Rick sat crossed legged, eyes set on a familiar task with another set of eyes watching him in profound wonder. Wonder brought up from both the showmanship and skill that Rick showed. Wonder brought out from boredom that their tiny enclosure afforded them. Abigail watched as Rick carved, carved with such expertise and finesse that what once was mere wood, was swiftly and expertly turned into a rather muscular half-man, half-cow.

She couldn’t quite understand why he was doing it, nor why he’d thrown away fifteen other perfectly acceptable, if not amazing, small statues. Especially when one considered that all these statues were muscular and quite scary looking. And the fact that he’d done this for three whole days now, with each new piece seeming to make him more and more frustrated, it greatly confused Abigail. Still, she watched completely fascinated.

But Rick knew, he knew that all his statues had been nothing but failures. Lacking in the strength he thought needed; The strength of the warrior. They looked strong; they looked powerful; they looked like men ready to overpower anyone and anything. But to Rick, they didn’t. They lacked the strength and power and overpowering sensation that the warrior had held. It was frustrating; beyond frustrating.

During these three days, Rick’s stomach wound had grown better and better, itching all to hell but less painful. Abigail’s devil-horn had eased to a small bump, colours no longer bright like a rainbow in the sky. And Noah seemed to have gained more confidence, easing back into the kindness that Rick remembered. Kindness that felt misplaced when Rick considered his current dwelling.

Although, Rick felt his hatred waning with each passing day. Each day Noah would come with apologies, explanations, and food. All things that made Rick unconsciously forget why he’d even been angry in the first place. Though complete forgiveness would take far longer than just a few passing days.

Rick raised the statue in his hand, making it easier to look at in the dimming light. The internal battery of the lantern finally waning after not getting refilled for two entire days. Rick would have to fix that, but did not want to remove his focus from the current task, a task that made his brows furrow deeply in frustration. For as he stared at the half-man half-cow, he saw a complete lack of anything.

He felt his hands tightening, his fingers whitening, blood flowing and eyes dimming. Usually, Rick wouldn’t get this frustrated, this angry over a simple statue. But considering he’d made more statues during these three days than during an entire month, and the fact that this month he’d made more statues than during an entire year. And that not one of these statues were to Rick’s satisfaction. That they all felt hollow, dead and missing something. Missing something important that Rick couldn’t place. That was what infuriated him the most.

His hands tightened even further, further until something small cracked. His face flushing into one of mild surprise, anger quickly fading. He looked with slight panic at the statue, eyes scared of what they might find. Breathing out as the crack was only auditory, his inspection not revealing any obvious damage. His outburst of anger like a roaring inferno quickly doused by a passing monsoon.

Rick had to put the statue away, his anger towards his statues like an alien in his body, foreign. For he’d never been angry at his creations, he’d never been angry at making statues before. He’d never thought himself lacking when it came to making statues. A fact that felt like hot food on a hot summer’s day, like bathing in icy cold water on a cold winter’s day. A fact that soured Rick’s mood completely.

Staring up at the dimly lit roof, Rick breathed out. Hand firmly pressed against the floor that was, in turn, firmly pressed down against the knife. His thought floating like passing stars on the night sky, like clouds adrift in a sea of nothing. He thought on many things, anything that wasn’t statues. A break was what he needed. A break was what he gave himself.

The tug on his shoulder brought him out of his musings. Turning to see, made him face Abigail with glowing eyes. Eyes that spoke of great fascination and interest, a mouth slightly agape. A sight surprising to Rick. For it looked as if the girl was about to speak. A fact that seemed to hold true, even if the girl took surprisingly long to speak. A time Rick spent patiently waiting. A time Abigail spent gathering courage.

“Can you teach me how to carve?”

A question taking Rick by surprise once again. Gazing down at Abigail, Rick searched for a reason, for an explanation why she wanted too. As he didn’t get one, he wondered for a second why she got a change of heart, why she wanted to carve now of all times. A thought he didn’t dwell on for if the girl wanted something to do, he’d happily oblige. So he did just that, nodding softly as she smiled happily.

Rick spent the next hours carving up two big blocks of wood, one smaller, one bigger. The bigger one made with the expectation for mistakes, a given considering the time-consuming task of carving. Next, Rick showed Abigial how to hold the knife, being very slow so that she could see everything. And as Rick saw that he had all of her attention, he carved his own smaller piece, slowly. Being very meticulous in his strokes, carving away from himself. An importance stressed, showing it multiple times. His carving not being in the image of anything, merely carved to show how. Several strokes, slow and steady.

Inbetween each stroke, Rick stared intently at Abigail to check if she understood. Abigail showing a face of intent focus, staring as if her eyes would remember every detail perfectly. As if her eyes held all the wisdom in the world. As if her eyes wanted nothing but know everything and anything that could be learned.

