Amid the Fuzzies' cheerful wriggling, there seemed to be a figure made of Fuzzies, a beast composed of them, lounging lazily behind all the lively, bouncing Fuzzies.
He could sense quite clearly that it was lying there asleep, exuding a sense of lovely indolence.
As he sensed it, a pleasant, warm, lazy, comfortable feeling welled up within him.
It gave him, who had been so anxious until now, a special moment of respite.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Forcibly interrupting the process was also an option, but Little Grass's writings had mentioned that talent, spirituality, rituals, the help provided by the location, and so on were all important to mastering this language. Yet there was one more factor: luck.
Sometimes, in those ancient times, even under the stringent conditions back then, highly gifted people could have become Four-Language Wizards. But because they were dissatisfied with the unique language they had awakened and mastered on their own, they let that opportunity slip instead of truly seizing it. Once missed, it could mean decades of waiting. There were even records of people who never became Four-Language Wizards in their entire lives.
There was an element of inevitability to this search and pursuit, but also a great deal of uncertainty.
As the Fuzzies bounced, the feeling of having something to say surged up again.
This is already the third time, Ruger thought.
Did the first two count as failures?
If they did, that's fine. At least even if this one succeeds, I won't become a Four-Language Wizard.
He already looked strange enough. If he became a dog that could not open his mouth on top of that, it would be far too bizarre. Besides, he still wanted to eat great mouthfuls of meat, savor the food Aisijin and Big Silly Hum so painstakingly