“Just like you would never take me up on my offer to live with me.” He flashed a devious grin and I turned away. “Next time I’ll have Roscoe serve us food afterward.”
“Can you please not make him wear the maid’s outfit anymore? It’s really going to his head.”
“It’s hilarious. It’s like having my very own court jester.”
“You’re such an ass.”
We stepped into a clearing with several artificial caves carved into the large hills. Norwich was relatively flat, but further out into the woods were large sandstone hills. The last time we were here, everything had been gold and orange, but now even the leafiest trees had lost their foliage, and the only green remaining were the large Douglas Firs and other conifers blanketing the hills.
A small, rapid stream split the little feral village in half, a crooked log bridge connecting it. Several werewolves smoked herbs around a large bonfire while others carried freshly killed game to log butchering tables.
“This is what I always imagined hell would look like,” Mosavi muttered.
“Don’t be so crass. It’s unbecoming,” Willa scolded. “It’s quaint and lovely. It’s been a while since I was out in the middle of nature. There’s always something so peaceful about it.”
“Norwich is peaceful enough,” Mosavi said. “This place offers nothing that we cannot have better.”
The larger elder turned back to Darius and frowned, shaking his head. “Do you ever find joy in anything anymore, little brother?”
“I find joy in many things.”
“Such as?”
“My wife.”
The elder leaned in closer to him. “And?”
“I have all the money I could ever want. I have a nice house. Cars. I can go anywhere in the world I please. I live in comfort and luxury you could only dream of.”
“All of those things bring you joy?”
“Are you hard of hearing?”
Mosavi’s brother smiled. “My ears hear your words, but they do not hear joy when you speak them.”
“It must be all the caked-in dirt.”
The feral elder frowned again.
“Why have you called me here?” Mosavi asked, posturing aggressively. “Did you expect me to find joy in the oppressive stenches that settle over this place like smog?”
“I simply wanted to share the solstice with my brother.” He held out a familiar leather pouch. “We should smoke.”
It quickly became clear what the other elder was doing, and part of me—a very small part—wanted to warn Mosavi. The rest of me wanted to see what hilarity would ensue once that herb stripped every last bit of his smugness away.
The feral elder glanced at me and gave a half-grin.
“This looks different than I remember.”
“Do you no longer smoke?” Mosavi’s brother handed him a pipe carved with intricate designs. The craftsmanship seemed almost ancient.
“I smoke, yes. Only the finest tobacco.”
“Would you turn down tanbaku?”
Mosavi’s eyes widened. “How didyouget something so fine?”
“We are not completely cut off from the Midna. We do make trades.”
