The night was deep, and the bay was silent. The chaotic shouts of Puapu reached the vicinity of the camp, catching the attention of the patrol Samurai.
Priest Tomate stood calmly in the shadows outside the camp. He had long since sent away the others in this camp and now waved his hand at the patrolling Samurai, indicating not to approach. He listened quietly as the excited shouts gradually diminished, and the anger in the voice slowly turned to desolation. Only then did Priest Tomate lift the corners of his mouth and nod secretly.
"Hmm. Big fire for cooking fish, small fire for soup... Captain Chiwaco's soup-making skills aren't bad either..."
In front of the bonfire, the old Militia Chiwaco lowered his gaze, watching the fish soup by the fire, listening to Puapu's shouting, patiently waiting. He knew the other needed time to face the reality he had been unwilling to face.
