At first, Kyojuro was certain it was the scent of smoke which had awoken him.
Slowly, he stirred, raising his head and stretching out his folded limbs with a sigh. Remnants of smoke lingered in the air, curling up from the cinders of the previous night’s campfire. Shroomkin lay scattered in sleeping piles, bellies full of toasted nuts and fermented fruits, their peaceful breaths and morning birds the only sound in t...
