It was only a bit after midnight when Lucca finally went back to sleep. He’d seen her go off into the woods earlier, and though he should have been asleep like everyone else, he’d heard the unmistakable roar of the Time Gate in the distance. She came back with Robo, and he felt his memory shift when she’d lain down. Something had changed, but since he hadn’t crossed the Time Gate he would never “remember” how it had been Before. He waited for her to fall back asleep; she’d always snored, ever since they were kids staying out by the docks and watching for the Midnight Ships to ferry the dead. When her breath finally caught in her throat for that first snore, Crono silently rolled up to his feet; he’d spent so long forcing the quiet that existing without sound was easier than breathing. Marle said the only noise Crono ever made was the sound of his hair growing, or his skin splitting open when cut, or blinking.
He did not tiptoe to Lucca’s sleeping form, but he took care removing the Key from around her neck. After the ordeal with the Reptites she’d tried becoming a lighter sleeper, but it just wasn’t in her nature. Time Key secured, Crono began easing his way around his sleeping comrades, away from the campfire and towards the hidden Gate in Fiona’s woods. Marle was using Frog’s back as a pillow, but he didn’t seem to mind. Lucca had nearly fallen asleep in the fire, but that was normal for her. Ayla was probably the lightest sleeper, so Crono was glad he didn’t have to walk past her. Unfortunately, Robo was near the edge of the clearing and it didn’t sleep if it wasn’t going to be out of commission for centuries. Robo… it’d made this forest, cultivating it for two centuries before powering down, and it was more perfect than Crono would have imagined.
Being a robot, Crono had expected it to make the place more like an orchard, but this – with the diversity of plant life and the artistic flow of the small streams, the patchwork canopy of foliage above allowing for moonlight to softly illuminate the scene – made Crono wonder how a robot could have created something so organic. Robo had been created and programmed in a time long after the end of forests: how could it have truly known such beauty? Maybe it’d been a dream for the robot’s original programmer; the rarity of plant life in the future would make even the springtime weeds of Porre a wonderful sight.
The robot’s sight visor slid into its upper chassis as Crono approached. On the other side of the campsite, Ayla grunted and probably tensed in sleep. Robo’s glass-orb sight receptors cycled through three filters before focusing. Crono waited.
“Ah,” said the robot quietly, its sensors obviously taking note of the late hour and sensitive ears of their sleeping friends. “You cannot sleep?”
Crono nodded, tilting his head back to the campfire, and gesturing vaguely into the woods. Audibly, Crono heard the robot’s gears whir to life as it stood on its two mechanical legs. Its vision reception lenses shifted again, and without preamble the robot trotted quietly into the trees. Robo, with its mechanical joints and gears, could never be silent like an animal, like Crono had trained himself to be. Crono was therefore not surprised to hear his name called out to him from across the darkness of the campsite. He gave Ayla a smile before he turned to follow Robo. She would not follow, like Lucca or Marle would try: even in the dying firelight Ayla would be able to see that his sword was still at his side. It was easy to catch up with Robo, even without its steam-press-hiss of movement, what with the way its sight receptors reflected green moonlight on the nearby trees. The robot did not turn to face him, and likely only sensed Crono’s arrival by heat signature.
“After Fiona died, and the forest had achieved a self-sufficient reproduction ratio,” said Robo, its voice modulator still registering on the lower range of decibels, “I was able to study the nature of Time Gates.” Crono did not respond; he did not need to. He never had, and no one expected him to anyway. He wondered how many of them actually thought he couldn’t talk, that he no longer possessed the ability. He wondered if it mattered.
Robo continued. “I was able to construct a Gate like the one Mistress Lucca had first invented at your Millennial Fair.” Crono smiled. It really wasn’t so surprising; Robo had a bit of a crush on the woman who’d repaired him, if robots felt things like that. It probably didn’t help that her glasses and helmet and her too-calm expression made her slightly robotic in appearance. Crono could see the winking light of the Gate Tear through the nearby trees, but its glow was an eerie red. “Mistress Lucca told me of her mother, that terrible event that crushed her spine – oh, but you won’t have remembered that, do you? I always forget that your human minds erase themselves so easily, without the proper command prompt.”
