Show Me How to Get Off the Ground

Kabru was only a couple of minutes late for Neuro lecture, but Rin scowled at him disapprovingly anyway as he took a seat next to her in the dark auditorium.

Semiology of the Nervous System was a big class with about fifty students, unlike the practical mana class they’d had before lunch, so if Kabru was late or even missed a lecture it wouldn’t negatively impact his grade. He was pretty sure the teacher hadn’t even noticed him slinking in.

Normally he’d never be late for this class. He loved learning about the physiological things that influenced the way people behaved. But despite his interest in the subject, he found his own mind constantly drifting back to his strange new elven acquaintance. They’d exchanged mobile numbers at the cafe, and Kabru was going to see him again later tonight. They’d have dinner and maybe talk for a while before he helped the elf get to sleep…

Mithrun was weird, no doubt about that, and Kabru found that interesting enough that he wanted to learn more. What had happened to him? Why was he here, aside from wanting to get away from Maalinan? Visiting the man a couple of times a week to rub his feet and give him a live ASMR session seemed like an okay price to pay for satisfying his curiosity.

Kabru had wanted to say no originally, but he just couldn’t bring himself to turn down such a desperate request for help. Even though what Mithrun needed was weird and kind of inconvenient, it was so easy for Kabru to give it to him: A half an hour of his time every couple of days, and he could completely change the elf’s life for the better… It felt good to know that he was helping someone else.

More selfishly, it would keep Kabru from dwelling on his break-up with Mohan, and his dismal relationship prospects. He’d wanted a distraction, well, now he had one.

It was a relief when class ended, because that meant Kabru could finally stop fighting against himself, and let his mind chew on the enigma that was Mithrun instead of struggling to pay attention to the teacher’s lecture.

“Can I borrow your notes later?” he asked Rin as they were packing away their things and preparing to leave.

“You were only a little bit late,” Rin admitted grudgingly, “You didn’t really miss anything.”

“I was having trouble paying attention,” Kabru said with a sigh. “It all went in one ear and out the other today.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Rin asked with her trademark worried scowl (which was different from her happy scowl and her angry scowl). “You love this class. Did our mana transfer earlier--”

“No, no it’s not that,” Kabru lied, even though his mild hangover headache had gotten worse after mana class, and he’d had to pop some paracetamol to get through his coffee date and then this lecture. He didn’t want to tell Rin that the mana transfer had made his headache worse though, she’d probably get mad at him for implying that their mana wasn’t perfectly compatible… And then worry about whether she’d done the transfer right and if Kabru’s headache was somehow her fault. “Just have a lot on my mind. I’m gonna go work out for a while, have dinner, and try to get to bed early.”

“Don’t drink tonight,” Rin said sternly, and even though Kabru tended to be irked by her nagging, he agreed with her in this case. He’d been hung over too many days in a row, and he needed a break from it. Hopefully having dinner with Mithrun would be distracting enough that he’d be able to get to sleep tonight without the help of liquor.

“No worries. I’m out of vodka, so I’ll be fine until I restock my supply.”

“Don’t joke about it, it’s not funny,” Rin muttered, swatting at Kabru with her class notes, and Kabru laughed, unbothered by the painless impact of the notebook against his arm, which he’d raised in a playful imitation of self-defense.

They split up at the entrance to the subway station. Rin lived further away from campus in a private flat that she was renting with four other girls, so she rarely ate dinner with Kabru on campus… But tonight Kabru wasn’t going to eat dinner on campus either, so he did a search of the surrounding area on his mobile to figure out what he wanted to eat, while he walked home.

Hmm. Korma Kitchen was near Mithrun’s flat. It probably wouldn’t be very expensive, if it was fast food… Not that he thought Mithrun couldn’t afford a more lavish meal, but he didn’t want to be rude and ask for anything extraordinary. And he was curious about Korma Kitchen. Looking at their website, he saw that they had curries, sambar, saag, rice, naan bread… and of course korma. He picked what seemed like the safest options on the menu, and then sent it in a text to Mithrun.

(The elf responded with a thumbs up emoji a few minutes later.)

When Kabru got to their room, Lycion wasn’t there, but that wasn’t unusual. His roommate kept weird hours, and Kabru often went multiple days without seeing him at all. Sometimes the growing pile of dirty laundry and a damp towel on top of Lycion’s bed was the only evidence that assured Kabru his roommate was still among the living.

Kabru dropped his messenger bag onto his own bed and changed into his workout clothes, before doing some quick stretches. He usually preferred to work out indoors thanks to the grueling heat and humidity in Vakstran, but since the student gym had closed for renovations last year, he’d been forced to take up running outdoors instead. He filled his reusable water bottle up in the dorm’s kitchen, and headed back towards the park at the center of campus at a brisk jog.

The park had once been the elaborate garden of some gnomish royal family that had donated their land to Earthdigger back when the school was founded. It was full of grass lawns, walking paths, trees, sculptures and fountains, and it was considered an important historic and cultural landmark. It was a great place to exercise, and at any time of day you could find students and other locals running or cycling on the well-maintained dirt paths, or kicking a ball around on the lawns. It was also a popular place to have a picnic, gather with friends, hear live music, fly kites, or walk your dog.

Thankfully it was cloudy outside, which helped drop the temperature a little, but even with that Kabru’s brow and back were slick with sweat by the time he got to the park entrance closest to the dorm to begin his work-out in earnest.

The park was several city blocks wide, and there was a path around the perimeter, as well as two diagonal paths that crossed through it in an X formation. Kabru usually started at one corner of the X, and when he emerged on the other side of the park, he took a perimeter path to one of the other corners, and then crossed the X the other way. Depending on how hot it was or how tired he felt, he’d repeat this as many as five times before heading back to the dorm. Usually this routine took him about an hour.

While it would have been nice to spend the time listening to music or a podcast like many people did, Kabru wasn’t able to use headphones or earbuds in public, though he’d tried many times to acclimate himself to it. He found that not being able to hear the world around him made him jumpy and frequently triggered anxiety attacks, so he just avoided that sort of thing altogether.

So his daily exercise routine, with no distractions, was the time when Kabru was most completely alone with his thoughts.

He didn’t know Mithrun’s full name, but he had to be from a wealthy house. There was no way he wasn’t. The fact that he hadn’t introduced himself with his house was a huge flag (though if it was red, green or some neutral color remained to be seen) since most elves from money would never let you forget just who you were talking to but Mithrun seemed to desire anonymity instead.

That could be for lots of reasons though. Was his house very famous, so letting people know about it might put him into danger? Or maybe he’d been disowned by his house? Either way, was he enrolled at Earthdigger under a false name? Kabru wondered if there was a way to surreptitiously check that… Probably not. In Maalinus he would have trusted his ability to sweet-talk that kind of information out of an elf in the registrar's office, but here in Sadena most of the administrators were dwarves and gnomes and they really frowned on that kind of behavior. The culture was different, elves loved gossip and bribery was an accepted part of life, while dwarves and gnomes were much more strict and rule-abiding.

