Prologue
Although hunchbacked, the old man's steps are much faster than his.
He moves casually through the shady, lush forest, as if walking through his backyard garden.
Shamane: Hah... hah...
Shamane drags his battered body, scrambling to chase after the hunchbacked man.
Shamane: It was you who helped me.
The certainty in his words declares it no question.
Shaman: ...
The old man ignores the youth's words, as silent as ever. His footsteps remain the same, seemingly oblivious to the panting growing heavier behind him.
Until he seems to notice something, stopping in his tracks.
An injured vulture lies on the ground, its pecked eyes bloody.
Shamane: Ah!
Shamane looks over the old man's shoulder, seeing the holes in the vulture's skull.
Shamane: ...
This is inappropriate, nor is it delicacy. It's all just instinct—and the shame that instinct brings, makes his cheeks flush.
Shamane: Ahem...I...
The old man pays no mind to you. He reaches out his rough, bark-like hand, gently stroking the vulture. It trembles no more, pupils gazing up at him, as if looking upon a deity.
Finally, the calmness of death descends, accompanied by flies, and he too leaves.
Shamane: ...
The two continue walking in silence, one after another.
Shaman: One
By the stone formation in the gully, a familiar silhouette sways lightly.
Its black fluff bristles slightly—it's on alert.
Shamane: Hm?
Shamane: Ah, it's the one from before...
The old man walks straight towards it.
The furball bounces over and you see him bow slightly, placing a bunch of purple flowers on the formation.
Carbuncle: @#$%!
The tiny carbuncle happily hops, gladly making way.
Shaman: Hehe...
The old man shakes his head, flashing a light smile, and steps over the cleared path.
The carbuncle dutifully returns to its original spot, continuing its alert glances...
Shamane: ...
COMBAT
Carbuncle
The furry thing smells Shamane from afar.
Without a word, it bites down on Shamane's calf familiarly.
Shamane: ...
Shamane: Fine...I should have been more courteous...
He opens his palm—the little purple flowers drenched in blood and sweat, wrinkled beyond recognition, lifeless like the one who picked them.
Carbuncle: ...?
Shamane: I saw he had...something like this. Sorry they got all...
He tilts his body slightly and raises his left shoulder.
Carbuncle: @#$%!...
It releases its mouth, looking somewhat dissatisfied.
Carbuncle: @#$%!
But it's generous with him.
The carbuncle reluctantly moves aside.
Shamane: ...Thank you.
Shamane: You have done your part dutifully.
He places the new adornment on the formation and catches up to the old man in the distance.
The furball gazes at him as his silhouette grows smaller and smaller...
Goat Herd
They paw away rocks, chewing the tender grass underneath.
Without the noise of water, the Tahr's ears are especially keen. The slightest wind can make them alert.
Shaman: Twee-twee—...
The long whistle pierces through the woods, gullies, and streams, echoing across the deep mountains.
The herd suddenly lifts their heads as one, looking at the old man above them, like a flock of loyal disciples.
The old man jumps down, and the herd abandons the delicious tender grass below, scurrying after him.
A stray lamb stops, looking at him with a hint of confusion.
Shamane: Uh, am I bothering you?
The lamb shakes its hooves, lifting its head—how effacing, letting the weak go first.
Shamane: ...
The youngster helplessly drops a shoulder, continuing to trudge between the sheep hooves.
The arrogant little lamb follows behind him—disciples will be disciples.
It struggles to keep up, stumbling and falling behind.
Reaching out his right hand, he gently carries the lamb overhead, squeezing into the herd.
Shaman: Two
The wolf pack lies between the rocks, not baring fangs or claws.
Alpha wolf: ...
The alpha straightens up, looking straight at the approaching old man.
Shaman: ...
The old man's steps happen to stop not far from the pack.
He slowly takes another step, as if breaking some boundary, and the alpha swiftly baring fangs, arching its back.
Shaman: ...
Shaman: Hmm... I need to ask you to leave for a bit.
The old man takes out a rope-like object, folding the small pouch on it. Putting in a stone, he swings his wrist.
"Clack!"
The rock shoots towards the pack, leaving an indent on the tree trunk behind them.
Hearing the sound, the alpha's erect ears tilt back slightly.
It twitches its nose, hesitating for a moment, and then leads the pack to retreat to the side of the rocks.
The old man picks up the stone, sighing.
His unforgiving silhouette keeps moving, hands clasped behind his back as he gradually walks away.
Shamane catches up, but the pack quickly scurries back. Baring their blood-red gums, clearly hostile.
With your fragile fists? Or... Perhaps you can find another way?
COMBAT
Wolves
Tree branches, sheep wool...he cobbles them together into a crude slingshot.
Shamane: ...Here's hoping this bluff works.
Grabbing a pebble, he places it in the leaf pouch and tries swinging it like the old man...
Shamane: Hah!
The pebble flies high! Before it even lands, the alpha makes way and the wolves scatter.
But the pebble hits nothing, flying endlessly, falling who knows where...
Shamane: Hah, I looked like that too when I saw the fire.
Shamane: ...
Shamane: The fear... Well I can't take credit for that.
The path opens, like an outstretched hand.
Epilogue
Shamane: Almost there...
He can already vaguely see the outline of the cabin.
His body is still panging with hunger. Another fruitless day.
Fruitless... Every day is fruitless.
Shamane: ...At least this time, I remembered to close the door.
He doesn't know why he's back here again—he has no home.
Shamane: But...what if...could it be?
He's ashamed to still be alive, but he's come this far—all in search of life's answer.
The blurry outline ahead becomes clearer.
Shamane sees the old man standing at the door of the cabin, gazing down at him and the forest behind him.
Shamane: ...
He stops.
The old man turns and enters the cabin.
Yet the door remains open.
Shamane: ...!
His troubled thoughts dissipate, and he quickened his steps up the steep slope.