Crono did remember… how Lara Taban had nearly been killed in one of Taban’s compression machines, but it had… malfunctioned? It had stopped working before Lara would have been crushed like so much scrap metal. Ah. Robo must be saying that this is what Lucca changed. Lucca had always been fiercely protective of her mother after that. It would make sense if there had been a world where Lara died, or was even severely injured by that machine. If there had been such a past, Crono could not – and would never – actually remember it. The closest he would come would be to know that it had been a possibility. Everyone else had already gotten used to the constant memory alterations, but sometimes Crono still had difficulty with the notion.
“I built this Gate for her biological readings.” Robo said as they approached the Gate, “It would transfer only Mistress Lucca to that time.” They were within range now: the Key around Crono’s neck had activated the Tear, and the Gate had widened. In the wake of the roar Robo whirled and rotated to face Crono, its almost immobile face somehow carrying a look of concern. “I cannot determine with any amount of probability where this Gate will send you, Master Crono.” The robot’s mouth guard shifted a little off-hinge, and Crono would swear that the robot was smiling. Perhaps it was. “But I will not be able to stop you from testing this portal, will I?” Crono stared into the swirling red eye of the portal, like a glimpse into the soul of a fire or the stomach of a volcano.
He did not shake his head: he did not need to. The robot merely sighed in an overly dramatic manner it’d obviously picked up from Frog. “Alas,” Robo proclaimed, its voice modulator still low as one of his projectile fists clanged softly against his visor shield chassis, “what shall I tell the Princess?” Crono shrugged. There was something inviting about this portal, crafted as it had been by the one who had tended such a diverse and beautiful forest. As easy as breathing, Crono silently sprung forward into the passion-heart-maw of the Gate. It groaned enough as it closed to make up for his silence.
._._._.
When he stepped out again, Crono first thought he had not traveled at all. The forest looked the same, but that was how most of the Time Gates worked. It was daylight though, and there were no traces of footprints in the damp dark soil. He tucked away the Key, memorized the details of the woods around him, and set off north. If these were still Fiona’s woods, Crono must have gone forward in time; they had grown so wild and dense without Robo’s even minimal regulation of their growth. Crono was going to get hopelessly lost wandering past all these nearly identical tree stumps and rotted logs. He hoped he’d be able to trace his footprints back – this was worse than the Forest Maze to the Reptite Lair, or breaking out of the Guardia castle dungeon. Crono was sure he’d seen that rock before.
He was still tired, lost, and now probably stuck in some forsaken cursed woods. Great. What would Robo tell Marle when the sun rose and he hadn’t returned? Dammit, they didn’t even think to take the Epoch to retrieve Robo from the forest cathedral – but at least they were in the “Current” era, and Lucca could always build a new Time Key at her house. His friends would be fine, and Ayla was a good leader while Crono was gone (or so he’d been told. No one ever said specifically what happened with Dalton after the fiasco at the Ocean Palace.). Then again, she did have the lowest stake in their quest. Did she even comprehend how long a span of time sixty-five million years was? No matter. Crono was stirred from his thoughts at the sudden interruption of the natural cacophony of insects and birds.
It was distant, but through the trees he heard the faint trills of music. Music meant people (or Reptites, or Robots, but Reptites had no rhythm and Robots couldn’t carry a tune), which meant there was someone who could possibly lead Crono back to his lost Gate. Maybe Robo had been trying to get rid of him? After all, Crono was the one who essentially ditched the robot for several centuries to grow a forest – it was always possible that Robo knew exactly where this Gate led (nowhere) and knew Crono would go through without a second thought. It didn’t seem likely that the robot would do such a thing, but still…
Every few yards he had to change his course, but if the woods were cursed then such maneuvers wouldn’t be unexpected; what sun Crono was able to spot through the thick canopy seemed stuck at high noon no matter how long he walked, and he could not use it as a guide. The music was louder now, a catchy tune played on a wind instrument.
Crono finally found himself in a clearing much different than the ones before. The overhead canopy was almost nonexistent here where before it had been patchy, and sunlight illuminated a forest floor almost completely devoid of fallen leaves and other such decaying plant matter that had made up so much of the terrain up until this point. Though still within the forest, the sudden appearance of high walls of worn stone was comforting to Crono, as was the nearness of the music’s source. It was coming from above him, but when Crono turned his gaze skyward the music cut off abruptly with a howl.
