to talk to you.”

“Here,” Kuon turned and led Ukon further down the hall. She led them onto the back porch of the inn, which looked out at thickly grown forests beyond the town. A night bird called in the distance, a soft whisper of a cry that reminded Kuon of the wind running through the forest.

Ukon slumped onto the floor of the porch, his feet dangling off as he leaned back on the wooden floor. Kuon slowly kneeled beside him, keeping her tail curled around her in a gentle arc. For a moment they simply stared out at the dark forests beyond.

“I interrogated the living bandits; it doesn’t seem like there was a child living with them that went missing,” Ukon finally said.

A light hum was the only response Kuon gave as she took in the information. She felt Ukon’s eyes on her, watching her carefully for an expression, but she let nothing flicker across her face. Despite his scrutiny for some response, Kuon was surprised to find that she still trusted him, even with their few meetings.

“Besides that, I also asked if they had seen any children in the groups they attacked. They said they hadn’t and I’m inclined to believe they weren’t lying.” Ukon leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars twinkling from between a sparse cloud cover. “That doesn’t mean we can rule out that the child may have traveled with a group that passed through here, but it won’t be easy to figure it out.”

“Thank you for letting me know then, I think.” Kuon turned to look at Ukon with a smile, but her tail flicked against the wooden porch and she was acutely aware that her smile was too bright and too fake.

“Any ideas of what you’re gonna do with the kid?” Ukon stared back at Kuon, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

Kuon opened her mouth to reassure him, but found herself faltering. She turned away and looked out at the woods, shadowed by a canopy of leaves. For a moment, she did nothing but watch the chill spring air tug at the leaves in a shaky melody that wove through her ears.

“I don’t know,” Kuon eventually said with a sigh. “He called me ‘mom’ the other day for the first time and since then, he’s been cautiously referring to me as such.”

Ukon tapped one of his fingers against the wooden floorboards and his mouth flattened to a line. “You’ve grown attached to him, haven’t you?”

“I don’t want to leave his life, I think,” Kuon softly said, a slight frown crossing her face.

“Well, it seems pretty simple to me then!” Ukon sat up and grinned brightly, hitting his leg with one of his hands. “Just bring the kid with you then!”

Kuon stared at Ukon for a moment, frozen as her mind ran through the words. Then she began to laugh, at first chuckling, before she gave up on stifling her voice and tilted her head back with laughter, her lungs aching. After a moment, she stopped, taking gasping breaths of air and turned to look at Ukon with a sparkle in her eye and a grin bright enough to match his.

“You make this sound so easy, I think,” Kuon said, her tail flicking repeatedly against the wooden floor of the porch.

“What’s the hesitation then?”

Kuon paused at that and tilted her head slightly. Her long hair moved with the motion, gently tugging at her scalp and brushing against the ground. Why did she hesitate? The kid already saw her as his mother; it was clear he had no issues with being in her care.

“I don’t know, I think,” Kuon eventually settled on, looking down and at her hands neatly folded in her lap. A posture drilled into her by her adoptive parents and one she instinctively sat in. If the boy came with her, he would get the best education and be safely raised, and yet.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Ukon said, a soft smile on his face as he gazed at Kuon.

Kuon didn’t respond, pulling fine grains of wheat off of her clothes. They were clothes she had bought soon after she arrived in Yamato, to match the style of the culture so that she would not be marked as foreign while she traveled here. An appearance that she had carefully crafted to make sure no one questioned where she had come from and why she wandered the ruins searching for answers.

“It’s alright if you are,” Ukon eventually continued, figuring out that Kuon wouldn’t respond. “No one really knows how to be a parent in the end. I left home when I was young, searching for my father, but he was… gone.” Ukon paused here, taking a deep breath before continuing, “My younger sister followed me to the capital, and well, I had to look out for her. I still don’t really know if what I’m doing is right and if this is the best life for her. She has so many duties at such a young age and I worry about how she’s doing. But she’s always so determined to keep doing what she wants. She already knows who she wants to be.”

Kuon turned to look at Ukon with her tail curling tighter around her. “Do you regret it?”

“No. And even if I did, I know that she doesn’t regret following me.” Ukon met Kuon’s eyes and gave a slight smile. “Go ask the boy what he wants, cause I’m pretty sure he already has an answer for you.”

“What if he doesn’t want to come with me?”

“Here,” Ukon reached a hand into his clothes, a slight grin resting on his face as he searched for something. Eventually he found what he was looking for in one of the pockets sewn on the inside of the light blue aperyu he wore, and pulled out a thin slip of folded paper. He held it out to Kuon with two of his fingers, an odd look flashing across his face.

Reaching out, Kuon slid the paper from Ukon’s fingers into her own and flicked it open to see an address written out on it in messy brush strokes. It was for the imperial city of Yamato, although Kuon couldn’t tell exactly what kind of place it was from the address alone. With a slight frown, she looked up at Ukon.

“It’s where you can find me in Yamato. Or well, not me exactly, that’s technically the address of Oshtor, but you can find me through him.” Ukon scratched at the back of his head and looked away from Kuon, his mouth tugged in a half grimace half smile. “Look, if you don’t know what to do with the boy or he hates you or whatever, just bring him there. I have plenty of contacts in the city and can find a safe place to set him up.”