On his third lap, Kabru paused by the fountain in the center of the park to catch his breath. The fountain featured Vedava the sea goddess, who was the patron deity of Vakstran. Her likeness, a beautiful woman with the lower body of a fish, was everywhere, on flags, coats of arms, t-shirts, beach towels, and even souvenir shot glasses. Everyone Kabru knew in Vakstran had at least one item emblazoned with her image, though often they couldn’t remember when or how they’d come into possession of it.

Kabru took a long drink from his bottle (which, naturally, had Vedava on it), and though he was looking at the statue in the center of the fountain, his mind was still on Mithrun.

Mithrun had mentioned not always agreeing with the elf queen’s opinions. Kabru had teased him for it of course, but it was a shocking thing for an upper class elf to say. Either he was a bit of a renegade and didn’t care about the consequences… Or the much less likely, but tantalizing possibility, he was from a house that was so powerful, there wouldn’t be consequences.

Kabru began running again.

Well, there were only so many houses with that kind of standing. Off the top of his head there was the Parivaars, the Astis, the Liparis and… Well, of course there was the Kerensils, but that was really unlikely, verging on impossible. The House of Kerensil owned the largest bank in the world, and they had so much money and influence that they were essentially their own country. Kabru couldn’t imagine a situation that would bring someone from a family like that to Earthdigger.

He continued to try and remember noble houses for the rest of his run, adding and removing them from his mental list as he considered their political and economic ties and whether or not he thought they’d have a house member Mithrun’s age.

---

Once he was done exercising, Kabru had a quick shower, and spent some time searching research papers online. Thankfully the run and the shower had helped him get rid of the headache that had been nagging him since Lycion woke him up that morning, so he was feeling a lot better by the time he was supposed to go see Mithrun. The flat was just a short walk from the dorms, so around 7:40 Kabru grabbed his keys, wallet and mobile before setting out.

What was the most likely story behind Mithrun? Well, he came from enough money that he thought nothing of ruining the fancy flat he was living in, he was studying painting so he probably wasn’t worried about having to work for a living… He’d been in the military and he’d suffered severe injuries there, severe enough that it ended his military career, and now… He was here in Vakstran, as far away from Maalinan as you could get.

Was he here so the rest of his family didn’t have to see him? By most people’s standards, Mithrun wasn’t that off putting to look at, but to elves… His family probably couldn’t stand the sight of him. Or maybe it was the reverse: He was sick of the way other elves reacted to him, so he’d retreated to someplace with as little elven influence as possible.

Kabru arrived at the security gate of Mithrun’s building, and he pulled out his mobile to text Mithrun.

The man must have been expecting him because he texted back immediately.

The security gate clicked as it unlocked, and gave a steady, droning buzz to let Kabru know that it was open. He pushed the gate open and stepped through, feeling the tingle of the magical barrier all around his body as he was allowed entrance.

As he climbed the stairs he wondered, did Mithrun’s radical behavior come before or after his disfigurement? Had one caused the other? Were they completely unrelated? He was dragged forcibly from his wandering thoughts when he arrived at Mithrun’s doorstep, and found the elf standing there waiting for him, a cigarette in hand. But something was different from the last time.

Mithrun was a slight enough person that Kabru could see around him, and in the gaps around the elf’s body he could see that the flat was no longer overflowing with trash bags. Kabru couldn’t keep himself from gaping as he greeted the elf on autopilot, and followed him inside, scarcely paying attention to what Mithrun was saying - something about dinner - because he was too busy staring at how neat and tidy the flat looked now.

“...You cleaned?” Kabru asked.

“I did,” Mithrun replied. “...It’s normal, you know. For people to clean up their messes.”

“I just didn’t expect it to be this much better right away,” Kabru explained, pausing at the entryway to step out of his shoes. “It looks great. I’m sorry, you were saying something to me just now, but I wasn’t listening.”

“I said, dinner’s on the table. Would you like something to drink?”

“Uh, water’s fine,” Kabru said. Once the shock of seeing the flat cleaned up had passed, his primary feeling became relief. He had been wondering how he would eat a meal in the decidedly unsanitary conditions he’d witnessed on his last visit. He’d imagined himself perched on the corner of the coffee table, trying not to touch or smell anything but his food while he ate.

He was in for another shock when they reached the formal dining room table, something he hadn’t even been able to identify last time since it had been covered in rubbish. Now it was covered in large takeaway containers. Really large takeaway containers, the type that was ordinarily used for catering orders.

“What’s all this?” Kabru called after Mithrun, who had vanished into the kitchen, which also looked shockingly clean. Kabru could now tell that some of the countertops in there had elaborate Vakstrani folk designs on them, featuring sea creatures.

“...Dinner?” Mithrun replied, sounding puzzled. Kabru heard the familiar clatter and hiss of a refrigerator water dispenser, and the elf rejoined him in the dining room with a glass of ice water in hand, which he set down on the table beside the single place setting.

“You can sit down and start eating,” Mithrun prompted, his tone of voice hinting that he didn’t understand why Kabru hadn’t already done so.

“Uh, yeah, right, of course,” Kabru stammered, bewildered that Mithrun didn’t seem to see anything odd about the situation. Kabru pulled out a chair and sat, watching uneasily as the elf continued to stand a few feet away, watching him with a flat expression.

It was frankly a mountain of food, and the fact that there was only one place setting was baffling to Kabru. Had Mithrun already eaten? Why had he ordered so much food if he wasn’t going to join him? Was he really going to just stand there and watch Kabru eat?

“...Are you going to join me?” Kabru asked, as he started to open the disposable foil and paper serving trays. It was all the things he’d asked for: naan bread, rice, samosas, fish coconut korma and butter chicken… but enormous quantities of each. He’d figured, with Korma Kitchen being a cheap fast food place, that he’d get a couple of different things in case any of them were inedible, but he hadn’t expected the portions to be this huge.

“Oh, you want me to eat with you?” Mithrun said, like the idea had never even occurred to him.

“I think this is a little bit too much for me to eat by myself,” Kabru said, staring at the elf across the table, wondering if he really couldn’t tell just by looking at the huge trays of food that they were too much for Kabru to eat alone. “Did you already have dinner? Are you not hungry? Oh-- one of the dishes has chicken in it, is that the problem?”

Some elves didn’t eat poultry, or only ate it on specific days for religious reasons, but it was a dying custom, especially in the north, where Mithrun was from.

“No, I’m not religious,” Mithrun said absently. “And I didn't eat yet. I tend to forget. Um--”

“Get yourself a plate and sit down with me,” Kabru said coaxingly, hoping to help the other man overcome his social awkwardness. “If you haven’t eaten since lunch you’re probably starving by now.”

