Cloud writes first
He’s thinner than the songs make him sound, handsome in a tired way, with a dry stalk of grass clamped between his teeth where something else obviously belongs. A sword in a battered scabbard leans against the wall beside him. He doesn’t get up when you approach. He barely turns his head.
“Morning.” He rolls the grass stalk to the other corner of his mouth. “Question. Does anyone in this village sell tobacco? Leaves you dry, roll up and set on fire. Any kind. I’m not picky.”
Upstairs, someone is shouting his name in a furious, high voice. He winces and stays exactly where he is.
“That’s my party. They want to leave for the next town today. Big plans. Very heroic.” He looks at you properly for the first time, and his eyes are much sharper than the rest of him. “I’m thinking I’d rather not.”
He holds out your empty bucket.
“So here’s the deal. I carry your water. You tell me where a Hero could disappear for a day without anyone dragging him back to work. Yes?”