Crono’s sword was drawn in an instant to the threatening noise, and the rushing white wolf did not have time to counter his spinning cyclone attack; the beast merely howled twice as loudly before it fell over dead. Crono did not see the second wolf, and was surprised when the beast knocked him over with just one swipe of his paw. Crono rolled across the thick and mossy soil, pained and angry with himself as he moved into a defensive position. Idiot, he thought to himself; it had not been one wolf at double volume, but two wolves acting in tandem. How often had he and all of his teammates coordinated efforts to confuse their enemies with strengthened attacks? The wolf was circling as Crono climbed to his feet, and he was prepared for it to attack once more when the beast suddenly howled in pain, arching backwards. Magical ice encircled it, sealing the wolf in place. Marle? He thought, but did not hesitate to slash at the vulnerable beast.
The ice cracked at Crono’s killing blow, and the wolf slumped forward to the forest floor, an arrow protruding from its back. Crono was surprised. Had Marle followed him through the portal so quickly, but somehow evaded his notice? He searched his surroundings for the princess or further enemies, but Marle was always so enthusiastic after a victory she would have been dancing and yelling loud enough to get his attention. Sure, her enthusiasm would draw more monsters their way, but when Crono and Marle fought together they were unstoppable. She’d snatched him from Death itself, after all.
But Crono did not see her customary splash of white against the greenery, or the white pelt of other wolves. He was further confused: if it had not been Marle, then who had– a sudden soft thud behind him, and Crono was pushing himself into another cyclone attack before he really saw the figure. Crono’s sword clanged loudly against another, and with surprise he examined the swordsman fast enough to counter his attack.
This other swordsman was young, probably the same age as Crono. He wore a fighter’s tunic, like Crono, though the cut was a bit different and much tighter on the stranger, a more terrain-suited dark green fabric to Crono’s rather noticeable pale blue. Other than the colors, they dressed almost identical – fighter’s thick white leggings, leather boots, white under-tunic, gloves, belt (though Crono’s was a cloth tie, not nearly as useful as the other’s pouch-laden leather belt). It really didn’t matter the era: fighters had a pretty standard uniform for battle if one wanted to make it through without having to buy new clothing after every minor skirmish.
Crono relaxed his sword from his attack, and the other followed suit but did not sheathe the blade. Instead, the fighter in green simply looked over Crono’s shoulder for a moment to the high walls, back to Crono, and then walked slowly towards the entryway. Crono was not sure how to react to the other’s silence: was he a mute? Was he shy, or simply trying to avoid detection by enemies? Was he mocking Crono’s own silence? He didn’t know but, having found no one else in this strange future forest of Fiona’s, Crono felt that a fellow swordsman would be his best shot. He followed.
When he noticed the ridiculous shape of the kid’s ears, he nearly laughed: they looked like they had been ripped from the skull of a Mystic. Shaped a bit like Magus’ and Schala’s ears, actually. He even had blond hair, like the Zeals used to: at least, Crono had heard they'd been blond, back before they discovered Lavos.
They paused in the entryway, the other fighter gesturing to the lumbering sentry stalking the narrow walkway. Like the palace jail, Crono thought, except that this goblin-like monster seemed too dim to notice the other fighter hacking away at its legs. The beast groaned as it fell, the blood loss quickly killing him. The blond crossed the archway and gestured Crono follow. The thought about the Zeals, though – there might be something to that. With his luck, Crono had probably only jumped ahead a couple decades in time, and was meeting Marle’s son: it seemed everyone they ever met on their journeys through time was related to her anyway, it wouldn’t be too surprising if this guy was too. Crono went to follow the other swordsman into the maze, but he stopped short when the man was sent flying by a second goblin beast charging down the path. Crono wasted little time, severing the beast in half with his dashed slash attack, utterly annihilating the sentry. The other fighter was clambering out of a conveniently placed pool, his clothes dark with water and face red with embarrassment. Crono shrugged lightly. Everyone had their moments off, his gestures tried to convey, and at least they weren’t dead.
The other monster goblins in the maze were dispatched easily when Green pulled out a strange contraption Lucca might build. It was not shaped like Lucca’s guns, but the small iron device did appear to operate on the same mechanics. The arrowhead-like knob was attached to a chain within the device, and when triggered would shoot the arrowhead-and-chain like a bullet, but just like Robo’s fists it would retract after it had connected with the target. It was noisy, but it killed from a distance and probably saved a bundle on arrows, so Crono didn’t care.
The final corridor of the maze was left to Crono. The giant of a goblin was out of reach of Green’s secondary weapon, and it was slamming down a huge mallet into the earth, the thundering crashes sending powerful shockwaves through the soil. The shockwaves made it nearly impossible to approach, but Crono fought back with his own brand of shockwave. A few well-placed slash attacks sent the split air straight into the monster’s torso, tearing at its flesh as easily as the blade. This goblin’s death peal was louder than their previous foes, and it too slumped over dead after very few attacks. Green grinned at Crono and ran up the incline, Crono following without a word spoken between them.