“I… think I forgot to have lunch too,” Mithrun replied sheepishly, his voice growing quieter as he went back into the kitchen to fetch himself a plate and utensils.

“Did you have breakfast?” Kabru called after him, a touch exasperated, having a feeling that the answer to that would also be a negative.

“...Mornings tend to blur together. I ate breakfast… At some point. I’m not sure if it was today, though.” Mithrun returned to the table yet again, and set down his plate and cutlery across from Kabru before taking a seat. “Um, so what type of food is this?” he asked, stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray in the center of the table.

If Mithrun’s eating habits were always this bad, Kabru was surprised he hadn’t fainted from hypoglycemia by now. But since he barely knew the man, it wasn’t Kabru’s place to scold Mithrun for how he lived… And he was sympathetic to the fact that Mithrun wanted to change the topic to something less embarrassing than his poor self-care habits.

“It’s Sindhi food. The flavors should be familiar to you, since they use a lot of the same spices in elven cooking,” Kabru picked up a samosa from one of the trays, and set it down on Mithrun’s plate. “This is a samosa, it’s like a pasty.”

They called them samsa in Utaya, but Kabru knew samosa was the maalinized version of the word that Mithrun might have heard, and they seemed like a good, inoffensive place to start introducing him to Sindhi cuisine.

Most people thought of Sindhi food as cheap and unappetizing: prepared in dirty kitchens by unwashed illegal immigrants, overloaded with spice to try and disguise the sub-par ingredients. The stereotype wasn’t completely baseless, since Sindhi restaurants were usually in the poor ethnic ghettos where new immigrants lived and hygiene was sometimes lacking… And the food often used cuts of meat and other ingredients that were unfamiliar or distasteful to people from wealthier countries.

As far as Kabru knew, no one had yet managed to elevate Sindhi cuisine into the realm of fine dining in the popular consciousness… Unlike something like sushi, which had skyrocketed to popularity in the past decade.

Sushi was the trendy thing to eat and liking it was considered a sign of sophistication, but Kabru remembered that when he’d been a kid, nobody had even heard of sushi, and the mere suggestion of eating raw fish would trigger disgust and laughter.

Sindhi food was something you ate at 3 AM after drinking all night, because your only choices were either dubious curry from a Sindhi takeaway place that doubled as the local backgammon club for old men, or deep fried mystery meat from a chip shop, shoved into a stale bread roll and smothered in mashed green peas.

Given a choice, Kabru would always pick the curry, but he knew lots of people considered the two options roughly equal in terms of desirability. That is to say, not desirable at all.

Mithrun picked up the samosa and gave it an experimental sniff. “Well, I’ve never had a samosa, but it’s next to impossible to ruin a pasty,” he said, sounding hopeful. He took a careful bite, and as he chewed on it, Kabru saw the elf’s eyes grow wide with what seemed like a mix of wonder and pleasure.

“Is it good?” Kabru asked, grinning as he picked up a samosa for himself. He was not surprised in the slightest that someone as posh as Mithrun had never eaten a samosa before.

“Yeah,” Mithrun answered, before taking another bite. Apparently tasting food had awakened the elf’s neglected appetite, and Kabru watched with a smile as Mithrun devoured the samosa in a few more hurried bites, covering his mouth with one hand politely as he rushed to talk while his mouth was still full. “What kind of meat is this? It tastes like a Varish pasty, but I can tell it’s not beef.”

“A lot of Sindhi people don’t eat beef. These are lamb.” Kabru explained before taking a bite himself. The savory taste of familiar spices from his childhood flooded his senses, and Kabru gave a happy little sigh as he chewed and swallowed. “Yeah. That’s pretty good. Like you said - hard to mess up a pasty.”

“So what are the rest of these?” Mithrun asked with clear curiosity and enthusiasm, now that the first plunge into unknown foreign food had been successful.

“Well, that one’s rice,” he teased, pointing out the tray nearest to Mithrun. “You’ve heard of rice before, right?” Rice in the Sindhu region was prepared more or less exactly the same way that elves cooked it, with cardamom and cumin seeds, so Kabru knew it would be familiar.

Mithrun rolled his eyes in response (the prosthetic one moved, but didn’t make an entire rotation), seemingly unamused by Kabru’s teasing. He spooned some rice onto his plate, and then lifted the cover off the bread container.

“Oh, it’s a flatbread?” Mithrun asked. He picked up a piece of naan, and turned it around in his grip as if studying an insect that had fallen into his meal, though he seemed more curious than disgusted. “How old-fashioned. Is that normal in Sindh, or is it just part of this restaurant’s gimmick?”

In the UE, if you called something bread people usually assumed you meant dough that had been given time to rise dramatically, and had an exterior crust that was different from the interior. It was an ancient import from the east that was so popular, it had almost entirely displaced traditional elven breads. In most shops in the empire, you’d find dozens of types of eastern bread, and only one or two different flatbreads.

Flatbreads were now thought of as either a Vestran ethnic specialty, or a simple, “primitive” food that some diet-obsessed elves thought was “more natural” and therefore “healthier”, along with raw meat and uncooked fruits and vegetables. In other words, lunatics. Bread was bread and had the same general nutritional content regardless of whether it had been allowed to rise, and eating raw meat was never good for you unless it was specially prepared, like sushi or tartare.

(Kabru remembered being bewildered as a child in the refugee camp when the elves had given him peanut butter and jelly on white sandwich bread. He hadn’t hated it, but it had been a relief when the rice and curry he’d gotten later had been much more familiar.)

“They call it naan in Sindh,” Kabru explained. “And yeah, it’s just normal, every-day bread. It’s still prepared the ancient way, in a clay oven called a tanoor.”

“A what? Tin…nur?” Mithrun asked, using the Maalini words for mud and fire, which Kabru supposed was pretty close to both the sound and the meaning of a clay oven. He’d never put the two the two things together before now.

“No, tanoor,” Kabru corrected him with an amused laugh, “But that sounds so similar, I bet the words share a common root! They say the language and food in some parts of Vestra are closer to ancient elven culture than what’s popular in Maalinan these days. Like a time capsule.”

“Huh,” Mithrun said thoughtfully, taking a few spoonfuls of korma and curry onto his plate, futilely trying to keep the two liquids from mingling. “That’s interesting... Does everyone have a tanoor in Sindh?”

“No,” Kabru said with a chuckle, “Most people don’t - it’s like a brick oven for making pizza. Big, gets very hot. Inconvenient to have one in your house. Most people just use a cast iron pan on the stove, or buy frozen naan and heat it up in an ordinary oven.”

“I see. Um, so what are in these?” Mithrun asked, gesturing at the yellow and red curries on his plate. “They look like a thick rasa.”

