A fresh breeze flowed across the river surface, brushing against Snake Tongue's body and stirring her collar and robe hem, blending the quietly standing woman into the vibrant morning river scene.
As the wind passed and shadows shifted, Snake Tongue's heart remained still as water. After paying her respects, she said nothing more, merely staring at her bare toes as she quietly awaited instructions.
"Good morning. Sorry to disturb your rest." Ronan's hoarse voice reached her ears, polite yet easygoing. "I may need you to help with something later. It's what you've grown most accustomed to doing in Battlefield Time-Space lately."
"...Hai."
"I originally considered doing it in Battlefield Time-Space, but then I thought about it. That's in the Mist Labyrinth—too close."
Ronan's words had always been difficult to understand. Perhaps because his logic was always hidden behind background information others did not know. And that "background" was often built upon perceptive abilities beyond ordinary imagination.
That was how Snake Tongue understood it.
Absurdly enough, after gaining deeper contact with that "background," what she received was not clarity, but helplessness and numbness from constantly facing a gulf in perception.
Once she had grown used to it, Snake Tongue became especially skilled at putting herself in the proper position. She only needed to listen quietly, receive orders, and carry them out.
This time, Ronan's clear instructions did not arrive immediately. "Wait a moment. Make some preparations too. I need to reinforce things on this end."
What could Snake Tongue possibly prepare? There were no spare clothes or toiletries for her here. At most, she could reinforce her resolve.
She slightly drew her collar together and stood in a corner where she would not disturb Ronan's work, watching coldly.
By "reinforcement," Ronan obviously did not mean taking a hammer and nails to