Rick felt that sufficient, and handed her the bigger block and knife, gesturing for her to take them. Which she did, weirdly hesitant, gulping as if setting her mind on a highly important task. A task that one could not fail, or there would be consequences. Next, she took her first stroke, painfully slow, awkwardly slow. A stroke that spoke of her inexperience and mild shock that the wood was putting up a fight. For even if the wood might be dead, it still wanted a certain shape, a shape that one, as a carver, had to reshape, remold, and refine. A carver's job was redefining the wood’s desired shape until its new shape became as natural as when it once was a tree. At least, that was what Rick considered a true carver.

Abigail pushed and pushed against the wood, her brows frowning as the knife wasn’t going through the wood as smooth as for the silent man. Then suddenly, resistance suddenly washed away, and she struck outwards with sudden and surprising force. A big chunk of sliced wood flying out unevenly, her hands tightening both around the wood and knife. Her body tightening as if erecting a building, eyes glancing over at the silent man. The silent man, Rick, looking on with small amusement. For in Rick’s eyes, he’d just seen a first of many mistakes, mistakes one made to grow on the journey of carving. But in the girl’s eyes, she held deep buried fear, fear of angering one who hated mistakes. A fear of what would come after she’d fail.

But nothing happened. There was no retaliation, no angry scream, and no permission withdrawn. No, instead, she only saw a man looking down on her as if waiting for her next step. Like a teacher waiting for a question, or a father wondering if the lesson had been learned. Abigail gulped down a sticky glob of saliva and refocused her attention on the block of wood. Her next stroke even slower. Now knowing the resistance the wood would put up against her.

And like that, the two sat. One carving, the other watching. A repeat of earlier, just with different people on different tasks. Two people with replaced purposes, the two people with different interests. One wanting to succeed no matter what, the other reflecting on their own failure, pondering how best to make their next statue. One completely immersed, sweat forming like moisture on dew. The other perusing their own mind, lost in the sea of thoughts as nostalgia and reflexion drifted past.

So invested was Abigail, that she didn’t even stop to consider what she was making. Letting her carving do the talking, mind singularly set on merely carving. She carved and carved, carved until a snap broke her out of her focus. A snap that showed a splinter, a splinter that ran straight through her carving. She froze at the sight, eyes opening like light’s at night.

Slowly, she moved her carving down and away from prying eyes. She shuffled around in such a way, that her body blocked direct line of sight from Rick. Sweat forming around every crevice of her body, not from focus. She glanced back, heart pushing dangerously against her throat as Rick leaned over her shoulder, gazing down at her broken carving.

She waited for the imminent thrashing, the imminent assault, her body tensing without her knowledge, her eyes closing without direction. Then it happened. She felt him leaning over her, reaching his hand down, down to the place she hated most. Her mind closed off, going into a darker place, a comforting place, a place where she could be safe, where she did not have to see what was happening. She waited there, a dark puddle of nothing in the sea of darkness. Her peaceful place, her quiet place, her comforting place.

The puddle moved, it rippled, it screamed out as her body loosened its grip. She felt it absentmindedly, her hands had let go of the knife and the failure, the failure being her carving. It was just the first step, the next step would force her even lighter, body touched were she did not want. Going further into her comforting place, she waited for it, anticipated it, feared it. No matter how far in she delved into her comforting place, she can never truly escape her body.

The water had rippled, but it had gone quiet again. She kept still, kept waiting, kept herself in the dark. But as time went past, the ripples now long gone, she started wondering, pondering. What was happening?

The thought bringing her back to her body, realizing it to not be touched, to not be moved. She opened her eyes, looking back with speed. Seeing the silent man carefully carving her carving, eyes like those of an inspector watching a priced artifact. Being careful to the utmost, to the extreme. Precisely carving away the splinter that had formed on the edge of the wood. A carving that resembled nothing, held no form or any shape. Being but a mere piece of carved wood, yet handled as if the very queen herself had made it.

Abigail stared, her body going lighter, her comforting place fading, her thoughts washing away. She watched and blinked, blinked as the silent man did his last stroke, effortlessly wiping away any trace of her failure. Then he nodded to himself and looked at her. His hands reaching forward, presenting her the wood and knife, gesturing for her to take it, acting as if nothing of worth had happened, as if her failure was not but a simple mistake, a simple slip of her hand. The gesture so foreign, so innocent, so wonderful that Abigail could do not but blink hastily, trying in wane to prevent the floodgates from opening.

Rick, who had merely fixed a simple mistake, watched in horror as the girl started watering. Her face crunching up as if it did everything it could to not shed water, making her small intakes of air sound louder than any scream at night.

Rick started flailing his arms around in freight, staring down at the wood with the utmost care, shouting at himself for his stupid mistake. Of course the girl would get angry, he’d just stolen her precious carving and pushed his own ideas into it. Of course the girl had her own thoughts on what was right and wrong. The splinter was maybe even a thing she did purposefully, made with some unknown intent.

Abigail watched as Rick flailed, a smile breaching her torn face, watching as the silent man, as the strange man made an utter fool of himself. Yet, as she watched him flail, bow and pet her carving as if he’d just cursed the very queen herself. She felt a flower bloom in her heart, a seed that had been planted was now vibrant. A singular blooming flower in a dark room, shining like a rainbow through grey clouds. A flower she would keep close to her heart.