Rasa was an old elven word that very broadly included soup, gravy, curry and stew, but literally just meant “flavor” and was often used as a metaphor to describe the taste or style of something artistic, like music or dance.

“Yeah, these are Sindhi rasas,” Kabru said. “These ones are kind of like a gopa.”

Gopa was elvish for “cowboy”, but the word had come to refer to both the rural people that herded the cattle and the type of beef stews that they traditionally cooked out on the prairies of Usilan. The flavor profile of gopa was similar to Sindhi curries since they were both made with cumin and tumeric, but gopa also had things like corn and pepper in it, which were imports from the east. Gopa made before the ancient East-West Sea Exchange had probably been much more similar to the curries they still made in Vestra today.

“You put it on rice, or scoop it up with the naan,” Kabru explained. “The yellow one is korma, it’s made with coconut milk, tumeric and cashews, it should be a little bit sweet.”

“The orange one is called butter chicken, or murgh makhani. It’s made with chicken, spices, tomato and cream. It’ll be sweet and maybe a little hot.”

Kabru had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he watched Mithrun try a spoonful of each dish, and the butter chicken made the elf wheeze and cough. Butter chicken was one of Kabru’s favorite foods, and it was probably the most popular Sindhi food among outsiders because it was usually milder than other curries. Of course it was entirely possible that Korma Kitchen made their butter chicken spicier than most, but it was still funny to see the elf struggling to eat it.

“Is that one too spicy for you?” Kabru asked, offering Mithrun his own glass of ice water, since the elf had neglected to get himself a drink. Mithrun downed half of the glass in one long series of swallows. While it was true that elven cuisine used a lot of the same spices as Sindhi food, they used a lot less of them. Growing up, Kabru had always thought elven food was painfully bland.

“Maybe a bit,” Mithrun said, clearing his throat. “I like the korma, but I’ll leave the butter chicken to you.”

“I’ll do my best, but even if I ate nothing but the butter chicken, there’s no way I can finish this tonight,” Kabru said, amused. “Why’d you order so much food anyway? Since you weren’t planning on eating with me?”

Having run out of things he needed to immediately explain to Mithrun, he served himself some butter chicken and began to eat. It wasn’t the best curry he’d ever eaten, but it was good enough that he wouldn’t mind eating leftovers for the rest of the week… And while it was spicier than what he’d consider normal for butter chicken, it was far from his own definition of “too spicy”.

“They asked me what size I wanted, I was having a hard time understanding the man on the phone, so I just told him “the biggest you have”, because I figured you’re a tallman so you’d need a lot of food…” Mithrun said with a frustrated sigh. “Then when I went to pick up the order, they had these huge trays waiting for me… I didn’t want to waste my time trying to explain that it was too much, so… I just took it as it was.”

“How’d you manage to carry all of these on your own?” Kabru asked, trying not to laugh at the mental image of Mithrun using both arms to support a tower of catering trays half his own height. Had he found a way to see around the trays, or had he walked sideways?

“They’re not heavy, just big,” Mithrun scoffed. Kabru wasn’t sure that was actually true, the trays seemed quite full to him. “I balanced them in one arm when I had to open a door.”

“Usually in Vestra, people order several big dishes, and everyone at the table shares them. When I texted you my order, I assumed it would be small, individual-sized portions… You know, like McDoonals. Maybe most of their customers are Vestran.” Kabru said thoughtfully.

“So… You’re absolutely sure this is too much, then?”

“Yes, I’m positive it’s too much,” Kabru said with a laugh. “You could throw a party with all this.” He broke off a piece of naan and scooped up some butter chicken with it, and popped it into his mouth. “At least you like most of the food, so it won’t be too much of a burden for you to eat it… But I can help you eat the rest of it on the nights that I visit, if you want.”

Much to Kabru’s amusement, he saw what looked like relief on the elf’s face.

“I’d really appreciate that,” Mithrun said, with emphasis and feeling.

They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Kabru got up to fetch himself a glass of water.

“Done already?” Mithrun asked, sounding a little concerned that he was being abandoned with the mountain of food so soon.

“No, just getting myself some water. Give me your glass, I’ll top you up.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Mithrun said, seemingly taken off guard by the offer. He handed his empty glass to Kabru. “The glasses are in the cupboard to the left of the sink.”

“You need to drink more often,” Kabru said as he got himself a glass. He interrupted his own speech with the loud hissing and clattering of the refrigerator’s dispenser as he filled both of their glasses with ice and then water. “You’re looking a lot better now, but I can tell you’re still dehydrated.”

“I try,” Mithrun said with a sigh. “But I’m always forgetting.”

“Why don’t you set an alarm on your mobile?” Kabru asked as he returned to the table.

“But that’s so daft!” Mithrun protested, poking at a chunk of fish in his korma, breaking it up into smaller pieces with aggressive little jabs. “I shouldn’t need an alarm to remind me to drink. Next you’ll be saying I should have an alarm to remind me to breathe.”

Kabru could recognize petty elven melodrama from a hundred miles away, and so of course he knew he shouldn’t waste his time acknowledging Mithrun’s whining. Instead he tried to redirect the conversation towards actual solutions, suspecting that his verbal maneuvering would be transparent to Mithrun, but hoping that wouldn’t stop the elf from listening to his advice.

“I always put an alarm on my mobile when I’m studying,” Kabru said patiently. “It feels silly, but it means I never forget to get up and stretch, or have a drink of water. I find knowing that I’ve got a timer going also helps me focus on my studying, because I know I’m going to regularly get interrupted so I’d better work fast until then. The artificial feeling of urgency is useful for staying on task.”

Mithrun was giving him an irritated look, as if Kabru speaking common sense was actually offensive, but Kabru was unimpressed by his bad attitude. He knew he was right. “And I don’t think it’s that unusual. Lots of people use similar methods. It depends on what you need help remembering to do and what system works best for you.”

“...Mm,” Mithrun said sourly, avoiding eye contact as he stuffed a spoonful of fish and yellow sauce into his mouth.

“Just make sure you don’t fall into the trap of muting the alarm without actually doing what it’s prompting you to do. And I guess, since you’re a painter, don’t drink your paint water.”

This prompted a startled laugh from Mithrun, and Kabru could tell that he’d broken through the elf’s surly facade for the moment. “I’m afraid that ship’s already sailed long ago, and many times since.”

“Try to drink less paint water, then,” Kabru said, pleased that they seemed to be playing along with this shared joke.

“But it tastes so good,” Mithrun replied sarcastically. “However will I resist the delicate flavor of phthalo blue?”

“You seem like a strong-willed individual to me,” Kabru said with an amused grin. “I think you can do it.”

