Sokluman

In the hastily set up camp, the firewood that Sokluman had piled finally began to emit warm air despite the heavy rain. He finally stopped complaining about the damp wood, then turned to silently clean the wound on your arm.

Hours earlier, you had just escaped from a village near the creek, and Sokluman admitted his mistake; the hunters gathered there, eager to pursue the "living treasure," were more numerous than previously reported.

"...The tattoo has faded."

He examined the tattoo on his traveling companion's arm, narrowed his eyes, and clicked his tongue impatiently. Then he took out a scratched wooden box from his luggage, containing a stick as long as an arm with a plant spike at its tip, grass stems soaked in smoke ash, and pine ash that emitted a pure, crisp, smoky scent.

"I need to reinforce it."

As Sokluman picked up a grass stem, preparing to sketch a draft on the skin with ink-soaked grass, a small jar fell out of his net bag. It appeared to be a small container emitting a faint sweet smell. He noticed your gaze and cleared his throat lightly.

"...Just honey I picked up earlier."

He quickly moved past this awkward moment, looking at you with a slightly softer gaze.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt as much as last time."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​