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The next several days of labor proceeded apace. As Martin’s ability to grasp needed Kepmuun vocabulary and basic grammatical structure increased alongside his competency for hand carpentry, his deepest struggle was the war within himself to not binge the alcohol Kuubo kept in the kitchen of the cottage in which he and Namo were boarding. Within another day or so, his tremors had returned, but the tramp resolved to not steal from their host’s reserve, if only because Namo disapproved.

By the time their fifteen days of labor drew near its end, Martin had assisted with repairing three of the roofs in town, constructing a rotary quern for grinding corn into meal, and laying a concrete foundation for a new silo. The latter of these tasks genuinely surprised Martin in its technological ingenuity. He surmised that either the fauns of Uat’sn had reversed engineered how to make concrete from human designs, or someone learned the technology from humans directly. He supposed the latter was possible, considering Nino’opanaat spoke fluent English—it wouldn’t have been too outlandish that there could have been others who could as well.

Namo similarly had considerable success with her work, not that the fact surprised Martin. Not only was she able to gather some rare plants to help treat fever and rash spread by human-introduced mosquitoes, but she informed the man that she was able to compose drafts of three new songs based on the knowledge she had gained from the herbalists she worked with. Martin was surprised to learn that this brought the total number of songs she knew about plants to a staggering eighty-four, though she admitted many of the songs were more akin to musical mnemonics than lyrical epics.

Martin found himself enjoying the little rituals of cooking and caring for Kuubo followed by time alone with Namo by the fire or out on the patio. On the penultimate day of their indentured labor, Martin noted that it had been about a month since the two of them had crossed paths, when he attempted to mug her of her valuables. He reflected on how much his life had changed since then, as they watched the stars from the patio of Kuubo’s cottage. In hindsight, he realized he had been spinning in place without gaining traction, earning a disreputable image through craven thievery and law evasion. He was happy to have mostly left that life behind, though he still kept his unused revolver holstered at his waist. Namo had helped him to rediscover his purpose, to establish a goal, and that direction was almost as valuable to him as the loquaciousness she brought to his daily life. And speaking of which, he couldn’t deny that her penchant for chatter, singing, and storytelling had grown on him. Whereas Martin had at first found her penchant for yarn-weaving, her excited rambling, and her occasional air-headed absentmindedness distasteful, he now saw that those traits at the surface belied a deep wisdom and complex, mindful emotionality behind her view of the world and the people she had encountered. Perhaps part of what he had initially found irritating about her was that she was so earnestly passionate about so many things—plants, music, culture, and more besides—that he was envious that she had a drive he had lacked. With her support, he hoped that he could rekindle that ambition of his own and aspire to do something with his life. Now, a month after traveling together, as he glanced at the faun as she shared a story of her catching bugs as a kid with Uno’opan and Uyutuk, he loathed the idea of the two of them parting ways.

“—and then the little beetle sprayed this really nasty-smellin’ stuff all over her hand! She was soooo mad at Uyutuk, she gathered a buncha the beetles and dumped them all over his bed. It took him weeks to get the smell outta his bedding!” the faun concluded, trying hard to finish the story without cracking up. Martin said nothing, hoping that the slight but nevertheless sincere smile would convey his amusement.

A few moments passed where nothing was said between the two, yet the silence conveyed a mood of its own. Martin had noticed that the faun would often get uncharacteristically quiet after sharing an anecdote about her deceased friend. The silence felt like more than just her reflecting on the loss—not quite dwelling on it, more just reflecting on the time they shared, as if to more firmly sear the memory into her mind. Still, the man did find himself worrying from time to time that such pondering could easily lead to brooding. So, as he had done a few nights prior, he produced his harmonica from his jeans pocket.

The faun’s eyes sparkled in the lights of the torches that dotted the street. “Oh, you know I love your hamonica playing!” She had gotten better at pronouncing the word, but nevertheless had some trouble keeping her accent out of the way.

“Wanna duet?” Martin asked, rhetorically of course; he knew the answer before the words even left his mouth. He placed his lips against the metal instrument and blew a smooth stream, painting the street in a cool indigo tone that matched the hue of the sky against the torchlights. As he changed the tone and established a predictable chord progression—a standard, but timeless blues melody—Namo’s expert vocalise joined in as accompaniment, her gentler but nevertheless full-bodied burgundy voice harmonizing effortlessly with Martin’s harmonica as the two improvised moody, almost sultry jazz riffs.

