“What is wrong with you?” I snapped.
He stopped, his hand freezing against the wall.
“Excuse me?” “Can you walk any faster?” “I am blind.” He answered so calmly it somehow made me feel guilty.
His voice was patient, measured, as though he were explaining something simple to a child who refused to understand.
“How exactly do you expect me to run through a forest I’ve never seen before?” …
Right.
I had forgotten.
The realization hit me, washing away my impatience in an instant.
He couldn’t see.
He’d never seen this forest, never walked this path, never navigated these trees.
The forest floor was littered with roots and rocks, hidden dangers that could send him sprawling.
I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly, feeling heat creep up my cheeks.
The embarrassment settled deep in my stomach That was entirely my fault.
I walked back toward him, my feet crunching against the gravel path.
Without saying anything, I grabbed his hand.
His entire body stiffened, muscles tensing beneath my touch.
I could feel the tension radiating from him, the sudden wariness.
“…What are you doing?” “Helping you,” I replied.
“We don’t have time.” “Still—” I tightened my grip on his hand and started walking.
My fingers wrapped around his, warm and calloused, pulling him forward with determined purpose.
His hand was rough, hardened by years of sword work, but it was warm in mine.
He followed a little hesitantly at first, his steps uncertain, before matching my pace.
His hand relaxed in mine, the tension slowly draining away.
The path to the river wasn’t difficult.
It was well-worn, familiar, a route I’d walked countless times before.
Leaves rustled overhead as sunlight filtered through the branches, scattering patches of gold across the forest floor.
The air was fresh and clean, carrying the scent of earth and greenery, of moss and damp soil.
Birds sang somewhere in the distance, their songs floating through the trees.
And every now and then, the arrogant alpha would tilt his head slightly, listening to sounds I barely noticed.
A squirrel chattering.
A branch creaking.
The distant call of a hawk.
His head would turn, tracking the sound.
About fifteen minutes later, the trees began to thin.
The canopy opened up, revealing a sky streaked with clouds.
The gentle sound of flowing water filled the air, growing louder with each step.
“We’re here.” He stopped, his hand tightening around mine.
“…A river?” “Exactly.” “What are we doing here?” “Fishing.” Silence.
“…Fishing?” “Yes.” I proudly held the fishing rod in front of him, even though he couldn’t see it.
“We’re fishing.” Another pause.
“…You brought me all the way here…” “…Yes?” “…To fish?” I nodded.
“Exactly.” Without another word, I shoved the fishing rod into his hands.
His fingers closed around it automatically.
“There.” He blinked.
“…Why are you giving this to me?” “So you can fish.” “…Me?” “You’re the one holding the rod.” He slowly lowered his head, his shoulders slumping.
“…Heavens.” “What?” “…I’m blind.” “And?” He stared toward my voice in complete disbelief, those black pits somehow conveying the depths of his exasperation.
“…How exactly am I supposed to fish?” “I don’t see the problem.” I replied, titling my head a little.
So what if he was blind?
They were blind fishermen that I knew in the village growing up.
“You don’t—” He stopped himself, drawing a deep breath.
I could see him counting to ten in his head.
“I can’t see the water.” “So?” “I can’t see the fish.” “So?” He asked.
Because what exactly was his point?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his fingers pressing against his temples.
“…Fishing has everything to do with seeing.” “I disagree.” I replied.
“You’ve clearly never fished before.” He said “I have.” I replied.
“…Successfully?” He asked.
“…” He narrowed his eyes, his skepticism palpable.
“…Successfully?” “…That’s beside the point.” I replied.
Does it matter if it was successful?
I had tried fishing before.
“I knew it.” He replied I clicked my tongue, refusing to admit defeat.
“You’re a knight, aren’t you?” I asked him “Yes.” “Knights have excellent senses.” “…They do.” He replied “So use them.” I said.
This should be common sense no?
“…Against fish?” “Exactly.” “This is not a battlefield.” “It absolutely is.” I pointed dramatically toward the river, my arm sweeping through the air.
“Those fish have defeated me for weeks.” He looked at me like he wasn’t surprised and then sighed so deeply I thought he might collapse.
His shoulders sagged, his head dropping forward.
He ran his fingers over the fishing rod, tracing its length with careful precision.
The wood was smooth beneath his touch.
Then he frowned.
“…Where’s the fishing line?” “The what?” I asked confused.
“The fishing line.” “I don’t know what that is.” I replied.
What?
A fishing line?
He slowly turned his face toward me, his expression one of utter disbelief.
“…You don’t know what a fishing line is?” “No.” I replied.
Why was he looking at me like that?
“What about bait?” He asked “…Bait?” I asked back.
What is all this things he keeps asking me?
“The worm.” I physically recoiled, my face scrunching up.
“Worm?” “Yes.” “Ew.” “Ew?” “I’m trying to catch fish.” I said.
“That’s what the worm is for.” He explained.
“…Why would I feed the fish?” I asked back.
“So they’ll bite.” He explained again.
“…Then they’ll eat my worm?” I said disgusted.
“…That’s the point.” He replied.
I stared at him, my brain struggling to process this information.
“…You’re telling me people willingly give worms to fish?” “Yes.” “…That sounds like a terrible deal.” He let out another long sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“…How did you think people caught fish?” “I thought…” I pointed to the fishing rod.
“…You simply…
waved this around.” His mouth opened.
Then closed again.
He looked utterly defeated, his expression one of complete and total resignation.
Finally, he dragged one hand slowly down his face, his fingers trailing over his eyes.
“…Just…” He pointed vaguely toward the forest.
“…Get me a stick.”