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The motion has Zu’zu’s teeth set on edge, knocking together like a vice narrowly missing his tongue each and every time. He hates carriage travel at the best of times, but this is an altogether unexplored, new, and unique type of torture, traversing the uneven roads along the coast of Eorzea. He supposes it’s better this than the near vertical travel that some merchants took through the mountains to save time.
They’ve made a few stop here and there, letting off some passengers and taking on new ones, but no one who stays for too long--the trip from Thanalan to the Black Shroud along the coast isn’t necessarily a popular one, not when merchants and adventurers alike stand to gain more from city to city travel. The only reason that Zu’zu wasn’t following in the steps of the swaggered adventurers who flitted by their village was, honestly, the lack of gil rolling in the depths of his pockets. As long as Zu’zu promises to keep an eye on good and passenger alike, he’s welcomed to rumble along in the carriage for next to nothing, even if he spends nearly every second dreaming of the smooth, easy paths of airships.
Honestly, he ought to dedicate even this bit of good fortune to Z’aria as much as he does Nymia. Without Z’aria, he’d have never found passage to the archer’s guild in the first place.
Though, to be fair, without Z’aria, he also wouldn’t have found his interest in archery beyond breaking bow and arrow alike in a swath of childlike destruction. Her forcing a bow into his hand for structural purposes was as much a kindness to Zu’zu as it was an effort to save her livelihood. For as much as she tolerates him and has taught him everything she personally knows about the ancient technique, she says she’s relieved to see his tail flicking behind him away from her equipment. For both of their sakes, he’ll lean into her excuses about allergens as the reason for her tears as she clutched his neck and told him good riddance in the moments before his departure.
The carriage rolls to a sudden halt and Zu’zu mouth clicks shut again. He rolls his fingers into the muscles of his jaw, watching as a lalafell man stumbles off of the steps only to be replaced by a hyur woman and man who take up the crates near Zu’zu’s feet only to immediately leave. There’s a bit of chatter from the man who’s driving the carriage, but Zu’zu is quick to tune it out again, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. The air smells damp in a way that Thanlan never does. Everything here at the edge of the Black Shroud is verdant, every breath like Zu’zu is coating the insides of his lungs with flora, suitably comparable to the inch of dust he’s convinced covers his insides from a childhood spent playing among the dunes of Thanalan.
He opens his eyes and stares at where the sunlight pours down on him through the cracks in the canopy, thin fingers of heat and light reaching down to him, caressing his face and hair and ears. In spite of everything, the sun still burns like it does at home, still blinds him, and provides him with a stalwart reminder that he’s alive. It’s the furthest he’s ever traveled from their village of stone and sand and, admittedly, he doesn’t know when or if he’ll be back again. How many of his playmates had reached majority and departed with promises to return only to become the phantom of ages past relived only in stories? He’d made no such promises on his return, only that, should Nymeia find it in her heart to reconnect their paths, he’d be grateful to see them all again. He’d already spent so much more time there than those who’d left before him. He’s nearing twenty years and yet he’s only just leaving the village in which he grew. Z’rodar had none too kindly said, upon his own departure, that he expected Zu’zu to be herding children well until the hairs on his head turned grey. After that, getting out of there was almost a move entirely of spite.
...almost.
He’s shaken from his reverie as the carriage starts to move again, this time with two Elezen children aboard. Neither of them acknowledge Zu’zu’s presence, a fact he’s altogether grateful for as he settles in once more. The crates beside his feet have been replaced with something different, smaller boxes and a vase of some sort, both of which he swings his leg over to keep in place as the carriage rocks to life at the squawking of a chocobo.
He’s ready for the lurch of the carriage this time, pressing his feet into the floor and his back against the siding, only jostling a little this time.
It takes a bit of effort not to chuckle as both of the Elezen children shake in their seats, knocking into one another.
“You get used to it.”
One of them grunts and gives the tightest grimace before immediately turning to their sibling, mumbling in hushed tones.
They’ve really taken the ‘twins’ thing to the extreme, clothing, hair, and mannerisms almost completely identical, Zu’zu couldn’t tell them apart if there was a sword held to his throat. One of them shoots him a look before immediately turning, trying to hide away like the very act of seeing them was a transgression. He shakes it off with a roll of his eyes, sliding a little further down into his seat with his head back against the side and eyes falling shut.
They’ve moved from the edge and into the heart of the Black Shroud, the trees growing thicker to the point that the sunlight is almost entirely extinguished. It doesn’t stop him from trying to soak in every ray as they come in a couple of snatches, but he still ends up hugging tighter to himself as the temperature drops under the canopy.
Z’aria had teased him about freezing to death away from the arid heat of Thanalan and, while he’d been quick to tell her she was exaggerating, he was starting to think she might have been on the right track.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion of the trip, but the swaying of the carriage almost has become enjoyable, Zu’zu settling in again as he allows himself to fall asleep with thoughts of the wonders that await him in Gridania.