The atmosphere felt much more relaxed as they continued eating, and Kabru was grateful for that. Mithrun seemed like a very high-strung person who was always on guard, and Kabru knew that if he was going to help the elf sleep after dinner, he needed to find ways to help him relax. The last time he’d done that for him, Mithrun had been so sleep-deprived that just about anything would have worked. Now that Mithrun wasn’t completely exhausted, it might take a little more skill and persistence to get him to calm down until sleep was possible.

Kabru watched, curiously, when he noticed Mithrun doing something unusual with his mouth. The elf was moving his tongue around like he’d found something in his food and was trying to isolate it. Picking whatever it was out from between his lips, the elf squinted at his pinched fingers. “Why are there… raisins in the korma?”

“Oh, sometimes they put raisins in it,” Kabru said. “Don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Mithrun said, popping the raisin back into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it. “I just wasn’t expecting bits of dried fruit. It’s good.”

“Well, you have a lot of it, so I’m glad you like it,” Kabru said with a chuckle.

The next time Mithrun spoke, his choice of topic surprised Kabru.

“You know, at the cafe, you were joking about… Taxes, and social welfare… Do you actually care about that sort of thing? Are you, uh… Politically active?”

That was a potentially volatile subject, and Kabru paused to consider his words before he answered. Mithrun was older than him, if he were a tallman, he’d be in his late 30s or early 40s, so it was likely that he had a more conservative viewpoint... But the man also seemed rebellious, he didn’t look or act like most other elves, and it wasn’t like all elves were a monolith. It sounded like what Mithrun really wanted was to figure out what side of the political spectrum Kabru was on, if it was the same side as Mithrun, and if it would be safe to talk about divisive topics with him.

“Well, I’m politically aware, but I wouldn’t say I’m active. Maybe once I’m done with school and have a steady job, I’ll have time to think about politics more,” Kabru explained. “And I do think the things I was joking about earlier, like universal healthcare, would be damn nice to have. I just don’t think it’s going to happen in my lifetime. That’s part of why I left the UE, you know? Better to just move to a country where life is better now.”

“That’s part of why I left too,” Mithrun replied, looking relieved. “After what I saw as a soldier… It just felt like everything in the UE was backwards and broken.”

“What did you see?” Kabru asked, genuinely curious.

“A lot of shit,” Mithrun muttered in response, pushing a raisin around his plate absently. “I was deployed in Usilan for fifty years, and not once did I see something that justified the way the empire treats those people… I feel very strongly that we should end the military occupation of Usilan, and allow them to succeed from the union.”

“That’s not a very popular position,” Kabru said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “I’ll bet your family isn’t happy about it.”

“I don’t exactly advertise it to them,” Mithrun said with a nervous huff. “But what about you…?”

“What do I think about the civil war?” Kabru asked, and Mithrun gave a nod of confirmation. “Well, I think it’s a complicated situation… But I agree with you, Usilan should be allowed their independence. They’ve only been agitating for it since… 2001?”

“1653 is when they made their first formal petition to the houses of parliament,” Mithrun said with a tired sigh. “It’s like an abusive marriage, and I feel like most of us are children trapped in the middle. I don’t want either side to kill the other, I just want them to both walk away and start over.”

“It’s going to be hell to actually accomplish it,” Kabru said. “Especially when there are so many people invested in making sure it doesn’t work… What do you think about the Vestran colonies?”

“What about them?” Mithrun asked, sounding like he didn’t understand the connection between Usilan, an elven country historically tied to Maalinan through conquest and occupation, and the non-elven territories in Vestra that had been conquered by the UE since the 1940’s.

“Well, do you think they should be granted their independence?”

“Independence to do what?” Mithrun asked archly, like the very question was absurd. “The indigenous people in Vestra don’t know how to run a country. Elvish rule is the only thing holding those places together.”

Kabru wasn’t surprised that this was the elf’s knee-jerk reaction. He’d talked with his share of politically progressive elves, and while most of them agreed Usilan should be given independence, a lot of them still balked at the idea that the non-elvish Vestrans deserved the same. Most of the time it was just a paternalistic attitude, rather than outright bigotry, but it was a deeply ingrained prejudice that usually took some work to dismantle.

“They were independent tallman kingdoms before the elves conquered them,” Kabru replied patiently. “They’re going to struggle for stability of course, they’re all poor countries, they have to modernize and catch up with the rest of the world… But if they want to be independent, shouldn’t they be allowed to rule themselves?”

Mithrun didn’t respond immediately. Though he was frowning, he didn’t seem angry or insulted, instead he looked like he was actually thinking about Kabru’s words.

“... I don’t actually know enough about Vestra to have an informed opinion on it,” Mithrun admitted eventually. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reply in such a dismissive and rude fashion. It’s just not something I’d ever really thought about before…”

Kabru had spent most of his life surrounded by elves, and he’d really never met someone who talked to him like Mithrun. He was genuinely surprised that the elf was apologizing to him, let alone that the apology felt sincere, even if it sounded formal and a bit unnatural. It was like Mithrun was reading from a mental cue-card he’d composed ahead of time.

“Most elves haven’t thought about it,” Kabru said, trying to match the level of sincerity that Mithrun was giving him. “And it’s not something people talk about.” The other man was unusual and interesting, and Kabru was more interested in continuing to have conversations like this with Mithrun, rather than browbeating the other man into saying Kabru was right in a political debate about something neither of them had any actual control over.

Mithrun looked relieved that Kabru wasn’t angry at him, and though Kabru knew it was probably just because the elf didn’t want to offend Kabru and lose his help, he had the feeling that Mithrun genuinely wanted to reach out and talk to someone about all of this. Which made sense: he wouldn’t have had a lot of opportunities to talk openly about such things.

“They really don’t,” Mithrun agreed. “I’ve learned about so many things since I’ve gotten here, things they don’t teach you in school in Maalinus.”

“I know what you mean. There’s a lot of…” Kabru paused, because he didn’t want to use a word as inflammatory as propaganda to describe the school curriculum in Maalinan, but he still wanted to express a similar sentiment. “... Censorship in our schools. I’m sure some of it is just because elven scholars don’t consider something important until it’s lasted at least five hundred years, but some of it is motivated by prejudice and politics.”

“Yes, I think you’re right. The same reason they don’t talk about these things on the evening news…” Mithrun said, using a piece of naan to wipe up the last streak of korma from his plate. “I wish it would change, but I haven’t the faintest idea where someone would even start…There’s just so many things that are wrong...” He gave a deep sigh, and then looked up at Kabru. “I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Yeah, I’m finished too,” Kabru agreed. “Let’s put this away and get to work on putting you to bed. Do you have room for all of this in your refrigerator?”

“Not sure. Let’s find out.”

After a few minutes of arranging, and then rearranging the contents of Mithrun’s refrigerator, they were able to make the large food containers fit.