This new clearing was much more impressive than the last: nearly flush with the ground before Crono was a large stone altar of some kind, large ritual symbols carved around its perimeter and etched into its center. Beyond that lay a broken staircase, leading partially upwards into the entrance of a huge fortress, or a temple, or something along those lines. The staircase was only intact for a few feet of ascension, leaving a gap of several yards between the fortress door and the end of the stairs. Having reached the clearing sooner, the other swordsman had somehow gotten himself upon the jutting platform far beyond the top of the broken staircase without Crono seeing how he’d done it, and was now sitting on the edge with his legs dangling over the twenty-foot drop. Green tossed something down, and with barely a thought Crono caught the arrow-chain contraption. Crono slid the device onto his hand, its thankfully ambidextrous design allowing it to sit comfortably over Crono’s right hand as it had Green’s left. The other fighter smiled, pointing up. Crono’s gaze followed, for the first time noticing the thick and sturdy tree limb hanging over the platform, its bark pockmarked with square gouges.
Green had raised his left hand, palm flat and fingers extended, and Crono watched as he deliberately bent first his thumb, then his index finger, and finally his middle finger, before looking up at the tree again. Crono raised the arrow-chain and took aim to a section of branch above the platform. Pressing down on the first lever, Crono’s arm nearly shot backwards from the recoil, but the metal stud easily pierced the wood. It gave a loud “ker-shang!” as the metal arrowhead released hooks within the branch to solidify its grip. The second lever was harder to control, for suddenly the chain was retracting into the device, but the arrowhead was not dislodging – Crono was flying up! His grip on the contraption tightened as he flew towards the tree, the wind whipping through his hair like in the bike races with Robot Johnny, but soon he simply hung limp from the chain, suspended above the platform. Green moved out from under Crono’s dangling form, so when Crono finally pressed the third switch he only landed on the other guy’s legs instead of getting impaled on Green’s pointy ears.
Crono flushed with embarrassment, but Green just took back the arrow-chain with a shrug. Everyone has trouble the first time, his expression seemed to say. Crono sat himself on the platform ledge, and Green sat beside him. Green very deliberately held out the arrow-chain device, and carefully pointed to the chain, to himself, and repeated. His name? So he was probably a mute. Crono gestured to the chain as well, first as an overpass, then as a tap. With gestures, he tried to ask, the entire chain, or part?
Green’s hand punched a single ring. Link. Hm. Well, that wasn’t too weird of a name, and at least they were able to understand one another. But how could he explain Crono? He didn’t even know if they had the same gods. With care, he tried pantomiming a crown, and a clock. Link looked confused. Crono tried again, with an hourglass, then a sundial, and finally his hands spiraling away like so many lost sunsets. Link smiled, and gestured to himself with a nod. Crono shook his head. Link-of-chain, kid in green; Crown-of-days, kid in blue. Link seemed to get it, but when he started making universal signs for days and nights and travels, Crono understood his confusion.
I walk through time, Link signed. Of course, since it was solely gesticulation, a more direct translation would have been “I walk sunset,” but Crono was willing to bet his more idiomatic interpretation was what Link was trying to convey.
Crono nodded. I am god-Chronos-king-of-time, he tried to convey, I walk through time as well.
Link rolled his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. You do not. Only I can.
Crono rolled his eyes in return and gave Link a shove. Anyone can walk through time with a key, he replied. Crono wasn’t sure if Link would understand his gestures for key, but the other fighter did not seem to be confused, and did not gesture for clarification. In fact, Link merely gave him a curious look before he pulled from one of his larger belt pouches something small, metal, and blue. It looked like a bit like a potato, except it was metal, blue, and full of holes. Link played the scales.
I use this, he said with his smile. This is my “Key.”
Crono pulled out the Gate Key from its hiding place under his tunic, leaving it still hanging from his neck. I can walk from the start of the world to the end with this, he gestured, encompassing the forest and the sky in his arm movements. You?
Link looked embarrassed. Only seven years: there-and-back. Gesturing was getting easier, and Crono smiled. He slipped the Key back under his clothes before he did something stupid, like break the necklace and send the Key down to shatter on the rocks below.
