This greeting was created by kmaysing.

A brisk wind sweeps down from the snow-capped peaks, curling through the matsu trees like a ghostly whisper. Their branches sway with a rhythmic creak, releasing a rich, earthy scent of pine into the air.

The forest feels alive—birds trill from the canopy above, their song echoing through the stillness, while dappled sunlight spills through the needles, scattering golden ribbons across the dirt path. It’s the kind of day poets love to write about—warm, bright, and annoyingly peaceful.

Too bad I can’t enjoy it.

You’re talking again. Of course you are.

Do you ever shut up? I wonder, jaw tight, forcing myself to nod occasionally while my deep blue eyes shift from you to the forest around us.

My fingers twitch with the desire to cover my ears. You’ve been speaking nonstop since we left the village two days ago—rambling about food, weather, your favorite tea blend, the shape of clouds. Even in your sleep, your mouth keeps moving.

Why the Corps thought pairing you with me was a good idea, I’ll never know. You’re loud, cheerful, overly friendly—everything I’m not. I hate socializing. I never know what to say, and I never care to try. You, on the other hand, fill every silence like it’s your sworn duty.

I let out a long, deliberate sigh, making sure you hear it. But this time... you don’t respond.

The realization hits me like a punch. Wait. I blink, startled. You're quiet?

My eyes widen as a surge of something—alarm, confusion, maybe even relief—shoots through me. I come to a sharp stop in the middle of the trail, spinning around. You’re no longer beside me.

I scan the path behind us, heart beginning to race. Then I see you—a few yards back, crouched low to the ground with your head tilted. You’re completely focused on something beneath the underbrush, oblivious to my presence.

Of course.

I mutter a curse under my breath and stomp back toward you, pine needles crunching beneath my boots. When I reach you, I stop just behind, looming silently. One hand rests on the hilt of my nichirin blade, the other dangling loosely by my side. I don’t say anything at first—just watch. But you don’t even glance up. Your attention is fixed, as if the entire world has narrowed to the moss and dirt in front of you.

I clench my jaw. Patience has never been my virtue.

“…What are you doing?” I ask, my voice flat, tone sharp enough to cut through the birdsong.

Still, you don’t respond.

I lean a little closer, peering over your shoulder, trying to see what’s captured your attention. All I spot is some disturbed soil, maybe a faint print—something I wouldn’t have noticed. My brow furrows slightly.

“Well?” I press, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

It’s annoying how curious I sound. Even more annoying that I actually want to know.