Now he primarily occupied one close to the path; spruced up with an old couch cushion or two, a small shrine (with no candles) in a corner, and other little additions that made it homey. Sometimes they disappeared, of course, and that was to be expected-- but sometimes he returned to new additions. Someone had added a small rug (circular, cheap and bright blue), and someone else had hung up a tiny birdhouse outside. It looked handmade.
Today, as he often did, Ember had ascended with a picnic basket and backpack in tow, carefully taking it one ladder rung at a time till he reached the top. He often ate alone with the comfort of the jungle around him, with all of its scents and sights and sounds, as a nostalgic backdrop that reminded him of home.
He set down his bag, producing a large thermos of searing hot water, several small teacups (one chipped), and a number of cobbled together teabags in an old tupperware container. In his picnic basket were a number of sandwiches and cold cuts, wrapped and bagged together.
Sometimes Ember got takers for company, and other times he ate by himself. Both were fine with him.
Today, though, there was someone approaching in the later afternoon light, nothing but a shock of red hair in the distance. Ember leaned out the window, waving with one arm while holding onto his hat with the other.
"Hi!" he called, beaming, "wanna come up for a tea party? It'd be a waste to like, have it all go cold." A lie, but. A lie in the interest of good was hardly worth trifling over.
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