“Alright, why don’t you go take a shower? Even if you already washed today, it’ll help you relax,” Kabru explained.

“How does that work?” Mithrun asked, putting his empty glass into the dishwasher.

“Well, first of all, routine is relaxing, so I want us to build a daily routine for you, things you can do every time you go to bed, even if I’m not here. Second, hot water on the body relaxes the muscles and joints, and third, cold water on the face can activate something called the mammalian diving reflex. Your heart-rate slows when your body thinks you’ve just jumped into deep water, so you can survive longer without oxygen.”

“So should the shower be hot or cold?” Mithrun asked, his brow pinching in confusion.

“You can start with a warm or hot shower, and then rinse your face with cold water for the last thirty seconds,” Kabru said. “I did some reading after we talked at the coffee shop, looking into non-pharmacological treatments for anxiety.”

Mithrun seemed surprised by that, but Kabru wasn’t sure if it was the ideas he was presenting, or the fact that he’d used his personal time to read about something for Mithrun’s benefit that had surprised the elf. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“Go on,” Kabru prompted Mithrun. “I’ll wait out here until you’re finished.”

Mithrun shuffled off to the bedroom without another word, and now that he was alone, Kabru took a better look around the flat. Not only was it less cluttered, it was miraculous how clean it was. Had Mithrun been doing nothing but clean since last Friday?

There was an easel with something on it and a stool set up near the glass sliding door that led out onto the balcony. Probably set up there to take advantage of the light. Curious, Kabru went to investigate.

Watercolor paper had been stretched and taped into place on a wooden board, and on the paper there was a pencil drawing of an elf, sitting at a desk. Glancing around the room told Kabru it was Mithrun’s desk. So had this person been here? The date on the drawing was three days ago. Of course, it was possible that the drawing had been done without a model, even if Mithrun had drawn them with his desk.

The drawing was in the process of being painted, the first light washes of color applied over top of the pencil lines. Unlike the other paintings Kabru remembered seeing before, this one seemed far more conventional. There were no strange color choices or overtly twisted shapes, and Kabru attributed the slight distortion of the figure that was there to Mithrun’s monocular vision rather than an artistic choice. It felt like Mithrun was making an effort to paint something simple and a little boring. Maybe a homework assignment?

If the model was a real person, who were they? The drawing wasn’t good enough that Kabru could tell if they resembled Mithrun or not, or even what their gender was: short hair and an indistinct long dress didn’t give him much to work with, since neither of those things were strong gender indicators for elves.

There were a lot of barely visible erased pencil marks and other adjustments, meaning Mithrun had worked on the drawing for a long time, and kept making changes. Maybe he was imagining it, but Kabru felt that there was some kind of tenderness there, as if the subject of the painting was someone that mattered to Mithrun, and that he wanted to make them look good.

If the drawing was a real person, they must have a close relationship with Mithrun to come see him all the way from Maalinus, and to spend such a long time here sitting for him… Unless it was a relative of Mithrun’s who had also left Maalinus, but then why hadn’t they helped Mithrun when he hadn’t been able to sleep? Of course, the person could also be a local elf that Mithrun was friends with, or Mithrun had been working from a photograph… Or a dozen other possibilities. Really, it was futile to try and dig too much information out of the painting without context. He’d have to ask Mithrun.

Kabru unlatched the balcony door and stepped outside, and felt immediately invigorated by the fresh air. Mithrun’s building wasn’t on a busy street, so while the occasional car did drive past, it was quiet and calm out here. The sun had been in the process of setting when Kabru’d arrived, but now it was fully dark, and all the city lights had come on.

Because of the hilly terrain Vakstran was built on, from where they were Kabru could see across the rooftops down to the strait that divided Old Stran, where they were, from New Stran. A constant stream of white headlights and red taillights flowed across the metal suspension bridges that connected the two parts of the city across the water.

A sharp knock on the glass door got Kabru’s attention back to the present.

“I’m ready for bed,” Mithrun said bluntly, voice muffled by the glass. The elf was standing there staring at him, looking wet and a bit bedraggled in his T-shirt and shorts. Kabru stepped back inside.

“Great. Hopefully the big dinner we had will make this easier,” Kabru said, as Mithrun locked the balcony door, and then turned and went to the kitchen. Kabru followed after the man, and observed as Mithrun got himself a glass of water, and then removed a pair of pills from a pill counter.

“What are you taking?” Kabru asked, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Buclor twice a day,” Mithrun replied blandly, “And an iron supplement. Anemia runs in my family.”

Kabru had to stop and rattle his brain for a moment to remind himself what Buclor was a brand name for, which was Buclospirone. “Spirone” was a suffix for drugs in the Azapirone class, which were used to treat anxiety, depression and psychosis. Buclospirone was commonly used and well-tolerated by most people, Kabru could remember seeing it on lists of the most frequently prescribed drugs.

“Alright, those make sense,” Kabru said, “Does the Buclor help?”

“I don’t know if it helps with sleeping, but if I miss my Buclor, I feel awful. Sometimes I can’t even make a phone call or leave the flat if I’ve missed more than a day.”

“Okay, then it’s helping,” Kabru said. “Have you tried blue padma?” Blue padma was a type of lotus flower that only grew in high-mana areas, and was the number one ingredient for lots of sleep aids. The most traditional forms were soma tea, and brosia wine, which didn’t require a prescription.

“Yeah, but I can’t stand the taste,” Mithrun admitted with a frustrated sigh. “So I’ll find a way to take some when I really need to, but I don’t take it regularly, no. Instead, I just smoke cannabion. It doesn’t make me sleepy, but it does help me relax.”

Kabru was sympathetic. He also avoided blue padma because of the bitter, pungent flavor, even though it was the most effective sleep aid available. Alcohol was cheaper, and he enjoyed drinking it, so it seemed like the better option for his own occasional sleeplessness.

“Cannabion’s good for relaxation, but blue padma is what you really need for sleep,” Kabru said. “Also, I’m sure you know smoking isn’t good for you, but it also isn’t the most effective way to ingest drugs.”

“I know, I know,” Mithrun said with another sigh. “I got used to smoking when I was in the army, it was a fast and easy way to settle my nerves. I try not to smoke too often… But I can’t seem to quit.”

“I’m guessing you can’t tolerate the taste of pre-made biscuits with blue padma in them either?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried every brand of biscuit I could find,” Mithrun said wearily. “I just can’t get over the taste. When I’m desperate I’ll mash up some biscuits and mix them with ice cream. It’s still nasty but I can usually force myself to eat it.”

“I’ve heard people say they taste better if you make fresh biscuits at home… But that does necessitate baking. Have you tried making them yourself?”

“No, I don’t know how,” Mithrun admitted. This didn’t surprise Kabru in the slightest, cooking wasn’t a skill most upper class elves had, unless it was a hobby of theirs.

