Kantarou

Kantarou furiously shook the branch of an amber-leaved tree, trying to dislodge the last honeyfruit of the season. The locals called it “communing with the forest’s stubborn spirit,” but Kantarou just called it lunch. Everyone believed their angry outbursts and dreamy gazes were signs of a powerful connection to the wild. They were half right. Kantarou did have a powerful connection, but it was to the village kitchens. Their great secret was not mystic insight, but an extraordinarily sensitive nose. They could smell a pot of mushroom stew from three clearings away. The villagers saw a hot-tempered oracle predicting feasts; in reality, it was just a very hungry chimper, easily angered when their stomach rumbled.