“A stick?” I asked confused.
Again.
“A long one.” “…Why?” “One with a sharp end.” I frowned, confusion replacing my earlier embarrassment.
“And where exactly am I supposed to find something like that?” I asked him.
He didn’t even hesitate.
“In the bushes behind you.” I turned around.
There were, in fact…
Several perfectly straight branches growing behind me.
They rose from the undergrowth, tall and sturdy.I hadn’t even noticed them before.
I looked back at him.
“…How did you know that?” “I heard the wind moving through them.” I stared.
That was ridiculous.
That made no sense “You can hear bushes?” I asked.
“I can hear you breathing.” He replied.
“…That’s creepy.” I said, giving him a look.
“…Go get the stick, Sol.” He said tiredly.
I narrowed my eyes.
“And sharpen the ends with your pocket knife” he said.
How did he know I had a pocket knife on me?
I looked at him.
He simply folded his arms, waiting.
I huffed dramatically before marching into the bushes, pushing aside leaves and twigs.
“If this doesn’t work, I’m blaming you,” I grumbled.
“I expected nothing less,” he replied.
I shot him one last glare before pushing through the bushes.
The undergrowth was thick, the branches catching at my clothes.
It didn’t take long to find a sturdy branch about as tall as I was, straight and strong.
After snapping off the smaller twigs, I used my pocket knife to sharpen one end as best as I could before carrying it back.
“I found one.” I placed the stick into his waiting hand.
His fingers closed around it immediately, testing its weight and balance.
He ran his fingers along its length, checking the sharpness of the tip, before giving a small nod of approval.
“This will do.” Without another word, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing forearms corded with muscle.
Then he folded his trousers to his knees, the fabric bunched up above his calves.
I watched curiously as he stepped into the river.
His bare feet sank into the soft mud, then found purchase on the rocky bottom.
He adjusted his stance, finding his balance.
The water wasn’t deep.
It barely reached halfway up his calves, flowing gently around his legs.
Even if he lost his footing, nothing serious would happen.
The current was gentle, the water clear.
He stood perfectly still.
His head tilted slightly as though he was listening to something only he could hear.
His breathing slowed, becoming deep and even.
The river continued flowing peacefully.
Birds chirped somewhere in the trees.
A light breeze stirred the leaves overhead.
I didn’t say a word.
I simply watched.
How was he planning to catch anything if he couldn’t even see?
And worst of all without a fishing rod?
Just a sharpened stick and a blind man standing in the water.
Several seconds passed.
Then, without warning, he spun toward his left and drove the sharpened stick into the water with blinding speed.
Splash!
Water sprayed into the air, catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds.
He lifted the stick.
A fish wriggled wildly on the sharpened end, its silver scales flashing in the sun.
My eyes widened.
“You actually caught one!” I clapped my hands in delight, my earlier skepticism completely forgotten.
The joy bubbled up inside me, warm and genuine.
“Here!
Put it in here!” I grabbed the woven basket and rushed to the water’s edge, holding it out for him.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
It was a small expression, barely there, but I caught it.
He slid the fish into the basket.
It landed with a soft thump, still flapping weakly.
“Again?” I asked excitedly, bouncing on my heels.
“Again.” Before long he had caught another.
Then another.
And another.
Each time, he would stand perfectly still, listening, waiting.
Then, with that same explosive speed, he would strike.
Water would fly, and a fish would appear.
Meanwhile, I had spent weeks standing beside this same river waving a fishing rod around like an idiot.
I’d caught nothing.
Not a single fish.
“…I guess the fish’s hate me,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” he asked, his head tilting toward me.
“Nothing.” Within a short while, the basket was nearly full.
The fish were piled on top of each other, silver scales glistening.
“That’s enough!” I said quickly, my voice sharp with urgency.
“We have to get back.” He climbed out of the river, water streaming from his legs.
He rolled his trousers back down, the wet fabric clinging to his skin.
As soon as he was ready, I picked up the basket and practically dragged him home.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” he asked as we walked, his footsteps quickening to match my pace.
“We have to clean the fish before Theo gets back.” I replied “Why?” We stepped into the house, and I headed straight for the kitchen.
The basket was heavy in my arms, the fish still slick with river water.
I placed the basket on the counter before grabbing a knife.
“Theo hates killing animals.” I picked up one of the fish, its scales cold against my fingers.
“Insects too.
He hates killing anything.” He looked genuinely surprised, his eyebrows lifting.
“So…
he wouldn’t eat the fish?” “He would.” I shrugged.
“I’ll just tell him the Goddess gave them to us.” “The Goddess?” He sounded utterly unconvinced, his voice flat with skepticism.
“Yes.” I began scaling the first fish, the knife moving in practiced strokes.
“The Goddess.” “Is he actually going to believe that?” “Of course he will.” I glanced at him.
“Do you want to help me, Mister?” There was a brief silence.
“…Garrett.” “What?” “My name.” He stepped fully into the kitchen.
“It’s Garrett.” I blinked, the name settling in my mind.
“Oh.” “What?” “…What an ugly name.” I whispered it so quietly I thought he hadn’t heard me.
“What?” He frowned, his head turning toward me.
I smiled innocently, widening my eyes.
“Nothing.
I said it suits you.” Which wasn’t entirely a lie.
It suited him perfectly.
Dark, strong, with an edge of arrogance.
A man with such an arrogant personality couldn’t possibly have a prettier name.
Garrett simply shook his head, his skepticism obvious.