Muri The Lightning Primordial

Chapter 10 [Herding And Herbs]

CHAPTER TEN

Herding And Herbs

Muri woke to the sound of breathing.

It was not his own. It was not the familiar rhythm of the village stirring outside his mother's hut. This breathing was slow, heavy, and deep—the kind of breathing that belonged to someone who was completely, utterly, and shamelessly unconscious.

He lay still for a moment, his eyes open but unseeing, his ears parsing the unfamiliar sound. It was coming from the other side of the hut.

From the pile of furs where Venit had collapsed the night before after eating enough fish to feed a family of four.

He sat up slowly, listening.

She was sprawled. He could tell from the way her breathing echoed off the walls—she wasn't curled up in a dignified, goddess-like repose.

She was lying flat on her back, arms probably thrown out in opposite directions, mouth probably open wide enough to catch flies. The sounds she was making were not dignified. There was a soft whistle on the inhale, a slight rumble on the exhale, and occasionally, a tiny snort that made him bite his lip to keep from laughing.

Muri's lips twitched. "So much for the great goddess," he murmured to himself, barely audible. "Sounds like a dying goat with a cold."

He swung his legs off the sleeping platform and felt for his clothes. The morning air was cool, carrying the smell of dew and woodsmoke and the faint earthy scent of the jungle beyond the village. Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed with the kind of enthusiasm that only roosters seemed to possess at this hour.

He heard movement from Venit's corner—a soft shift, a grunt, then a long, groggy pause. The breathing changed, became more conscious.

"Arghhhh...what time is it?" Her voice was thick, slurred, nothing like the sharp, theatrical tone she usually wielded like a weapon.

"Early. Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't asleep." She countered immediately as she sat up quickly rubbing her mouth.

"You were snoring." He chuckled.

Her voice sharpened slightly, though still rough. "I do not snore."

"You were making sounds. Rhythmic sounds. With your mouth open."

"I was... cultivating."

" With your mouth open?"

"Advanced technique. Deep cosmic breathing."

"And the snorting?"

"A spiritual release."

He shook his head, pulling on his tunic. "Get up. My mother will be here any moment."

As if on cue, the hide covering the doorway rustled, and Sena's voice cut through the dim morning light like a blade wrapped in calm authority. "Both of you. Up. The sheep need to go out, and I need herbs from the eastern ridge."

Venit groaned, a long, theatrical sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her soul. "I am a Primordial being. I do not take orders from—"

"You'll take orders from me if you want breakfast." Sena's voice was flat, final, the kind of tone that had ended wars and settled arguments for generations.

Venit muttered something in a language that made the air feel slightly warmer. A faint glow flickered from her corner, then faded. She got up.

The morning unfolded in a blur of wool and bickering.

Herding the sheep to the pasture was supposed to be simple.

Open the pen.

Let them walk.

Guide them toward the grass.

It was a task Muri had done a thousand times, a rhythm he knew by heart.

Venit, however, had opinions.

"Your sheep are disorganized," she announced, standing at the edge of the pen with her arms crossed.

"They're sheep. They're supposed to be disorganized."

"They move like a cloud that forgot its purpose."

"They move like sheep. That's their purpose."

"They need coordination. A leader."

"You're volunteering?"

"I'm observing."

"You're judging."

"Same thing."

Muri clicked his tongue, a soft, rhythmic sound, and the flock turned left as one, flowing through the gate like water. Venit watched, and he could feel her glare burning into the side of his head.

"You clicked and they just listen?!?!"

"Years of training."

"You trained sheep??"

"Years of training myself to communicate with sheep. There's a difference."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." She said with a tone filled with pity and sarcasm.

"You literally fell out of the sky and into a mud puddle."

"I was struck down by a cosmic force beyond your comprehension." She huffed

"You were clumsy to pick a mud as your landing spot."

She made an indignant sound, but she didn't have a comeback. They walked in silence for a few steps, the sheep bleating softly ahead of them.

Then Venit spoke again. "Why do you click in that specific pattern?"

"It's a language. Different clicks mean different things."

"Like what?"

"Two short clicks means 'follow.' One long click means 'stop.' A rapid series means 'danger.' ”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, grudgingly said—"That's actually clever."

"Thank you."

"I didn't say it was impressive. I said it was clever. There's a difference."

"Of course."

They reached the pasture, and Muri guided the ewes through the gate with a series of gentle clicks. The lambs followed, bleating, their tiny hooves making soft sounds on the damp grass. He latched the gate behind them and turned to Venit.

"East ridge. Herbs. Let's go."

They walked into the jungle, and the arguments continued.

"You're walking too fast again," she said, her voice carrying that particular edge of someone who was determined to find something to complain about.

"I'm walking at a normal pace."

"Your normal pace is aggressive."

"My normal pace is efficient."

"Your efficiency is going to get us lost."

"I'm not lost. I know exactly where we are."

"Where are we?" She counters

He paused, turning his head to parse the sounds around him. "About two hundred paces from the pasture."

"That's not very specific."

"That's all you're getting." He shrugs

"I could fly up and look."

"You could. But then you'd have to admit you are a big bird."

"I don't need to admit anything."

They walked further. The trees thickened, the canopy closing above them. The air grew cooler, damp with the breath of the jungle. Muri's feet found the familiar path, his hands brushing against leaves and branches that he knew by texture and position.

Venit stepped over a root, stumbled, and cursed in a language that made a nearby bird take flight.

"Careful," Muri said, his voice dry. "Wouldn't want the great and mighty goddess to trip over a root."

"I wouldn't have tripped if you had warned me about the root."

"You have eyes."

"They were focused on more important things."

"Like what?"

"Like how annoying you are."

"That's a full-time job, I'm sure."

They reached the ridge, and Muri found the herbs by smell. A patch of wild mint, its sharp, clean scent cutting through the earthy undergrowth. And nearby, the bitter aroma of feverroot, its leaves dark and jagged. He knelt, his fingers finding the stems, snapping them at just the right agle with practiced ease.

Venit watched in silence for once. He could feel her presence, still and attentive. Then said—"You're good at that."

"I know."He replied with a smug tone.

"Humility isn't your strong suit." She scoffs.

"Neither is seeing. We all have weaknesses."

She snorted. "That's not a weakness. That's a fact."

"So is my lack of humility and sight."

They gathered the herbs in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The sun climbed higher, warming the air. Insects buzzed. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out in a pattern Muri recognized—a warning call, but distant, not immediate.

By the time he stood up, the satchel was full. He slung it over his shoulder. "Let's head back."

They turned toward the village, and the arguments resumed.

"Do you think the sky is a different color today?" Venit asked, her voice thoughtful.

"The sky is the sky. I'm sure it's looks like the sky " he replies lazily.

"But the shade. It's deeper. More blue."

" I think it's more red." Muri smirks

“ More of orange, I mean its sun set and…wait you cannot see!!! ” She snaps as she realized he had led her on.

"The clouds have shifted." She says after a second of allowing him gloat in his teasing.

"The clouds shift constantly."

"Exactly. So it's different."

"That's not what you meant, and you know it."

"It's exactly what I meant."

"You were being poetic."

"I was being observant."

"You were being dramatic."

"Dramatic is my default state."

"Then we have something in common."

She paused. "Did you just admit we have something in common?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. It's already there."