Chapter Text
Wanderer wakes abruptly. He sits up. Beside him, curled tightly beneath a handful of child-sized blankets, Durin whimpers, wincing in his sleep, face contorted into a grimace.
Wanderer blinks, drowsiness hanging from heavy lashes. He clambers out of his sleeping pack, takes hold of mini-Durin, and jostles him awake.
The dragon's eyes fly open, frenzily looking around. His wings pull taut, ready to take flight at a moment's notice.
"Durin," Wanderer says. Those wide eyes find his. "You had a nightmare."
The haze begins to lift. Mini-Durin's wings sag. His eyes blink once, twice, and then shut tight. Tears begin to fall at last. The dragon shifts towards Wanderer, wings coming up to tangle around his nearest arm.
"They—" Durin chokes on his words "—my friends, they were with me, but…" He shakes his head against Wanderer's arm. "All red, it burned…I couldn't stop it so… But they wouldn't listen…" His words are half-lost as he begins to tremble.
Durin sobs quietly, frame shaking because he won't let the louder cries come out. His wings fall limp behind him. Wanderer takes pity and pulls the dragon into his arms. Only like this does Durin finally begin to wail openly.
It's an unpleasant sound. Sharp, and strained. Wanderer's shoulder becomes wet with tears and snot, but he ignores the sensation. It is a tedious part of a bigger process: all children cry when they are frightened. Many adults try and ease it. "There's no monster under the bed." "They can't hurt you." "I'll protect you."
Those are false promises. Humans are as fragile as they come. And so are children. But at least the children recognize that. The platitudes never work for long, because it isn't monsters that they're truly afraid of.
So Wanderer says nothing. He allows Durin to cling to him until his tears have all dried up. Once the sniffling has subsided, Durin pulls back and flutters down to his blankets.
"I'm sorry," Durin mutters. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"It doesn't matter now." Wanderer takes in the stiff way Durin holds his wings. "Can you fall back to sleep?"
"Right now?" Mini-Durin mulls the question over, then shakes his head. "I'm not sure… But I don't want to have that nightmare again, so…"
"Fine. I figured as much." Wanderer pulls himself to his feet. Mini-Durin looks up, tilting his head to watch him. "There's no use lying around pretending to be tired. Get up — we're going on a walk."
Avidya Forest is full of life, even at obscene hours of the night. Wanderer and Mini-Durin pick out a path across dark earth littered with leaves, lit occasionally by fungi or insects. Rishboland tigers make themselves known, roars echoing across the canopies.
Mini-Durin stays close, wings flapping unsteadily whenever a sound or sight startles him.
"Is it safe to be here so late?" he wonders. Wanderer shoots a look at him over his shoulder, takes in the tension in Durin's features.
"So long as you're with me, yes."
Those little wings flap again. "I trust you," Durin replies. "But it's still a bit scary."
"So be scared." Wanderer tilts his head up, holding on to his hat so it does not fall. His eyes scan the treetops — no hidden enemies that he can see — and then he shrugs. "Maybe it'll help you be more aware of your surroundings."
"Eep!" Mini-Durin scuttles back in a hurry; he's nearly tangled himself in a spider web.
"See what I mean? Pay more attention to where you're going."
"Right…" Mini-Durin heaves a sigh once he's caught up to Wanderer again. "I'm glad you're here with me, Hat Guy."
Wanderer hums noncommitally, but he slows his pace a bit so the little dragon isn't struggling to keep up. Together, they push through the undergrowth. Mini-Durin fills the silence with idle chatter.
They come upon a particularly large and tall tree. Wanderer kicks his foot against a large mushroom at its base; it wiggles freely in response. A Bouncy Mushroom. He jumps upon it and richochets into the sky.
Wanderer grabs at a branch and hauls himself up and over it before gravity can take its toll.
"Mother used to tell me lots of stories." Mini-Durin flaps his wings and hurries to catch up. "Is it true that in Sumeru, there are Dodocos only children can see?"
"What's a Dodoco?"
"Um, I don't really know."
Wanderer grunts, rearranging his limbs on the branch. "The closest creature to that is called an Aranara. And no one knows if they are real or not." A lie — Wanderer knows they are real. He's seen them: little round radishes with spinning hats and bark-like patterns. They gather wherever children play on the outskirts of Sumeru City and hide among the Great Tree's leaves.
"Oh! I hope I can see them one day." Mini-Durin laughs. "Mother said they can sing!"
"Durin." Wanderer leans back against the tree's trunk. "This is pointless conversation. What is it you're dancing around?"
The dragon's wings flutter, nervous. He lowers himself to the same branch the Wanderer rests on. "Well…" He swallows hard. "Back home, the toy soldiers and paper squirrels are friendly to everyone, even strangers. But I don't know anyone here. I just know that the Durin of this world… He hurt lots of people."
"What about that needs my input?"
"Mm." Durin shifts from foot to foot. "What do you do if people don't like you?"
A laugh steals its way from Wanderer's lungs. "Nothing. I don't care what people think of me."
"Yes, you do," Mini-Durin protests. "You care about lots of people!"
Wanderer shakes his head and turns his gaze away. He looks out at the forest, watching lightning bugs flitter about among the foliage. Nahida would say he was trying to sidestep the issue. Idiotic — there's no need to sidestep what's irrelevant.
"Don't pretend you know me well. We've only traveled together for a month."
"Every day for a month. And Simulanka. I know you care about people because they like you. Like the Traveler, and Navia, and all the others. They believed in you before."
Wanderer bites his tongue. There's no use arguing with a child; there's no gray in their worlds, only whites and blacks. Either Wanderer is a friend, or he is a foe. There's no consideration for the rest. It's short-sighted. Laughable.
Only… Wanderer's found himself saddled with this child. One whose path is now open to being rewritten. It's a long road. A lonely one. And whether he likes it or not, Wanderer understands it all too well.
"You asked me what I do when people don't like me," he replies. "I answered."
The dragon hums, uncertain. "Well… What if you want them to like you?"
"I wouldn't."
"But what if you did?"
Wanderer sighs. He pulls the hat from his head and leans back against the bark of the tree. A gust of wind snakes its way through the treetops, blowing hot Sumeru air against their cheeks.
"In Vahumana," he begins, carefully, "there are those who study human relationships."
"What do they say?" Mini-Durin latches greedily onto the information.
"Companionship is built in two ways. You have to be present, and you have to connect."
"Present… Like, when you listen to me tell stories?"
Wanderer lets out a huff. "No. When have I offered back a story of my own?"
Mini-Durin hums. "Maybe… When you tell me about your friends?"
Wanderer scoffs. "I don't tell stories about them."
Mini-Durin looks up at him then, with big, round eyes, and a smile.
"I'm glad you're mine, then," he says. "My first friend."
Wanderer feels something tense in his throat at the words. He puts his hat back on his head.
"It's late. Let's go back now." He drops off the edge of the branch without letting the dragon get another word in.