Muri The Lightning Primordial

Chapter 8 [ The Fall Of A Primordial]

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fall of a Primordial

They returned to the village soaked, muddy, and still arguing about things that neither of them would remember by morning.

" I'm telling you, you aimed for that puddle on purpose," Venit said, her voice carrying that particular edge of someone who had been accused of something and was determined to deflect by any means necessary.

"I aimed for the bank." Muri replied for what felt like the tenth time, water still dripping from his dreadlocks in a steady, pathetic rhythm. "The puddle was an unfortunate coincidence."

"Nothing you do is a coincidence. You are a menace wrapped in a blind man's body, and I have proof now."

"You have no proof."

"I have witnesses. The trees saw everything."

‘ Is she taking Witness accounts from trees now?!?! ’

"The trees aren't talking."

"They don't need to. I know what I saw."

"And what exactly did you see?"

"A blind man, flailing, yelling ,falling, splashing, and then lying in the water like a stranded fish."

"I was recovering." He defended

"You were utterly defeated…by a fish!!"

Muri stopped walking, turned to face her, and pointed a wet finger in her general direction. "Let me remind you, oh mighty sky daughter, that I fell because I was trying to catch a fish that was too heavy for my line. A fish that you did not catch, because you were too busy standing on the bank and laughing."

"That was a very good laugh, though." She shrugs with her lips threatening to curve upwards.

"It was a very loud laugh." He frowns.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Everything is a compliment if you have enough confidence."

He shook his head, water droplets flying from his dreadlocks. "You are impossible."

"I am inevitable."

They emerged from the tree line into the village clearing, and the evening air hit them with the smell of cooking fires and the low murmur of families settling in for the night. Muri's feet found the familiar path toward the central fire pit, but before they could take three steps, his mother's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"You're back. And you're both soaked."

Muri sighed. "Hello to you too, Mother."

"Your son fell into a stream," Venit said immediately, with the kind of satisfaction that usually accompanied winning a bet or delivering bad news to someone you did not like.

"Your guest used sorcery to electrify me," Muri countered, holding up his hand as if to show evidence. "I still have static in my bones."

Sena's silence was heavy with judgment.

She was standing near the fire pit, a large pot of water already heating, her hands on her hips in that universal posture of maternal authority.

"I don't want to know the details," she said slowly with sigh.

"But I'm going to assume you both deserved whatever happened. Bring the catch to the fire pit. You're helping with dinner."

Muri groaned. "Mother, I'm tired. I'm wet. I've been electrocuted."

"You'll survive. I raised you to be useful."

Venit's eyes lit up with amusement. "I like your mother."

"Don't encourage her."

"I am a guest," Venit said, turning to Sena with an air of dignified protest.

"Surely a visitor to your clan deserves rest, not labor—"

Sena didn't even blink. "You're an extra pair of hands. Help or go hungry."

Venit opened her mouth, closed it, and then muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a language that predated human speech. Muri recognized the tone if not the words, and he couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face.

"Welcome to the clan," he said. "Everyone works."

"I am beginning to regret choosing this particular village to crash into."

"The jungle is still there. You're welcome to leave."

"I didn't say I was leaving. I said I was regretting. There's a difference."

"Keep telling yourself that."

The fire pit was a circle of stones near the center of the village, where the evening meal was prepared when the whole clan ate together. Sena had already laid out a spread of roots, herbs, and cooking pots. A large flat stone sat near the fire, heated by the flames, perfect for roasting fish and vegetables.

"Clean the fish," Sena said, handing Muri a knife. The blade was worn and familiar, its weight settling into his palm like an old friend. "Venit, start peeling the roots. There's a pile by the water trough."

Venit looked at the pile of knobby, dirt-caked roots with an expression of profound disdain. "These are... dirty."

"They're roots. They grow in dirt. That's what they do."

"I am not built for manual labor."

"Then it's a good time to learn."

Muri took the knife and settled onto a log near the water trough, his feet finding the familiar hollows in the ground that years of practice had worn into the earth. He worked quickly, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. The scales came off in clean strips, catching the fading light like tiny mirrors.

The guts followed in one smooth motion, and he set them aside in a bowl for broth. Within minutes, the first fish was filleted, the bones separated, the meat ready for seasoning.

Venit watched from across the fire, a half-peeled root frozen in her hands. Her eyes tracked his movements with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

"How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Filleting a fish. Without looking. Without hesitating."

Muri held up the knife, letting the firelight catch the blade. " First of all I can't look Venit, besides I have hands. I have a fish. The fish has bones. My hands know where the bones are. It's not complicated."

"That's—" She seemed torn between annoyance and genuine admiration, her voice wavering. "That's actually impressive."

"Don't sound so surprised. I have talents beyond walking into trees."

"That was one time."

"It was yesterday. And you've mentioned it at least seven times since."

"Because it's funny."

"It's exhausting."

Venit shook her head, turning back to her root. She peeled it with clumsy, uneven strokes, leaving half the skin on and gouging out chunks of the flesh. Muri could hear the uneven rhythm of her knife and suppress a smile.

He turned back to the second fish, and this time, he made a show of it. He let his hands move with extra flourish, the blade flashing in the firelight, the scales flying in satisfying arcs. He was showing off, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself.

"I could teach you, you know," he said, his voice casual. "If you're interested in learning a skill that doesn't involve lightning."

"I am a primordial being. I do not need to learn how to gut fish."

"Every being needs to gut fish at some point. It's a life skill."

"I have never needed to gutted a fish in my existence."

"Then you've never truly lived."

She threw a root peel at him.

It missed, but he heard it land somewhere to his left.

"Rude," he said.

"Accurate."

He was feeling proud of himself now—too proud. He flipped the third fish over with a dramatic twist of his wrist, the blade arcing through the air in what he imagined was an impressive flourish. But his confidence outpaced his precision. The blade caught the edge of his index finger.

Not deep.

Not enough to draw more than a pinprick of blood. But enough to make him freeze, his hand hovering mid-motion.

Venit's eyes went wide, and then she burst out laughing.

"You almost—you almost cut your own hand off!"

"I did not."

"Your finger was this close to joining the fish guts!"

"It was a minor miscalculation."

"You were showing off!"

"I was demonstrating!"

She was doubled over now, the root rolling off her lap and into the dirt. "Oh, this is beautiful. The mighty hunter, the master fisherman, almost loses a finger to his own ego."

Muri set the knife down with exaggerated care, his jaw tight. "I hope you find this as funny when I refuse to share my fish."

"I'll just take yours. You won't have hands left to eat with."

He glared in her direction, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. He couldn't help it. The situation was ridiculous, and he knew it.

Venit was still laughing, wiping tears from her eyes. "You should have seen your face."

"I can't see anything. That's the point."

"I know, but the expression—"

Sena, who had been watching the entire exchange with the expression of someone who had seen too much in her lifetime, simply handed Venit a bowl of herbs. "Crush these. And try not to electrocute my son again."

Venit took the bowl, still grinning. "No promises."