The next day, though he found it nearly impossible to measure time here, Moran rose from his bedding.

The concept of sunrise and sunset had no place in this perpetual gloom, and the orange-tinged glow that occasionally pierced the darkness for a scant few hours felt more like a fleeting mood than actual daylight.

The Shapeless called these rare moments Lighttime, treating them as sacred interludes of rest and community.

“A time of light is a time too valuable to waste working,” Kai had explained as Moran had asked him yesterday.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up and stretched, his back popping as he twisted from side to side.

The small clay table by the wall caught his eye.

There, neatly folded was mud-green rope with fitting pants, underwear and socks.

The attire was a clear attempt at copying his usual style, thought admittedly it wasn't a very good one.

Nonetheless Moran apprecaiated the efford.

He grabbed the pile of fabric, loaded it onto his now dimly glowing cube and after a finaly stretch that left him still slightly groggry, he left the hut.

Giving his best to retrace the steps they had from the river towards his hut yesterday, Moran stumbled through the village more then he walked.

Despite having to ask for directions four times and needing to correct his way twice, the journey was nonetheless peacfull and enjoyable.

It was the first breathe of something resembling freedom he had felt since he had dragged Kai into the village.

After a while he finally heared the sound of running water.

Playfull splashing mixed with the chatter and occasional laughter of people bathing reached his ears, leading him towards his destination.

The water gleamed faintly under the soft glow of scattered jawlights, winding through the village like a dark, polished ribbon.

Finally approaching the river Moran let his cube float to his side, grabbing the damp clothes and placing them on the grassy ground. The cube hovered obediently, faintly glowing as it followed his unspoken commands.

Over the past few days, he’d learned to control the cube perfectly, dedicating a few hours every day to experimenting with it.

He’d learned how to adjust its light, heat it up, and even make it almost transparent.

Over the last week the wierd cube that had almost blinded him had transformed into the perfect tool, something like a thrid, glowing hand.

Placing his bundle of clothes down, Moran hesitated.

He glanced at the others around him. Some of them stood waist-deep in the water, others were fully submerged.

None of them seemed to pay him any mind.

Yet, as he reached to tug off his shirt, he felt wierd.

Like he didn't want to do it, unwillingness to remove that layer of, admittedly, sticky fabric that hid his body from everyone else.

He rummaged his brain for a moment, like he had done so often before, and found a word for the phenomenon he was experienceing.

It was called shame.

It wasn’t a sensation he was used to; in fact, it surprised him.

Maybe it was the casual ease of the others, or maybe it was the lack of any clear divide between genders here, with man and woman causally sitting with each other and chatting.

Either way, he left his underwear on, his fingers twitching slightly as he folded the rest of his clothes and set them aside.

As he removed his trousers, the scent of sweat, dirt, and something vaguely metallic hit his face like a slap.

A faithfull greeting of almost two weeks spend in them.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He quickly tiptoed to a spot along the river that was almost empty and dipped a toe into the waters.

For a moment he had to supress a suprised shout, as it felt like the cold wanted to bite of said toe.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he almost yanked his foot back out.

He hesitated for a moment, judging the chances of surviving such freezing cold, but in the end the desire to be clean again and the determination not to be outdone by some kids that were happily playing in the water, won and he dove in.

Every nerve in his body screamed in protest, his muscles locking up as the freezing current lapped up his body.

The river seemed determined to drag every ounce of warmth from him.

His heart hammered with everything it got to destribute heat throught his body, just for the water to lick it out of him.

Grinded his teeth and endured, rubbing his arms over his shoulder in attempt to counteract the rivers freezing assualt.

Of course it didn’t work so he just had to stand there and shiver like a snake.

“It’s about breath,” a high voice advised him.

Suprised Moran turned his head to see a Shapeless woman not to far from himself.

Before he could respond, she drew a slow and exaggerated breathe as if to demonstrate to him how it was done.

"Find your rythm," she told him before submerging herself into the river.

The light of the few jaws around the place weren't nearly bright enought to illuminate the river completely so everything a few centimeters in the water was swallowed by a dark abyss.

Despite not seeing her a swirl on the surface indicated the woman was swimming away.

Moran stood in the water, dumbfounded.

For a moment he even forgot the cold, but once he his mind had worked through what just happened he felt it again with the same brutality.

"Brrrrhhhh," He muttered into the darkness.

What the woman had said made as little sense as her apperance but he decided to test it out nonetheless.

It was "don't judge before you try", after all.

He closed his eyes, focused his attention inwards and drew avery slow breathe.

Lungs expanded forcing his ripcage and thus his chest to do the same, increasing the surface the water could steal his warmth from.