They tried telling their stories through gestures and pantomime – how the demon parasite from the sky was devouring the world, how a demon king had stolen a power broken apart and seized the country. It took a long time, stumbling over the simpler concepts to convey the overall message, and there was a bit of difficulty when Crono had to explain that no, he wasn’t trying to kill a God. Link was having self-implication issues.
It’s my fault, said his guilty face, and his hands continued, he took the power from me. I was to guard it.
Crono gave Link a comforting brotherly punch to the shoulder. Idiot, the fist said. I attacked the wizard who could kill the demon. Then he saved my life. Awkward.
Link shook with laughter, but he made no sound. We’re not very good heroes, are we? He seemed to ask, and Crono couldn’t help but shake with laughter in response, agreeing readily. Crono showed in full-bodied pantomime how, after getting drunk at a festival, he had been robbed by dinosaurs; Link nearly rolled off the platform at Crono’s imitation of a stealthy lizard, and Crono nearly fell off when he tried demonstrating wandering through a maze with a hangover. Link explained how he had stolen his horse by racing his hands in circles against the stone, and how he had to break into the castle to see his princess. My princess broke OUT of her castle to harass ME! Crono replied, and in the way that guys do they began grossly imitating their female companions, exaggerating the expressions of how those women would speak. Link went a bit cross-eyed and started clawing at Crono’s arm like a lost dog, and Crono’s red-faced silent tirades ended with pouts and batted eyelashes.
It was an odd familiarity borne between them, a companionship of equals. This was something Crono had not known before, not with his abundance of female allies and the way the other village boys tended to avoid his friendship. After a while they jumped from the platform with only a bit of stinging in the ankles, and began practicing their skills with their swords on the strange, magical altar. Link was the much more agile fighter, but Crono could do things with a sword not even Ganon could parry. Crono caught the way Link’s eyes followed his movements, memorizing his technique and attempting to replicate what moves didn’t involve harnessing an inner core of magic. It wasn’t that Link didn’t have magic – he showed off the power of his ice arrows, and his Goddess Fire – but it was nothing compared to the blinding destruction of Crono’s Lighting and Luminaire.
The sky was growing dark, and eventually Link brought out his ocarina once more. Crono was instantly fascinated with the magic of the music – how the trees seemed to come to life with that piece Crono had chased through the forest, how the cloudless skies began drizzling with another song, how one melody instantly reminded Crono of his mother back home. Crono had spent so much of his life becoming silent, he had almost forgotten that there were noises that were good. Perhaps this was why he liked Marle so much: because she was so loud and boisterous in comparison to Crono.
Do you want me to teach you? Link asked by offering Crono a second ocarina. It was smaller than Link’s blue one, carved from wood, and it was not so inherently imbued with magic. Crono could see that Link would no sooner part with that ocarina than Crono would Marle’s pendent. He agreed with a smile.
As they played the songs of the forest and desert and waterfalls, of sun and shadow and sorrow, the silence Crono had spent so long cultivating for his body began to crack and crumble. His footsteps on the altar began stomping in rhythm, his fingers audibly tapping against the wood, the notes pouring out of him as easy as breathing.
Crono had never had siblings, or male friends growing up. After his father died and his voice had gotten screwed up, the other kids began avoiding him – everyone except Lucca. Then again, she had been ostracized for far longer than he, and even Crono had picked on her when they were younger and he was normal. Even now, with all his friends trying to save the world, Crono didn’t really have an equal, a brother in arms. Lucca was like a sister, and Marle loved him so much she wouldn’t let him die, but Frog was more like a proud uncle than a friend. Robo was… well, Robo was a robot, Ayla was too confusing for words, and Magus was just sort of there, except when he wasn’t. Crono had only spent a day with Link – who could very well be Marle’s son (and hopefully Crono’s by extension if she said yes when all this was over) – and Crono felt like he’d found a long-lost brother. He tried conveying it, ocarina held in his mouth by his teeth while his arms tried to embrace such new concepts, but Link just smiled.
Me too, the smile seemed to say, but the smile did not last. Sadness, and disappointment, and a sort of resigned way of looking away replaced the expression of understanding. But you still have work to do, it said, right, Brother-King-of-Time?
Crono nodded. He wished he could see all the lands Link had pantomimed, the ones he’d saved and the ones he still had to reclaim from darkness (there was so much more variety here in this one time period than in all the eras Crono had faced before. Odd, that. Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough). Yet… he knew that though his friends could defeat Lavos without Crono, they would probably refuse to on sheer principle: they had gone through all that trouble as to bring him down from Death Peak, so Crono doubted they would allow his mysterious disappearance into a synthetic portal to take him from them either. Link understood, even if all his allies sort of just stood around waiting for him to do all the work for them.
