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“You were kind enough to invite me here, Cato,” you decide, “It would be remiss of me to leave you to handle all the hard work alone. I'll come with you.”
“You don't have to do that,” Cato insists, although he doesn't try very hard to change your mind. With a slight shrug, he leads you across to the open trenches. Aside from the crunch of shovels biting into soil, a reverent silence hangs over the entire area. Looking around, you spot a few pieces of white stone emerging from the soil here and there – these, you assume, are the signs that something else is buried here. Before you can study them any further, you catch a whiff of burning tobacco on the air and glance around.
Your first thought, upon seeing Master Steiner, is to wonder how often he gets mistaken for a Galsean. It's not just his thick black hair, although that certainly helps, but the vague sense of savagery about him. This is a man fully at ease within the heart of a forest, you realise.
“Hey,” he calls out, his voice low and gruff, “Careful where you put your feet. If you fall and break your neck, it'll be a whole lot of trouble for me.”
“We'll be careful,” Cato assures him, “Master Steiner, I presume?”
“Easy there, kid. I'm not the master of anything,” Steiner corrects him, shaking his head, “But yeah, you've got the right man. Are you here to lend a hand? I've got plenty of men, but I'll never turn down an extra pair of hands. Or... a pair of pair of hands in this case.”
He glances at you as he says this last part, measuring you up with his eyes. Whether he approves of what he sees or not remains a mystery for now, a secret locked away behind his dark eyes.
-
Stripping down to your undershirt, you take one of the shovels and follow to where Steiner indicates a half-finished trench. Apparently seeing no need to explain what he expects from you, Steiner wanders away to go check on the work elsewhere. Taking off his white cloak and nearly folding it, Cato studies the trench like a duellist weighing up his opponent.
“Well?” you remark, giving him a crooked smile, “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”
Forcing a laugh, Cato shifts his grip on his shovel and starts to dig. “I'm not quite sure what to make of Master Steiner,” he admits, keeping his voice low, “Though, I'll admit, I didn't really know what to expect.”
“It's just Steiner, remember?” you point out, “He's not some high society gentleman, that's for sure. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
Cato hesitates. “Of course not,” he answers after a pause, “Every man has their own set of skills, but they all have a place in the natural order regardless.”
“Even the Tomoe?” you taunt. You're not sure why, but you suddenly want to push Cato, to see him get angry. But this time, you're disappointed.
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