Namo flowed from one ostinato to the next like mulled wine in the chilly fall air while Martin carried the backing melody. As they played and sang together, Martin realized that as much as her opinion on her had changed over the past month, one thing had grown on him more than any other: his companion’s beautiful singing. He reflected on how her heartfelt performance at Joplin’s bar back in Fordham had sown the seeds of their companionship. His mirthful grin at the thought of how that had led performing alongside her threatened to interrupt his ability to keep up. He failed to suppress a laugh and blew a discordant, ugly, grating sound through the harmonica. The inopportune juxtaposition of the harsh noise from the harmonica and Namo’s near-perfect pitch caused the pair to both erupt in laughter together, trading one music for another as their cackling filtered through the night air.

The following morning, Menope, Chief Nino’opanaat’s stiff adolescent attendant, summoned the pair to her liege’s longhouse by casually inviting herself into Kuubo’s cottage. Martin and Kuubo had already awoken and were preparing for the day, but Namo was jarred awake as the door was all but slammed open. She announced something in Kepmuun, of which Martin recognized only two words: “Today” and “complete”.

Namo blearily muttered something in Kepmuun as she yawned. Menope repeated the phrase with the same cold authority she had previously.

“She says that our work for the village is complete and that we should go with her to the longhouse so we can pick up our supplies,” the faun stated coldly as she rubbed her eyes.

A day early? Martin thought to himself, but he wasn’t going to push the subject if it meant having one less day’s distance between them and Fadina.

Menope waited patiently while Martin and Namo packed what belongings they had to pack. They both bid farewell to Kuubo, who told Martin with a heavily accented, but nevertheless heartfelt “Goodbye! See you soon!” to which Martin replied in a likely equally heavily accented “Podekuubo” as a personal farewell. Though the Kepmuu may not have meant it as such, Martin founding himself wishing he would see the jolly old man again.

The cold front that had moved through over the previous week had run its course for now, and as the trio followed side streets onto the central boulevard where the chief’s longhouse sprawled, Martin enjoyed the pleasant warmth from the rising sun. He remarked to Namo that he was looking forward to getting back on the road, to which Namo replied in tentative agreement. “Traveling’s in our blood,” she said. “We’re a lot alike in that way, don’tcha know?”

Martin considered the coldness of the chief and Menope to be odd in contrast to the demeanor of just about every other faun he had met in Uat’sn, who had been perhaps wary at first but had quickly warmed up to the pair. Even Buun, the construction foreman who supervised Martin, had acted congenially toward Martin once it was clear that the human was putting forth his best effort. So, it came as no small surprise when Chief Nino’opanaat, who was awaiting their arrival, stood from her throne and greeted the pair with a smile and a firm arm clasped on each of the travelers’ shoulders in a gesture of camaraderie. Martin almost thought to ask if something was wrong before the chief took the initiative. “It is good to see you today, Martin and Namo.” Her retainer took her place at the chief’s right, adjacent to her other retainer, whom they had only seen on the day of their arrival in Uat’sn. “Menope has been dutifully reporting to me your contributions to our village. I must say, at first I was skeptical. Amonuunkep often bring trouble with them, as I’m sure you can agree,” she said, giving the man a pointed look before taking a seat. “So you’ll forgive my caution, especially when you so much as said you brought news of trouble yourself.” The woman removed her arms from Namo and Martin’s shoulders and crossed them in front of her chest tuft. “But you two have done more than made yourselves useful: in as few as two weeks you’ve become a small part of the community. To’snobuun and Faabe’ematuu spoke highly of each of you to Menope,” the woman explained, referring to Martin’s and Namo’s supervisors by their full names, perhaps out of formality. Her tone conveyed that the efforts of the pair had exceeded her expectations.

“Be that as it may,” she continued with a chuckle, “the men and women of Uat’sn are not to be outdone so easily. My weavers have been working in shifts to tailor some warm clothes for the two of you. Luckily, we had some in-progress garments lying around, but I instructed them to use their finest imported wool to make you something that will keep you warm the year round. Please, take a look.” She gestured to two nearly identical stands to her left that served as mannequins for the clothing she had requested be tailored for the pair.

Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had expected something practical but unassuming, but what he instead saw before him could only be described as beautiful, from both a craftsmanship and aesthetic standpoint. The two parkas draped over the stand were exquisitely dyed in the characteristic geometric patterns that adorned many of the textiles Martin had seen. A mosaic of angular faces—some fauns, some animals—and other shapes painted patterns of rust red, orange, sky blue, and cream, like a sunrise over tundra. Martin realized that the colors matched the palette of the finery the chief herself wore, enhancing his curiosity regarding what they symbolized.

The travelers stepped forward to receive the garments, which the retainers lifted off of the mannequins and placed around their shoulders. The parka was snug but not tight—a perfect, comfortable fit, with the exception of him immediately being too warm to feel comfortable. The parka even had a pocket; the fauns had clearly spared no expense in tailoring it. Namo clearly felt similarly impressed by the tailoring, making pleased coos as she inspected the fit.

“Is it to your liking?” Nino’opanaat asked the human, rhetorical in her confidence of the quality of her village’s clothing. “I take it you’ve never worn Kepmuun clothing before.”

“No, I haven’t. This is wonderful,” Martin said, taking the garment off. “It’s far too warm to wear in here, but I almost look forward to needing it.”

“I haven’t seen these colors in Jeju,” Namo remarked. “They’re beautiful. They’re just like the colors you wear, Soka’snuutan.”

“That’s because these are the colors of my clan, Ke’eponuunamo, and by extension, the colors of Uat’sn. It is a nice feeling, is it not? One need only sow the seeds of labor, cultivate them for a time, and as sure as rain, one can reap the fruit.” She laughed, as if the analogy were some form of a joke. “Like I said, I was able to have these made for you as quickly as I did because they were garments I had already requested for my family a few months ago. They merely needed to make adjustments to make them better fit you.”

“Thank you very much for your kindness, Chief Nino’opanaat. I hope it was not too much trouble to have these made for us instead of you,” Namo said, eyes wide as she inspected the gloves next.

“You caused me no trouble whatsoever, so please don’t worry,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I only ask that you wear them with pride and represent us well. If you ever find yourselves in the area, know that you will be welcome in Uat’sn.” The imposing woman paused, giving Namo a meaningful stare. “That goes double for you, Ke’eponuunamo of Jeju.”

Namo averted her eyes and said nothing, causing Martin to furrow his brow. However, before the silence could grow awkward, Nino’opanaat continued: “But enough about that. Take the clothes and food; they are yours.” She paused as the pair packed away the goods into their rucksacks. “I wanted to share with you information about your journey ahead. You said you were heading to the southwest, correct? And you’ll be leaving as soon as possible?”

Martin nodded. “That’s correct, ma’am.”

The chief nodded her head, as if the question were rhetorical. “You must know that there’s some bad weather moving in from the south. You should be fine with the clothing I’ve provided you, but if you can afford to stay in town a couple more days I’d do so. As you head south from town, you’ll notice that our roads end after our growing fields. Keep climbing and you’ll see the mountains—we call them Kop’snukatap—to the southeast. Hold them on your left shoulder at all times. You’ll be heading southwest through the foothills for several days before you start to head down in elevation. Once you enter a pine forest, you’ll know you’re in the right place. It’s here that you’ll find the village of Uajee. They are allied with the humans of Esupreetuu.” She scratched her fuzzy chin for a moment. “Or, I think that’s how it’s called. Anyway, The humans there have built a bridge connecting our lands to Tuu’snokopse.”

Martin had pulled out his journal halfway through her relaying these directions and furiously scribbled notes. The region she described was blank on his map of central and southern Sinoe, and in truth, he relished the idea of exploring the area. He certainly relished the idea of being caught in inclement weather much less, but he felt that they lacked the luxury of tarrying while the weather passed knowing that Fadina could have been two weeks ahead of them on the trail. “Thank you for the information, and I appreciate the invitation to let us stay, but—if Namo’s okay with it—I think we need to be going.” A glance to his right indicated that she was in tentative agreement.

“Very well. Stay vigilant and seek shelter if needed; I’d hate for our rangers to pull your frozen carcasses out of the snow” she laughed, albeit mirthlessly this time. “Also, it would be a shame for those parkas to go to waste.” The quip felt almost like a threat.