Loman stuffed the extra bread and milk into the crevice of the box behind him, and picked out a softer piece of bread and handed it to Cecil.
"Brother, eat quickly, or it won't be good if someone finds out."
Lohman is right. With all that commotion in the restaurant, a large number of people definitely didn't get to eat. What would hungry people do to two unarmed men? Cecil knew without even guessing.
From the freshly baked bread of the past to the ready-made bread that has been sitting for who knows how long, from hot milk to cold milk, Sesil was not used to it. He ate a few bites and then put it aside.
Loman, on the other hand, casually picked up a piece and ate it in big bites, leaving not even a crumb, and could only watch longingly as Cecil held the piece in his hand.
Sehir was amused, and just as he handed the bread to Loman, Loman immediately took a bite and most of the bread was gone.
He choked on his food, then reluctantly drank a few sips of milk, carefully setting it aside, his mouth opening and closing as he drank the milk.
"Brother, where are you planning to go?"
Suddenly asked a question, Sehir snapped out of his thoughts, thought for a moment, and said, "East Asian continent."
Loman nodded and agreed, "I've been there, it's freezing cold."
"Cold?" Sesil was taken aback by the unexpected news.
"Brother, don't you know?" Loman looked at Cecil with a blank expression and explained, "A volcano erupted there, and ever since then, the winters there have been so cold that people can freeze to death. It's said that they offended the guardian deity."
Sehir was somewhat surprised by the news; he had never seen this report in the newspapers before, so it seemed that the news had been blocked.
After watching Loman eat a few more bites of bread, Cecil finally spoke again: "How many places have you been to?"
Loman looked up and smiled blankly, a little embarrassed to speak: "I've been wandering around since I was a child, traveling all over the place on all sorts of ships. I've been to so many places."
No sooner had he finished speaking than Loman opened his mouth again, "Why did you leave the West Asian continent, brother? You don't look like a commoner like us. Did you run away from home?"
A barrage of questions followed, and Cecil didn't know how to respond for a moment, so he could only go along with Loman's words.
"Even if it means running away from home."
"Do you still want to go back?" Loman moved closer to Cecil.
Sehir glanced out the window and said, "I'm not going back."
Sehir didn't know what he was feeling when he said those four words. He was so conflicted. Why did he want to escape?
He could have enjoyed wealth and luxury in West Asia, and been a high-ranking duke, simply by listening to Isri.
But why did he abandon those who ran away? Was it to go against Isrith? To prove he could do it alone?
Is that so? Maybe...
Sehir's head ached from the wind, so he reached out and pulled down the barrier before burying his head in the burgundy scarf.
There's still a faint fragrance, but it's very faint and will probably be gone by tomorrow.
Seeing that Sesil had his head down, Loman thought he had said something wrong, so he shrank into the corner and remained motionless, staring at Sesil with his eyes open.
—
Before they knew it, it was noon. They heard a few noises around them, but Cecil didn’t look up until Loman’s voice rang out again.
"Brother, it's lunchtime, time to eat."
Sehir raised his head slightly, and the aroma of pasta wafted to his nose. A glint flashed in Sehir's eyes, and he raised his head completely to look at the plate Loman was holding.
The plate was intricately carved with deep blue patterns and adorned with a few pieces of gold leaf; this was definitely not food served in the commoners' quarters.
Sehir turned his gaze back to Loman's face. Even though his face had been washed with water, he could still vaguely make out the faint red finger mark.
Immediately, Cecil frowned, looked at Loman, and asked in a cold tone, "Where did you get this from?"
Loman was startled by Cecil's tone, and his voice trembled slightly as he spoke: "They...sent it."
A cold glint flashed in Cecil's eyes, and his voice grew even colder: "Tell the truth!"
Loman was just a child, and he immediately felt wronged by Cecil's words.
"My brother didn't eat breakfast this morning, I... I just wanted him to eat..."
As soon as he finished speaking, Loman couldn't help but feel wronged. He stood in front of Cecil, sniffling, tears streaming down his face.
Upon hearing Lohman's words, Sehir's heart skipped a beat, and he looked at the person standing in front of him, somewhat at a loss.
Her light golden hair was still dripping wet, and her face, which had just been wiped dry, was soaked with tears again, making her look like a waterlogged mess.
Cecil felt in his shirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Just as he was about to hand it to Loman, he realized that he was still holding a plate in both hands.
Left with no other option, Sesil rose slightly, picked up a handkerchief, and wiped Loman's face, his voice softening.
"Don't cry."
Loman wasn't ungrateful; hearing Cecil's voice soften, he forced a smile and asked, "Brother, you don't blame me?"
Cecil nodded helplessly and took the plate from Loman's hand.
“Don’t do these things again,” Cecil said, gently twirling a piece of pasta with his fork.
