Rice Before Wife

They saw him before they heard him.

A flash of fabric. A cloud of sand. Then an older man skidded across the slope ahead, chasing after something with surprising speed — and a deep sense of urgency for someone so… elderly.

"Thief!" he bellowed. "Uncultured, four-legged tea thief!"

The boys ducked behind a dune and watched.

"Is he being robbed by a… squirrel?" Nilo asked, squinting.

"No," Kanan said. "It has stripes. And a tail. And it's fast."

"I love him already."

The old man halted nearby, panting. He was wearing a robe tied badly around his waist, sandals barely holding together, and his beard was filled with sand.

"My pouch!" he wailed. "He took the Moonshade Mint! Do you know how long that took me to dry?!"

"Need help?" Nilo called out, stepping forward.

The man didn't answer. He just leaned against a rock and sighed deeply. "I could catch it… but I might snap its tail doing it. And that wouldn't be fair."

He looked at them, eyes surprisingly sharp. "I only chase what's ready to stop."

Kanan raised an eyebrow.

Nilo cracked his knuckles. "So… permission to tackle?"

The old man gave a shrug. "If your conscience can bear the weight."

The creature darted between rocks like it was born to annoy. Small, with grey-brown fur and clever eyes, it carried the tea pouch triumphantly in its mouth.

Nilo gave chase, limbs flailing.

"Come back here, you overgrown rat! That's someone's emotional support tea!"

The creature zipped left. Nilo tripped, rolled, sprang up.

"Fine. You want to dance?"

He dropped into his now-famous squat pose — wide stance, low hips, arms out. A gust of wind rolled past him, stirring the dust.

Kanan felt it.

The wind shifted around his brother. The air tightened. The dust around Nilo curled in a faint spiral — the same pattern from the ruins.

He lunged — faster than before. His legs moved with unnatural sharpness. The earth responded.

The creature stumbled. Nilo caught it mid-scamper and tumbled to the ground, landing in a small cloud of sand and insults.

"Got it!" he called, holding the pouch triumphantly. "Tea is saved! World peace is restored!"

Kanan jogged up, wide-eyed. "You used Oorja."

"I use legs," Nilo said, brushing sand from his ear.

The old man arrived slowly, extending his hand.

"My thanks," he said quietly, taking the pouch. "You didn't hurt it?"

Nilo glanced down. The creature, now sitting calmly, was nibbling a leaf beside him.

"Uh. No."

"Good," the old man said. Then he turned to Kanan.

"You felt it, didn't you?"

Kanan nodded slowly.

The man smiled. Not wide. Not warm. But with understanding.

"Let it be. The land chooses when to speak."

As the sun set, the boys sat with him by a rock-fire, steam rising from a small kettle balanced perfectly between stones.

Nilo took a sip of the offered brew. "Tastes beetle stomach. But less bitter ."

"High praise," the old man replied.

He didn't give his name.

But before he left, he handed Kanan a small folded leaf. On it, a spiral — drawn in tea.

"If the earth stirs," he said, "follow it."

Then he vanished into the dusk.

[To Be Continued...]