“Alright, enough talking about medications, let’s get you into bed.”

The bedroom, like the rest of the flat, looked like an entirely different place now that it had been cleaned. Mithrun dimmed the lights as they walked in, and finally flopped himself down onto the mattress with a sigh that reminded Kabru of a dog laying down.

“If you do end up trying blue padma, make sure to check with your doctor first,” Kabru said, sitting down on the edge of the bed near Mithrun’s feet. “Even if I sound like I know what I’m doing, I’m still only a student.”

“You’ve been more helpful to me than most doctors so far,” Mithrun muttered.

“Well, there goes the myth that the wealthy have access to better healthcare…”

“No, they’re good doctors,” Mithrun insisted tiredly, “But they don’t know what to do with people like me.”

“People like you?”

The sudden silence in the room when Mithrun didn’t answer Kabru’s question felt particularly heavy. Maybe voicing the answer out loud to a stranger was a step too far.

“Nevermind,” Kabru said eventually, both to move their conversation along and to rescue Mithrun from the awkward silence. “... How are you feeling?”

“...Damp.”

“No,” Kabru sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I mean, are you starting to feel sleepy at all?”

“... I’m tired, but not sleepy yet.”

“That’s okay. Let’s just talk for a little while longer before I start massaging your feet. You go ahead and close your eyes, and try to relax your body.”

“Okay,” Mithrun mumbled, shifting around on the bed until he was comfortable, pulling the cotton sheet up over himself. “What are we going to talk about?”

Kabru was relieved to hear that even though he hadn’t done much yet, the elf already sounded a bit drowsy. From what little he knew about him at this point, he got the feeling that what Mithrun really needed was companionship. Just having someone else in the room with him, and some friendly human touch seemed to be the best treatment for his insomnia.

Maybe he should get a cat, Kabru thought, though he kept the idea to himself. Kabru didn’t really like most animals, he was scared of dogs, and cats made him anxious. He wouldn’t want to be in Mithrun’s flat while the elf was asleep if he had a pet.

“I was admiring the painting on your easel,” Kabru said.

“There’s nothing to admire, it’s not very good,” Mithrun muttered, brow scrunching together. “But I have to do it for one of my classes.”

“Who’s the model?”

“My brother.”

“Did he visit you recently?”

Mithrun opened his eyes and scowled at Kabru, which seemed extremely comical with how the bedsheet was drawn up to his chin.

“... Why are you asking that?” Mithrun asked, suspiciously.

“You wrote a date on the painting, I assumed it was the date you drew it, and not just a random string of numbers.” Kabru managed not to laugh at the elf’s paranoia, but he wasn’t able to suppress his smile.

“Oh,” Mithrun said, his expression flattening. He stared at Kabru for a moment longer, before giving a huge, put-upon sigh as he let his head flop back against the pillow, and closed his eyes again. “You’re really very observant, and you put things together quickly.”

“Thanks,” Kabru said, “People say that to me a lot.” Knowing that the man in the painting was Mithrun’s brother made him want to go back and study the painting more closely before he left.

“So… That mammalian diving reflex thing you mentioned. Is the trick to just put cold water on your face?” Mithrun asked.

“From what I’ve read, it doesn’t have to be water, for example they’ll have patients apply ice packs to their faces. It’s the amount of time, and temperature that matters most… Did it make you feel calmer?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good, I’m glad. Try it again tomorrow when I’m not here.”

“I will… So, if cold water applied to the face works, why doesn’t hydrotherapy work?”

“What do you mean by hydrotherapy?” Kabru asked, frowning. Hydrotherapy, as far as he knew, meant physical therapy that was done while the patient was in the water, and it was in fact very effective as a treatment.

“Spraying a patient with cold water,” Mithrun said bluntly. “I’ve had that done to me and it did not make me feel calm. They were both showers. What’s the difference?”

Kabru felt his heart sink in his chest at the nonchalant way Mithrun was describing something more akin to water torture than any sort of medical treatment. “I think it’s hard for people to relax when they’re getting blasted in the face with cold water without any warning. The shock would far outweigh any benefit the cold might provide.”

“Mm. That makes sense,” Mithrun said. “Sorry we’re talking so much. I’m sure you were hoping to get out of here by now.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Kabru said. “I don’t mind. I’ve been enjoying our conversation.”

“... Me too.”

“I’m sorry someone used hydrotherapy on you like that,” Kabru said quietly. “I think it’s been at least ten years since that kind of treatment was considered ethical.”

“Yeah, it was a little bit ago,” Mithrun agreed quietly, before yawning. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright, we want you to go to sleep eventually,” Kabru said with a chuckle. “Let me at your feet, then.”

Kabru untucked Mithrun’s feet from beneath the bed sheets, settled them in his lap, and started to stroke and knead at one slowly.

“Your hands are hot,” Mithrun muttered, sounding startled. The elf had probably been so out of it the last time they’d done this that he hadn’t even noticed the difference between them.

“Tallmen have a higher resting body temperature than elves,” Kabru replied.

“Oh, right…” Mithrun said, as if realizing he’d already known that, and it had just slipped his mind. The elf lay there silently for a moment before he spoke up again. “...Um… I’ve been wondering something. You seem like you know a lot about Vestra. Do you have… Vestran ancestors?”

The question didn’t surprise Kabru, who was used to elves asking him prying personal questions, oblivious to how insensitive they might be. What did surprise him was how long it had taken Mithrun to ask it, and how cautious he was being. Kabru could tell the elf was worried about assuming anything about Kabru’s heritage and offending him by getting it wrong.

At least he hadn’t asked Kabru where he was really from, as many less tactful elves often did, since they assumed anyone that wasn’t an elf couldn’t really be Maalini.

“Well, most scientists and historians agree that all humans originally came from the Vestran continent,” Kabru said, well aware that this was not what Mithrun was asking him, but unable to resist the opportunity to make fun of the man a little bit. “So if you really think about it, don’t we all have Vestran ancestors?”

Kabru felt a grin creeping across his face as he saw the way Mithrun’s ears twitched under his hair in irritation. He probably shouldn’t wind the man up when he was trying to put him to sleep, but watching a noble elf tying himself into knots in an effort to remain polite was so funny.

“I mean… More recently than that,” Mithrun said, voice flat with obvious annoyance.

“Recently for an elf, or recently for a tallman?” Kabru replied, doing his best to sound innocent.

Mithrun heaved a huge, frustrated sigh, wearing the expression of someone who knew that he was being teased, and had grudgingly accepted that maybe he deserved it. “Look, I know you’re from Maalinus, but were you or your family originally from somewhere else?” His tone of voice started out sour, but by the time he finished speaking it gentled to something more neutral. “I know it’s none of my business, and you don’t have to answer, I’m just curious to know more about you.”

