like linen on fire

She said nothing, though by this point Hattori was starting to suspect she simply couldn't. One might think his tight-lipped habit had passed on too strong with her, perhaps. Still he watched and took in her mannerisms, she seemed happy enough, tail wagging and posture relaxed, ease in her eyes. That was answer enough, he supposed, words could be lies but body language was far harder to fake. He followed her then, moving behind her at a laid back pace, keeping her in sight as she shouldered her way through the shorter bamboo reeds, but made no move to overtake or ask where she was taking him. All became clear soon enough anyway.

He settled as she moved to make the tea, something her mother had done for him countless times before, and likely many more times still. His nose twitched as he drew in the scents, working out what sort of tea she was making, chamomile, with a bit of lemon. A good choice, or it would have been if the smell was not quite so…off. Old. He rumbled slightly, pale brows furrowing,

"Asahi, when did you prepare this? Does it not smell off to you?"