“Hmm…” Loman responded half-heartedly.
Just as Sesil was about to hand the pasta to Loman, he noticed that Loman was staring intently at his hand.
What are you looking at me for?
After admiring it for a few seconds, Loman blinked and said, "Brother's movements are so beautiful."
Beautiful? Sesil turned and placed it in his hand. It's always been like this; there's no such thing as beautiful or not.
"Don't let your mind wander, eat your food." Sehir lectured Loman as if he were a child.
Loman looked at the rolled-up pasta in front of him and shook his head: "I've already eaten. This is for my brother."
Cecil narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he were scrutinizing Loman. Loman quickly held up three fingers, his eyes resolute.
"I swear I definitely ate it! Otherwise..."
Cecil's lips curled into a smile: "What else?"
?
A note from the author:
Sehir's habits, formed since childhood, are unchangeable; even his eating movements appear to be exquisite works of art to ordinary people.
——
Can such a canary survive?
Chapter Sixty-One
“Otherwise…otherwise I’ll never have anything to eat!” Loman said with his eyes closed, then opened them, his gaze even more determined than before.
Sehir chuckled softly, and eventually the plate was returned to him.
It's noon now, the sun is out, but it's still very cold, though much better than in the morning.
The sea breeze seemed to take pity on the two poor children, and didn't stir up too much wind at noon.
In the middle of the sea, the fishy smell lessened, and a faint scent of sea salt drifted in through the window, cleansing the soul deep within.
The West Asian continent was no longer visible. Sehir placed the empty plate aside and looked at the boundless ocean, his eyes squinting from the blazing sun.
Such a sight is rarely seen in the West Asia continent. Almost two days have passed. What is Islam doing now?
That madman is probably already insane. Will he still come after me? What would happen if he did? Sesil didn't dare to think about it…
Perhaps I will die.
Sehir pulled the scarf around his neck up again, as if recalling some things from the past. The scent on the scarf had faded to almost undetectable.
It would take at least a week to get to the East Asian mainland from here, and only two days have passed. Tonight is Christmas, and without realizing it, Sehir felt a lump in his throat.
He eventually managed to escape before Christmas.
"Is your brother crying?" Loman seemed to notice that something was wrong with Cecil and said, "It's Christmas today, brother, don't cry."
Sehir sniffed and looked up at Loman. He wasn't crying; perhaps only his eyes were red.
“I didn’t cry,” Sehir explained.
Loman pulled his legs back, propped his head up with his hand, tilted his head and said to Cecil, "With me here with you, brother, you're not lonely."
As he spoke, Loman rested his head on Cecil's body. Cecil unconsciously shrank back a little, but the movement was small. After a few seconds of stiffness, he let Loman lean on him.
"Thanks."
Sehir's voice wasn't loud, and it was also drowned out by the sea breeze outside, so Loman didn't hear it. He leaned against Sehir and fell asleep within a few minutes.
With even breathing and a few soft snores, Sesil turned his head and his gaze fell on Loman's round face.
Even on skin that's become somewhat dry from the wind, you can still tell if you look closely that it was originally soft.
The water stains on that small face, barely the size of a palm, had dried completely, and the finger marks on it were even more obvious. A pang of pity flashed through Cecil's heart, and he raised his hand to gently touch Loman's face.
Perhaps due to the high fever, Loman frowned and shrank back behind Cecil as soon as he touched him, covering his face.
Sehir exhaled, then suddenly smiled slightly. Reflecting on the past two days, he realized that in the end, he was the one who had been taken care of.
Just like a child who can't take care of himself, Cecil rubbed the hair on his forehead and draped the extra scarf over Loman's shoulders.
Everything returned to calm. The sea breeze gently lifted Cecil's hair, and the shimmering water reflected the soft, golden strands of hair, making them tremble in the air like golden threads.
As time went on, Sehir's eyelids began to droop, and after his head bobbed in the air a couple of times, he leaned against the window and fell asleep.
-
The fog in West Asia is incredibly thick today, and the weeds have grown quite tall outside the castle deep in the forest.
This place hasn't been tended to for two days, and even the horse pen outside has lost half its food.
In the unlit room, various shiny silver chains were scattered on the floor, and the usually neatly made bed sheets were now a jumbled mess.
Isri lay on the bed, his pale amber pupils seemingly lost in thought for a moment, then his gaze shifted slightly before returning to its previous state.
He bought a ticket, but the next ship wouldn't depart for another two weeks, and he would have to stay here for the next two weeks.
Thinking about how dirty his things would be in half a month, Isri's breathing became heavier, and he turned over and punched the wall.
On the table in the room was a vase with several withered branches stuck in it, their thorns drooping limply.
These are the roses that Cecil picked that day; they've withered and are now just dry husks.