His hands had already fallen into a pattern, a steady, quiet rhythm of motion that was almost as relaxing as meditation or drinking a hot cup of tea after a hard day's training. It was work that required no thinking; mindless work that would allow Dun the luxury to listen and consider what Kengo had to say to him.

Dun doesn't look up from his work, his hands filling every inch of the cloth bag with stuffing, but his voice carries with it a drop of surprise, mingled with plenty of scepticism. "Did he now? It's one thing to claim being from a different point in time, another to claim that someone came back from the dead."