Looking back down at the address, Kuon found her expression softening as she ran her fingers along the paper, tracing the brushstrokes. “Thank you for this. I’ll keep it safe, I think.” She tucked it into the folds of her clothes, in a place where she knew it wouldn’t fall out before she got back to her room and could place it inside her bags. She already had a place in mind for where to store it, as there was a small pouch where she kept the letters from her family. Even if she didn’t end up traveling to the address, she would at least like to send Ukon a letter of thanks.

“Glad to be of help,” Ukon said with a grin.

Kuon smiled back with a soft flick of her tail.

Ukon had left two days ago. He had departed as quickly as he had come, needing to return to the rest of his party and head back to Yamato. Kuon was hopeful that she would see him again, especially since she felt like the two of them would make good friends. She already considered him one after all.

The snow had mostly melted, leaving only scattered patches of white where the piles were too thick to melt all at once. Flowers had begun to emerge from the soil with their small buds of purple and white speckling the ground. There were also sharp bird calls in the air that Kuon hadn’t heard from since the fall, indicating that the birds that left for the winter had finally returned to build their nests.

Kuon hummed as she packed away her items and tugged the bags into place on her woptor. The woptor complained about the weight with sharp clicks and chirps, clearly having enjoyed the rest it got the last couple of weeks. Kuon placated it with a couple of pets along its neck, while making sure to straighten the feathers as she went. The woptor give a light chirrup and stretched its head forward, lightly bumping into Kuon’s chest, while she smiled in response and gave the bird scritches along the back of its neck.

The boy ran up to Kuon to tug on her clothes, and she looked down to see him carrying a smaller bag. He was dressed in new robes, made to be light for the long traveling and soon to be warm weather. Although Kuon internally sighed when she noticed they were already scuffed with dirt despite having only been put on for the first time earlier that morning.

“Thank you, I think,” Kuon said. Taking the bundle from the boy, she tucked it into the saddlebags the woptor wore while making sure it was securely fashioned. She had taken the time to carefully arrange the bags so there would be enough room for the boy to sit on the woptor as well, once he got tired of walking and needed to rest.

The woptor reached over to try and eat at Kuon’s hair, clearly having gotten bored of standing there for so long while they loaded it with bags. Kuon laughed, while the boy watched wide-eyed at the woptor, who chirped in response as Kuon lightly moved the woptor’s head away from her hair.

As Kuon took the reins of the woptor, leading it out of the barn she sighed, giving a final glance around the town that she had been staying in. They quickly stopped to double check they had everything, and waved goodbye to the innkeeper who had poked her head out of the door.

“Are you ready to go?” Kuon asked, as she looked down at the boy clinging to her clothes. She still hadn’t decided on a destination, but she hoped the boy would have an answer for her. And if he didn’t, then they could wander until he did know.

The boy nodded in response, smiling up at Kuon in return.

“Hmm, I thought I might let you pick where we go,” Kuon said. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer, you can always decide later, or change your mind, I think. But, do you want to come home with me, or travel to Yamato and see if we can find a place there for you to stay?”

The boy looked up at Kuon with wide eyes, then looked away and mumbled something to himself.

“Hm?” Kuon responded with, alongside a slight tilt of her head.

“Can I come home with you, mom?” The boy eventually responded, looking up at Kuon with a tense posture and clutching at her clothes tighter.

“Okay,” Kuon smiled and reached down to pat the boy’s head, letting her fingers card through his hair for a moment. The journey to Tuskur would be long, but that meant if the boy changed his mind there would be plenty of time to turn around. On top of that, she was already planning to take the longer route home, as she wasn’t particularly excited to return to her duties, or deal with having to explain to her relatives why she now had a child. They would definitely pester her for the father even though she wasn’t related to the child by blood.

As they walked out of the town and onto the dusty road that led off into the distance Kuon looked over at the boy. He was taking two steps for every one step she took, and carefully staying by her side, glancing around at everything with awe. It was a long journey ahead, and Kuon carefully let her mind linger on a thought that she had been turning over in her mind for the last couple of weeks. Since she had met the boy really.

“Well, now that I’m your mother, I think, it is my duty to give you a name!” Kuon said, looking over at the boy with a bright grin.

He looked back over at her, nearly stumbling in his steps. “A name?”

“Yup! How about,” Kuon paused for a moment, letting the name settle on her tongue before she said it, the memories around it coming to rest in her mind, “Haku?”

The boy, or now Haku, smiled, a bright cheery look. He grabbed at her clothes, and gave a sharp nod. “I like it!”

“Perfect then, Haku!” Kuon reached down as she said this, lifting him up and placing him on her shoulders. The name carried a weight that the boy didn’t know about, a memory of Kuon’s father and her lost mother. She never got the chance to truly meet the two, but she cannot imagine they would hate her for bestowing his name to the child in front of her now.

Haku gripped at her with his legs, his hands coming to rest in her hair. The two of them looked forward to the road ahead, as Kuon lightly pulled on the reins of the woptor at their side. The slowly rising sun painted the sky in stretches of red and yellow with the clouds hanging above in soft wisps. Together, the two of them started on the long road to Tuskur.