Ignoring the few added stitches of cold Moran exhaled before inhaling again.

He repeated the process a few times and to his suprise he realised it worked.

His muscles relaxed enough for him to sit down in the shallows, the current lapping at his shoulders.

For the first time, Moran simply listened, taking in the sounds of around him.

The river gurgled and splashed around him, mingling with the quiet chatter and laughter of people nearby.

The occasional slap of water indicated playful splashing, while the rustling of leaves overhead added a soft undertone to the soundscape.

After a few minutes, Moran leaned forward and dunked his head beneath the water.

The cold was sharp and immediate, as painfull as when he had dove in his toe, but he rubbed his face and scalp vigorously, scrubbing away layers of grime and dried sweat.

Surfacing, he drew a deep breath, water streaming down his cheeks and neck.

He repeated the process, letting his hands move over his body to clean as thoroughly as possible.

Feeling cleaner but still chilled to the bone, Moran hesitated before slipping off his underwear.

Satisfying his apparently out of place sense of shame wasn't worth walking around feeling disgusting, after all.

He quickly cleaned his lower regions, doing his best to avoid drawing attention to himself, though no one seemed to care.

Finally, he climbed out of the water, hurrying to his bundle of clothes.

He grabbed the towel first.

Despite being a simple cloth, it was artfully woven with geometric patterns that shimmered faintly under the dim light.

The Shapeless clearly took pride in their craftsmanship when it came to fabric, even for something as mundane as a towel.

Moran rubbed himself dry, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the river’s icy touch.

Once dry, he unfolded the new clothes.

Unwilling to endure this icy hell every time he wanted to be clean, so every day, he placed getting warm water on top of his priority list.h

To his surprise, the robe and pants fit perfectly.

Whoever made it must be some kind of genius to tailor it so perfectly by description alone. Either that or Moran had a visitor at some point he didn't know of.

For his own sound mind he decided to believe the former.

The material was light and breathable, the stitching snug in all the right places without restricting movement.

The fabric’s texture was slightly rough, though, lacking the perfect smoothnesss of his former wear.

It also didn’t stretch or flex like his old clothes, making it feel stiff despite its loftiness.

Moran tugged at the robe’s sleeves, and after a while had adjusted it to his liking.

He could work with that.

Satisfied, he turned to his old clothes, giving them a cautious sniff.

The smell was as bad as he’d feared.

Sweat, dirt, and something sour he couldn’t quite place. Grimacing, he took them to the river, scrubbing them as best he could.

The water turned murky as he worked, at least in it mind it did.

The light of the jars around him wasn't bright enought to make out colours on the waters surface or a spreading oily rainbow that he was expecting to create here.

With his old clothes cleaned and his new attire fitting well enough, Moran bundled everything up and made his way back to his hut.

On his way, he passed the same food stall Kai had shown him yesterday.

The perky Shapeless from before was absent, much to Moran’s mild disappointment.

Instead, a shy-looking assistant was minding the stall.

He was a lanky, heartless individual with arms a bit too long, hesitated but eventually handed Moran a wooden bowl filled with thick soup and a slab of something resembling bread.

Moran took the food with a muttered thanks, a bitter thought crossing his mind.

So they have bread...

Could've at least fed me that instead of leaf-salat every damn day.

He drank the soup as he walked.

It was pretty good. It was a very thick, hearty, and spicy brewm strong enought to make his nose tingle.

The bread, if it could even be called that, had a dense, chewy texture that made it very unpleasant to eat.

After a few bites Moran began to dip it into t he fluid, which made it slightly better.

It was no comparisin to his last meal, but it was filling and thus did everything he wanted it to do.

Reaching his hut, Moran set the empty bowl aside and unloaded his wet clothes, spreading them out on the table to dry.

His new attire felt strange but functional, and he adjusted the collar of his robe absentmindedly as he looked around.

After a moment of indecision, he made up his mind.

According to Vestiya someone in the village had asked to see him and he had the creeping suspicion that this certain someone was one of the elders who had decided on his stay in the village.

The antlered woman’s face came to him in a sharp flash together with a wave of envy and anger. Envy about what she could do and anger about how she could do it.

With his cube glowing faintly beside him, he left the hut and began walking toward her "clinic", though describing it this way was beyond generous to a hut with a few beds and a shelf with a few medical instruments.

The path was quiet, only the occasional rustle of leaves or murmur of voices breaking the stillness.

The "clinic" came into view faster than he expected.

Taking a steadying breath, Moran raised his hand and knocked on the door.

There was a pause before a sharp voice called out from within.

“Come in.”