“Is that really what happened?” Trebone’s voice was grave and unanimated.
If what Hansen said is true, then I can understand why she felt uncomfortable.
Hansen nodded briskly.
“Her reaction was reasonable, given the circumstances.” Hansen responded. “It’s hard to keep your emotions under control when you’re under pressure.”
In his rare, all too serious state, Trebone pondered the situation. There was only one conclusion, and it was a simple one.
I shouldn’t have gotten drunk, and I shouldn’t have been honest with Placida about my feelings.
Trebone realized that the damage done to his relationship with Placida was irreparable.
When she saw him come down from the village, all she must have seen was a dirty, stinky idiot who wanted her for her looks.
Man, that must’ve been awkward.
Trebone realized how different he was when he let loose. Placida must’ve felt pressured, and couldn’t pretend nothing happened when he came.
Still… isn’t she overreacting a little? I just asked her out. Mind me, I did do it while drunk as hell, but still...
“Hey, Trebone.” Hansen was looking at Trebone.
“Yeah. What is it?” Trebone replied, being dragged out of his thoughts.
“You need to fix this.” The normally quiet Hansen looked Trebone in the eyes. It was times like this when Trebone wished he could know what people were thinking.
How? Even if I apologize, the truth is still what it is.
“Even if you can’t apologize… “ Hansen struggled to get the words out of his mouth. Trebone realized that even he didn’t know what to do.
“Even if you can’t apologize, at least talk to her.” Hansen said, his eyes down cast.
“We can’t be like this, not right before we go into the forest.” Hansen’s voice grew bolder.
“We’re so close. This was going to be our big break. We were going to become real explorers. We were–”
“All right. I’ll go then.” Trebone replied.
“Wait… really? Is that it?” Hansen said. He had a look of disappointment, as though his speech was undermined by Trebone’s compliance.
“Yep. Not like I can really do much else, right.” Trebone said, walking off.
“Plus, we’re a team.” Trebone added, turning back and smiling.
---
Crap. What should I do?
Trebone edged the plateau with uncertainty. He had crossed the village and reached the outskirts, ready to make up. Sitting there with her head in her knees was Placida.
Trebone stood at the edge, racking his brain on how to apologize.
Come on, brain. You were so excited on the way here too. Let’s see… I’ve got nothing.
Trebone cast his head down.
Really though, I should just apologize. Apologize for making her uncomfortable and putting pressure on her. Yeah, that’s right.
Trebone looked at her. One more time, he mustered himself and moved.
Stepping off the plateau, he went to the spot on Placida’s left and sat down.
Silence. All Trebone could hear the wind brushing the grass.
Remembering why he came, Trebone spoke.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
“Have you head of the story of the– no you probably, uh, I probably told you that one.”
Trebone felt himself panicking. He pushed on nonetheless, remembering his words to Hansen: ‘We’re a team.’ Even if there were a million reasons not to say something, he still had one reason to keep on going.
“Groo was, umm, uh, a crocksarkoolen. He was also, uh–” Trebone could still feel the sweat on his palms.
Calm down. Take a deep breath, and tell the damn story.
Trebone took a large, placating breath and spoke once more. He spoke in a slow, careful tone as he told his story.
---
Groo was a Crocksarkoolian. A fine one at that. His mother had instilled the importance of good behavior and strong work ethic into him.
Being looked down upon by the wealthier Crocksarkoolians, Groo searched for opportunity outside his home country. He traveled for months on end, until he came upon a small village near the Crocsarkool border named Bandank.
The village has been terrorized by a lesser Mog. Without guards or mercenaries to protect, the village struggled. Groo was no fighter, but his fine upbringing has made him decide he would save the village. From what he had heard, the lesser Mog was brutally strong but also small and stupid.
Groo designed several traps and laid them in the forest behind the village. These traps scared the Mog, and it stopped coming. The villagers were grateful for Groo’s help, and Groo was grateful for the village. For he had realized something, something that spurred him to help other villages.
The realization moved him to relieve a village of drought by building a well, then to help a divided town by constituting formal law, then afterwards helping another village by introducing them to swordplay to defend themselves. After he had accomplished all this, Groo had become well known. But that didn’t matter to him.
He continued to help others, but one day felt that his usefulness had been spent. Wandering along, he happened upon the first village he had helped. They welcomed him, showing the prosperity their village experienced after his help.
Groo was happy. He asked if he could stay; the villagers were more than glad. There, near the edge of the village, Groo enjoyed the last of his days, living the same happy life he could’ve lived years ago, only now knowing he had done all he could.
---
“That’s a nice story.” Placida had her head out of her legs now. Her nose was red and her eyes were watery, and probably had been since she had sat there.
“Yeah.” Trebone replied.
Placida sniffed.
“We should get ready.” Trebone stood up, brushing the loose grass off his pants.
“Be at the other side in 20.” He walked off.
---
Placida came down to the other side with her bag slung over her shoulder. She saw them.
Two figures in front of the forest. One taller than the other, both with immeasurable shadows. She walked up and stood next to the shorter of the two, who spoke.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes.”
“All right then.” The three walked into the forest, their warm camaraderie disguising the icy chill of the forest.
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