When the disciple finally returned, it was already the evening of the eight day.
"The aftermath of the earthquake is so horrendous," he groaned while flopping himself right on the soft patches of grass. "Everyone within the vicinity suffers from nausea and lethargy, and countless houses are destroyed. I went with the other disciples to help rebuild the citizen's home, that's why I couldn't return to the sect these days." He tilted his head and gazed at the elder who was sitting under the huge wisteria tree, his eyes immensely soft. "I'm sorry for being late. Do you miss me?"
He did not deign to answer that impertinent question, having gotten used to the disciple's lack of caution toward him. But on a closer look, he could tell that the man had gotten a bit thinner, his cheeks sunken and the shadows underneath his eyes dark. It was apparent that he had worked himself day and night before rushing back to the sect in a hurry.