All the forest is rooted here, he signed. If your Door is in these woods, it can open here.
It made sense. If Lavos could disrupt a Gate, and if Robo and Lucca and Magus could all build Gates from nothing, then it should be possible that Link could move an already existing Gate a few hundred meters.
One more song: the Song of Time, Link gestured with his ocarina and trailing sunsets. Your Key? Crono slid the Gate Key out from under his tunic, allowing the bends of the metal rune to shine in the moonlight. Link and Crono both backed away from the center of the altar, and standing near one another they faced the temple and the altar itself. The notes were slow, easy to follow, but they were haunting and Crono could feel the music pulling at his heart, and the Key. He echoed the song easily. They built off one another, a canon of low notes playing over and over; the music purposefully drifted through the trees, drawing the power of the Gate into the heart of the forest. Over and over they played, red strands of magic gathering on the center insignia of the altar, growing brighter and stronger with each passing verse. After several more verses the Gate groaned open, red and fervent and pulsing like a true fighter’s heart. Crono pulled the wooden ocarina from his lips, and made to hand it back to Link, but Link just pushed it back.
It’s yours, brother. Crono snorted, and shook his head in amusement, going to put the instrument into his rucksack so he wouldn’t do something stupid like drop the gift while still in the Portal. As he pushed clothes and feathers aside to properly cushion the instrument, Crono saw an unmistakable white tuft of fur. Link had told that all his songs were those of his friends – if Crono could give the same in return, then why not? Pulling out the doll, Crono used it as a glove and with it punched Link lightly in the chin.
Lucca had been sick of the sappy “stereotypical girly music box” song that played on her Poyozo doll, and after Death Peak she’d had some spare time, having been left behind while they went to go find the Sun Stone. She’d been able to reprogram the three more advanced dolls into each holding all their signature Poyozo songs – like Magus’ and Robo’s. One doll Lucca kept, one she gave to Marle.
One, Crono gave to Link. Link took the doll, bewildered – the music couldn’t be heard over the roar of the Gate, and the doll itself was really rather goofy looking anyway. Link’s look of confusion, with his ridiculous left ear actually twitching in emotion, nearly made Crono laugh. You gave me your friends; here are mine.
Link laughed his silent laugh, sliding the doll snugly under his belt and flush against his tunic. Idiot. Crono smiled.
“Aahnk’koo.” Crono said, using his voice for the first time in ten years. He still slurred, and sounded like a fool. Dammit. “Ank… DHAENKoo… kyuu… dthaenkyu.”
Link punched him in the shoulder. Idiot. He signed, you make me look bad. Go home. Very briefly they hugged, and patted backs, and Crono was off, dashing and jumping and springing into the Gate. Goodbye, brother. His feet thudded the whole way, and the scream of the closing Gate could not drown out his laughter.
Idiot brother, Link thought, the Poyozo doll playing a really girly song that would make Link laugh to learn its name. The Gate had dissipated. Link returned to the Forest Temple’s upper platform and, listening and echoing, he began piecing together Crono’s Song.
._._._.
Morning sunlight pierced the patchwork canopy above, and Crono certainly didn’t remember falling asleep using the hard and unyielding leg of Robo as a pillow. God his neck hurt.
“Oh, you’re finally awake,” said Lucca, kicking Crono’s foot as she shifted the weight of her bag of camping gear from one shoulder to the other. “We’ve been ready for a while. Ayla’s going to start marking her territory if we don’t get going soon.” With barely a thought, the gesture familiar and common, Crono tapped his left pectoral. “Marle? She’s still sleeping. You two are the worst – you go wake her up.” Crono nodded, leaning back down against his hard pillow as Lucca wandered off, shouting something to Magus about not setting the place on fire to spite the insects.
Crono’s hard pillow was most assuredly not a robot. Shifting, Crono pulled his rucksack from beneath his head and sat up. Funny, it was usually a lot softer and more yielding than this, so why– Opening the flap, Crono found that where there should have been a soft pillow of a toy was a small wooden wind instrument. Crono grinned, pulling out the ocarina.
He knew just the way to wake Marle, and when he did, he’d ask. With words. He was surprised at how easy it was to play that first forest song with his lips threatening to break into a smile, the underbrush cracking under his feet as he went.
