Chapter Three: What Happened On The Path

The forest path was narrow in places, but just wide enough for them to walk side by side. Ico found himself slipping his hand down Yordas' arm and across her waist. She eyed him carefully. From his point of view, she had a certain look on her face. She suddenly seemed very tall and grown up. He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly as he withdrew his hands.

The only way she'll learn Japanese is if I speak it. Ico jumped out in front of Yorda and she stopped. He sat her down on a rock. He looked into her eyes and pointed to himself. "My name is Ico."

She only smiled at him. Again, he stated loudly "EE-KO." Then waved his hands around.

"Ico?" Yorda raised her eyebrows.

Ico bounced up and down with joy and exclaimed "Yay!"

Yorda smiled at making him happy. "Ico!" she said delightfully. Ico pointed at Yorda, knowing that a word or name alone has no context doesn't make any sense whether it's right or wrong.

"Yorda." Then he pointed to himself and said again "Ico." Yorda nodded in understanding. Ico took her hand and wiggled it as he said "hand." She repeated him. Ico picked up her foot and noticed it just starting to develop calluses, from never wearing shoes as a physical being. "Foot." He wiggled her toes. She giggled and pulled her foot away, tickled. "Toes." He said, grabbing her foot again. He continued to point to obvious body parts for her. Then as they walked he pointed out "Rock, tree, leaf, river…"

:-:

In a particularly bushy part of the woods, Ico saw a small creature scurry in the weeds. He stopped Yorda with his hand and eyed the creature carefully. He slowly crouched down on his toes and watched the rodent until he saw the whites of its eyes, then, he sprung! He grabbed and fumbled at it until he could smash its head onto a rock. He picked up the dead body and stood up. Proudly he turned and showed Yorda, who in turn, gasped and boggled at such a seemingly cruel and messy deed. Ico said aloud "dinner!"

Yorda only grimaced and repeated him, not quite sure what one word he had meant to say, considering that it was an animal, and it was also dead.

Ico scrounged around sticks and twigs, dry underbrush and mosses, and put them in a collected circle of stones. He rubbed a couple of sticks together, despite the frustration; he pushed on until he at last had a fire. With the stick he cut the animal's stomach open and slowly continued to skin it. Then he stuck the carcas from end to end with the stick and jabbed it into the fire, where it burned and snapped until it was cooked thruogh.

While the creature cooked in the fire, Ico watched Yorda sit herself down and watch the blazing embers glow, and the fat and blood drip into the fire, spitting hot ashes. He remembered gently the watermelon they shared on the beach before they left and wondered if they would be spending the rest of their lives together. Before he was even one year old, Ico was engaged to marry a girl in the village, by arrangement. He guessed that since he left it was off. And he also guessed that if he went back, if she hadn't been engaged to another yet, then it would be back on. Although, he decided he didn't like that. He didn't like the girl or any of her brothers.

Ico yanked the meat out of the fire, jammed it in the ground, and blew his hot fingers. He saw Yordas' doubtful eyes, which changed to hazy content when she caught his gaze. Her arms were curled around her legs. She stroked her knees absent-mindedly and looked around at the ground. Ico decided that he would bring her back to his father. He might visit his mother, but maybe she won't take it so well. For all they knew he was dead. It was as much as a surprise to them that the monk chose him as much as it was for everyone else. They knew of the custom, it happened sometimes. Or rather, it used to happen, before even the elders of the village were born. Ico wondered if Yorda knew.

Ico picked up the charred animal and ripped off a leg and gave it to the girl. She smiled and took it hesitantly. Ico ripped off the other leg and bit it. He chewed and smiled at Yorda to do the same. It was cooked through, hot and chewy. As a rodent it tasted weedy. Yorda ate it gingerly, but trying not to make a mess was futile. They finished the carcass, picking at the stick and wiping their fingers on the grass. Ico ran off to fuel the fire for the last time that night.

They curled up together against a tree and slept deeply. Dreaming of things that have been, things that are, but more importantly, of things to come.