“Well,” Kabru said after a moment of considering if he wanted to answer the question or not, and how far he should push Mithrun for the sake of a joke. “Where is your family from? Answer mine and I’ll answer yours.”

“I’m from Kerensilooru,” Mithrun answered, opening his eyes to glance down at Kabru. “Well? What about you?”

Kabru had never been to Kerensilooru, but like everyone else from the empire he knew of it: an affluent suburb of the capital city, ancestral home of the infamous Kerensil banking family. Only the wealthiest families could afford to have a house there. On an average summer day you might spot a dozen senators, movie stars, or various royals on their way to the Kerensil country club for a round of golf.

The working class people of Kerensilooru, the descendants of the peasants that had once sworn allegiance to the House of Kerensil, had steadily been priced out of the area through gentrification. Nowadays most of the servants that worked at the wealthy houses in the area were forced to live further away, in the poorer districts surrounding the capital, and commute to their jobs in the houses of the rich.

All the shops that had once served the local people had become astronomically expensive luxury stores. Did a little suburb of only a few hundred people really need a Bomburry, Húrgun Boss, and a Louen Vuitton store? Apparently so.

But even just having an address in the Kerensilooru postal code was considered valuable, and that meant all the little cottages and farmhouses in Kerensilooru had long ago been bought up and renovated into cheap and tacky imitations of the enormous manor homes that surrounded them, and were often sold at hugely magnified prices to upper middle class families who were eager to emulate the nobility in the hopes of raising their own social status.

Kabru wondered if Mithrun was from one of those big families that lived in the manors, or if he came from a more humble background, a family that was struggling to climb the social ladder. An attitude like Mithrun’s would certainly be embarrassing for a family of strivers.

“I’ve heard of it,” Kabru said politely, which prompted a snort from Mithrun. It was a bit of an understatement, of course, saying that he’d heard of Kerensilooru was like saying he’d heard of the sky. The region was as infamous as its founding family, and there were a million jokes about posh, upper-class twits where being from Kerensilooru was the ultimate punchline.

How can you tell if someone is from Kerensilooru? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you.

“I’m from Sakhastan,” Kabru said, since Mithrun had upheld his part of the bargain. “A village called Utaya.”

“Sakhastan. There’s… a lot of mountains there, right?” Mithrun sounded hesitant, but also genuinely interested. Kabru wondered if Mithrun was as curious about him as he was about Mithrun. That might be nice, actually: their dinner together had been really pleasant. Though he’d had his misgivings earlier, maybe this little arrangement would be alright.

“Yes, lots of mountains,” Kabru said with a tired smile. He was resigned to the fact that the only things people ever seemed to know about Sakhastan was that it was an impoverished country, had a lot of mountains, and that everyone was a monk that spent all day praying.

(Nevermind the logistics of how new children were born and how daily needs were met if everybody was a monk and all they did was pray all day.)

“The Himaraja mountain range goes right between Sakhastan and Tibatt. Mount Sefora is right on the border between the two countries.”

Mt. Sefora was the tallest mountain in the world, and the pride of both Sakhastan and Tibatt. Hundreds of people visited every year to try and climb it. Long ago, when elven geographers hadn’t been able to reach a consensus with the natives on what the mountain was called, they’d named it after the elven noblewoman who’d been governor of the region at the time. So that was the name that the rest of the world knew. In Sakhastan they called it Sagarmatha, “mother mountain”, but Kabru knew he couldn’t expect Mithrun to know it by that name.

“I’ve never really spent much time in the mountains,” Mithrun said, yawning. “There’s the Sazru mountains that surround Maalinus, but I don’t think a lot of people live there. It’s mostly wildlife preserves and aqueducts.”

“Funny you should say that,” Kabru said with a chuckle. “Milsiril’s private compound is in those mountains.”

“That is funny,” Mithrun agreed, “You went from one set of mountains to another.”

“Yeah… I’d barely call the Sazru mountains. More like hills. I haven’t been up an actual mountain since I left Sakhastan.”

Kabru switched from kneading one foot to the other. Though their conversation had turned into something rather involved, gradually Mithrun had stopped fidgeting, he was yawning frequently, and his voice had a sleepy-sounding slur to it that was increasing by the moment.

“Do you know any good books about Sakhastan I could read?” Mithrun asked. “I don’t know anything about it, but I’d like to change that.”

“Off the top of my head, I don’t know any,” Kabru answered. “But nothing written by an elf, or published more than a hundred years ago. They’ll be biased and out of date.”

“Okay,” Mithrun murmured, yawning again. “Can you tell me about it a little…? Sakhastan.”

Of course, Mithrun had no way of knowing the kinds of dark, traumatic things Kabru remembered about his country of origin. Part of him resented the elf essentially asking him to entertain him with something so personal… But Kabru also knew that it was probably just ignorance, not malice on Mithrun’s part. Anyway, he didn’t hate Sakhastan, oftentimes he even missed it… And after being treated to a big dinner of Sindhi food, Kabru was feeling nostalgic.

“Well… Utaya is pretty high up in the mountains, so it’s cold most of the time, but no matter how cold it gets, you can still get sunburnt. Then, in monsoon season it gets really hot and humid, sometimes you feel like you’re breathing water instead of air.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” Mithrun murmured.

“It’s not one of the things I miss,” Kabru said with a chuckle. “Summers in Maalinan are bone-dry in comparison… You’re going to have to deal with something similar if you stay here over the summer break.”

Kabru paused to see if Mithrun would comment, but he didn’t. The other man’s breathing sounded like it was slowing, and so Kabru lowered his voice gradually as he continued talking. “They use a lot of color everywhere in Sakhastan. There’s brightly colored flags on rope that people use to decorate the buildings, but the wind and sun are so strong that it rips them apart and leeches all the color from them, so by the time they swap out the flags for new ones, they’re nothing but tattered white scraps…”

Kabru gentled his hands, and his voice was practically a whisper now. “Women braid colored ribbons into their hair, and they wear aprons with striped patterns on them too…” He carefully slipped Mithrun’s feet out of his lap and back onto the bed, and then stood up slowly. He adjusted the sheet so it covered Mithrun’s feet, and waited there for a moment, breath held, watching the elf to see if he would wake up.

When Mithrun didn’t stir, Kabru let himself exhale quietly, and crept out of the room as stealthily as he could manage, turning off the lights as he went.

In the main living room area, he paused to have a second look at the painting in progress of Mithrun’s brother. The figure in the painting was too indistinct to be recognizable, and even with the confirmation that it was Mithrun’s brother, the clothing, and hair and face were all too vague for Kabru to glean any new information from it… But it was someone Mithrun knew, and maybe even had some fondness for.

Kabru locked the apartment door before pulling it shut behind himself, and made his way down the stairs into the night. He could get at least an hour of studying in before he had to try and sleep himself.