Ruger discovered that his hair was twitching. For an instant, it seemed like an illusion-and it was an illusion. A breeze brushed past, and his hair naturally moved with it, barely stirring. Yet in that fleeting moment, he had vaguely felt his hair moving far more violently than the breeze could account for. He was not carrying any Spirit Furs right now, only hairs that had yet to undergo the final step of spiritual awakening. Of course, they already possessed a fair amount of spirituality.
But Ruger knew his own hair. Fuzzies that had not completed their final spiritual awakening would not wriggle on their own, so it had to be an illusion.
Yet was an illusion brought on by hair brimming with spirituality really just an illusion?
Could it be some kind of guidance? Guidance from spirituality?
That phrase, so often used by Wizards making excuses to brush people off, now rang in Ruger's mind in earnest.
Because he trusted his hair. They were high-quality hairs, full of spirituality, and had even saved his life before. They were good hairs. The hairs depended on their Fur Shepherd, and a Fur Shepherd had to trust his hairs in turn.
As a rather unqualified Villain.
Ruger had merely been curious about this house and wanted to pay a friendly visit, preferably exchange a few words, provided the other party was friendly enough and willing to be disturbed.
He had also judged that people here generally would not be conducting experiments that must not be interrupted.
Now, however, something unexpected had happened. It was not a matter of liking or dislike, friendliness or hostility, but an unforeseen situation outside those considerations altogether.
Ruger's thoughts raced. In truth, only a single breath had passed. Since there was something unusual here, whether good or