The rock glistened under the sweat that fell from the old man's brow as he smoothed the large material underneath him. Gunther was surprisingly spry for his age—especially when driven by one of the dozen ideas that struck him each day. He stood to examine his work, wiping sweat from his face as he pulled on the bidi hanging from his mouth.
There wasn't a day that went by where he wasn't working on something– well unless he was distracted by another idea which would typically send him off to his workshop to draw up some schematics or tinker away until he was satisfied with what he made. Tribes came with odd requests now and then—requests he was always happy to oblige. He seldom fully understood them until they showed him the work, or a translator was nearby.
He lived on the outskirts near the Suq tribes by himself for almost a decade now. The days by the mouth of the mangrove blended together from one warm red sunset to the next. Gunther found peace in his work yet seldom any importance in it. It was a tranquil life of monotony– fruits for breakfast and fresh fish every evening for lunch. If he even remembered to eat in-between projects. His diet mostly consisted of smoking brassroot and these days his rations of the stuff were running low. The plant only grew on the Cliffs of Behemot and his only supplier hadn't been back in over a month.
He exhaled letting the smoke float up in the heavy evening air.
"I wish the boy was here," he exclaimed to the still waters of the mangrove that croaked and hummed with the bustling unseen life of the landscape. Waves in the distance crashed from the coast behind him– only a quick trek to sea from the still waters that his hut overlooked.
Neither view appealed to Gunther.
He preferred the rolling hills of green that haunted him from his old life. The family he left behind when the civil unrest began.
Before the Succession Wars became more than just political leverage against each House.
He took another deep inhale from his bidi.
'The angle is still a bit off on the foot.' He crouched back down, grinding away at the edge of the rock. The dome over the makeshift oven was almost done. All that was left was to check if the heat distributed evenly on the surface before placing the dragonfly wings over it.
Ta'Zan had shown him how malleable the wings became at just the right temperature. It was one of the many curiosities he found on his treks into the wilds.
'That boy is always bringing back the oddest materials.'
He worked well past the evening light until the only light guiding his hands was the red embers of the second to last bidi he had on him. A splash and the thud of someone stepping on his dock brought the old man to his feet as he studied the last few strokes he made on the boulder. He exhaled in satisfaction as he squinted in the dark to see who came to greet him so late in the day.
Voy approached, gaze fixed on the smooth dome of stone by the old man's feet. His scales glistened, still layered in a light coat of water.
Gunther did his best to hiss the common greeting among all the tribes– As the currents guide.
It was one of the few phrases he committed to memory over the years. His accent left a lot to be desired by the Suq.
Voy blew air out of his nostrils dismissively at the greeting.
"To hell with the currents. Do you have a light? " The young Ok'owik spat out the words in common tongue as it rummaged through his belt pouch for dry herbs to smoke.
Gunther took a final pull, then passed the bidi to his frustrated guest. The Ok'owik took it and nodded a gesture of thanks before using it to light his own and passing the bidi back to his host. He took a deep pull– filling the space between the two with silence.
"All the currents ever do is laugh at us." Voy finally exclaimed as he let the smoke escape his lungs into the night air.
'The Egg Hunt must have gone poorly for them if this child came back so distraught compared to how he left' Gunther was used to the fickleness of Voy's attitude.
'Voy was a simple current to guide' A phrase the old man found fun to say in the Suq dialect. One he perfected well since meeting the Ok'owik hatchling years ago.
Gunther knew he should check the heat distribution before using the limited material he had but he trusted his work too much to waste time on frivolous steps. He also knew the young Suq would appreciate the distraction from whatever lay heavy on his mind.
"Hand me some firewood and help me light this stove up" Voy didn't need any more instructions and walked straight into Gunther's house. As Voy gathered the wood Gunther followed him in and grabbed a crate of dragonfly wings for his little experiment.
They worked quietly at their individual tasks. Voy had a fire primed and ready to feed more wood by the time Gunther started lining the handmade edges of the dome with wings.
As he layered each wing methodically slightly over each other he couldn't help but note the strong fresh smell of Voy's pipevine.
"Have you seen Ta'Zan recently?" The two shared the same supplier of herbs.
"Heh, your nose is as sharp as ever old man" Voy took a quick puff before continuing in excitement. His eyes, mesmerized by the sight of the small fire he made.
"That boy is crazy, you know that, right? He offered" He took another pull, "OFFERED to distract the wyverns for us during the raid."
He recounted the raid, explaining how they planned to steal the kanabal's egg while Ta'Zan faced the parents alone. The smoke lingered around the hatchling's snout as the words raced to escape his mouth– tendrils slipping between the gaps of his thecodont teeth.
He hesitated as he reached the point where they encountered the winged beasts. Voy took the last drag of his bidi, then flicked it into the crackling fire. For a moment, he said nothing.
"Ta'Zan was the only part of the plan that went as we planned" The solemnity of his words punctuated another silence– the two sat in comfortably in its weight.
Gunther moved quietly around the dome as he continued to place the wings down. He released a tension in his shoulders he didn't even know he was holding after hearing that Ta'Zan was still alive.
"Who did we lose?" Gunther asked quietly, matching the child's pain.
Voy took out another two bidis and lit one with the embers of a branch he pulled from the fire– the other with the one lit in his mouth. He offered one to the old man who paused from his work to accept the gift.
Gunther had barely touched his bidi since Voy arrived—he often let them burn out mid-task. It was mostly just a habit to have one in his mouth, rather than indulgence.
Voy drew slow fire letting the smoke warm his chest, buying him another quiet minute.
"Broghild"
The old man stood there in disbelief. It was the last name he expected to hear come out the Ok'owik's mouth. Broghild and his family were the first ones to make contact with Zanderheim– establishing a bond between his former kingdom and Suqs.
The first Suq he ever spoke to.
Even Gunther who was oblivious to the Suqs' ways understood how entangled Broghild was with the currents. He established balance within the tribes effortlessly– something Gunther always envied and admired about that family.
Something he wished his former King knew how to do. He stared into the early night sky as smoke slowly escaped from his mouth towards the first evening stars.
'There is still hope left with the prince.'
He placed a hand on Voy's shoulder to express his pain at hearing the news.
"This sail was meant for Broghild's boat," his voice low as he pointed his bidi at the dragonfly wings over the dome. "Let's send him off with one final gift. On wings even the currents will envy."
Voy held back tears as he nodded in agreement.
The two went back to work quietly under the light of the fire.