“I still find it impressive,” Geoffrey said, munching on his dinner as he watched Cerwin crochet a cardigan for him. He had seen the process from beginning to end, how Cerwin gathered the wool from wild goats, how he weaved it into balls, and now how he crocheted clothing. The dress he had was too light to brave the winter months, so the mountain spirit had decided to make him something warmer. 

“It’s not exactly what I’d call impressive,” Cerwin grunted a few words in response, his eyes locked onto his work. “It’s easy to do once you know how to do it. I’m sure even you can do it, and that’s despite your clumsy fingers.”

“Uh-huh.”

Although unconvinced, Geoffrey decided not to push the matter, or he feared Cerwin would stuff the balls of wool and the crochets in his hands and demand that he try. So instead, he swallowed the last bite of his dinner, and started working on his own task: processing dry grains and cereals to store them. If moisture were to get trapped, and mold got a hold of the storage room, then everything could get spoiled, and he wouldn’t have much to eat until spring, for he doubted Cerwin had it in him to hunt nearby animals.

In the worst-case scenario, they could always steal some food from the mining settlement, such as bread and the like. Maybe some alcohol, too.

Speaking of the mining settlement, these noisy neighbors of theirs had been detonating explosives as of late, making the whole mountain range shake every few days. The first time it happened, Geoffrey’s heart leaped to his throat as he thought the cave would collapse on them. It was nerve-wracking whenever the rock floor under him started to vibrate as if a dozen horses were stomping the ground, and dust fell from the ceiling and the walls.

It's been a while since the last blast. It was a simple constatation, but the moment Geoffrey thought of it, a blaring sound echoed, almost as if to mock him.

“I wonder how many more holes they’re going to blast into the mountain.” Geoffrey winced, the dust hovering in the air eliciting another coughing fit.

Deep down, he already knew the answer. They would keep blasting the mountain until they had drained it of all its valuable resources. Humans, at least those he knew, had always been like this, taking everything and leaving nothing behind.

The deforested land popped into his mind. As weeks passed, more and more trees had been cut down, leaving a gaping hole of desolate ground behind. Every day, Geoffrey witnessed the clearing getting bigger, swallowing a bit more of the beautiful scenery.

It’s truly rotting away. How regretful.

“Oh, right, Cerwin, did you—”

Geoffrey stopped mid-sentence, the words stuck in his throat.

The bowl of dry grains fell onto the ground, its contents spilling everywhere, but he couldn’t care less. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the mountain spirit, whose hand covered his mouth. It couldn’t hide much, however, as dark blood dripped down his chin and through his fingers. Cerwin didn’t appear distressed and even looked unbothered, yet Geoffrey knew something was horribly wrong.

“C-Cerwin…?”

“Sorry, it looks like some blood fell onto the cardigan.” He clicked his tongue, a look of annoyance flashing through his face. “I’ll go wash it before it stains the wool. I’m almost done with it, too.”

“Who cares about the cardigan!” Geoffrey yelled as he sprang onto his feet, scrambling over to the mountain spirit. The dark blood was still dripping down, and now that Cerwin had pushed the cardigan aside not to soil it any more than he already had, it was his white dress that got dirtied. Spots of black appeared on it, almost like ink. “W-what’s happening?!”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing…?” Incredulity flashed across his eyes, and maybe a hint of hurt, too. “Nothing, you say!”

Even if Geoffrey didn’t intend to shout, he instinctively raised his voice when Cerwin tried to brush the matter aside, going as far as to avert his eyes and pretend to be deaf. Mountain spirit or not, no living being threw up blood without reason, and it usually wasn’t for a good one. They had shared the same living space for three months, and it had never happened before. Or if it had, Cerwin didn’t let him see, most likely hiding in another room. Geoffrey wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

“S-show me.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry so much.”

“Show me.”

Although his voice was firm, Geoffrey’s hand trembled as he grabbed Cerwin’s and lowered it. Then, half a face covered in dark blood appeared. Not only was he throwing up blood, but he also had a massive nosebleed. Shocked, Geoffrey was at a loss as to what to do. It wasn’t like Cerwin was human, and he had no clue whatsoever about what was happening to his body.   

A silence fell between them as they stared into each other’s eyes. It soon became apparent that Cerwin had no intention to speak up, so Geoffrey did the only thing he could do, and that was to plead. He knew the mountain spirit was weak to his begging. It had worked wonders in the past few months, and it should work wonders today, too.

“…Please, tell me, what’s wrong?”

His lips stretched taut, Cerwin didn’t answer, but Geoffrey waited. He hadn’t been rebuked, so there was a chance Cerwin would ultimately give him a response, and indeed, he did.

“Geoffrey, what am I again?”

“Huh?” The question took him aback, and Geoffrey had to pause before tentatively replying, “A mountain spirit?”

Cerwin responded by cocking an eyebrow, not explaining further. He didn’t need to, as Geoffrey slowly connected the dots in his mind.

A mountain spirit, the spirit of this mountain.

A mountain that humans were blasting for its gold.

A mountain that humans were deforesting for its wood.  

As realization dawned upon him, Geoffrey felt sick to his stomach.

For the first time in months, he prayed to be wrong. He wanted to be wrong. If it meant Cerwin would live, then he wanted to be wrong every time—in the past, in the present, and in the future, too.