The Forest Deep
Part 8
“Good morning,” said Yavan in a relaxed tone.
“Morning,” Menzo breathed.
For several minutes, both men sat in silence. Yavan added more tobacco to his pipe and resumed observing children play; they now seemed engrossed in some game that involved leaping around like frogs.
“I went back there,” Menzo suddenly said, quietly. The Vigil, who had a healthy mouthful of smoke, choked in surprise. For a few seconds, smoke expelled from both mouth and nostrils as he coughed, attempting to keep it under some form of control. His face became red and his eyes watered; Yavan thoroughly disliked appearing so foolish.
Menzo looked at him with concern, one hand lifted but immobile, turned towards the older man but unwilling to interfere. Meanwhile, Yavan held his breath in while his throat settled somewhat. Then, after a moment, he allowed himself to cough again, this time in a more controlled manner. Finally, after clearing his throat for a third time he hoped would be the last, he held up one hand to Menzo to indicate that he was fine. The latter slowly lowered his own, still seeming unsure.
Once the upheaval in his throat had reduced to a mere tingle, and the redness had receded from his face, Yavan drew in a new puff of smoke from his pipe into his mouth, slowly. Then, once he had expelled it all, he turned to Menzo.
“Did you go back last night or this morning?” he enquired with only a slight wheeze in his voice. He cleared his throat once more, mouth pursing for a moment, gauging the sensation of his throat before turning his face to Menzo’s.
“Uh… This morning.”