"We need to strike while the iron is hot," Kaelen declared to the assembled warriors.
Spun-Duh immediately stood up, alarmed. "WHO'S STRIKING IRON? During a war council? That's terrible smithing discipline! The vibrations will ruin the metal's grain structure!"
"It's a metaphor—"
"A meta-for-what? Is that a new type of ore?" Spun-Duh was already pulling out his geological samples. "I have seventeen types of ore, but no 'metafor.' Is it ferrous or non-ferrous?"
Ora sighed. "He means we need to attack soon."
"Then why didn't he SAY that? All this mouth-noise about iron temperature when we're discussing battle tactics. Very inefficient."
The Heart Problem
Later, Ora confided: "My heart is heavy with what I must do."
Spun-Duh's eyes widened with genuine medical concern. "Cardiovascular density syndrome! I KNEW IT! You've been eating rocks, haven't you? It's more common than people think."
"I haven't been eating rocks—"
"Denial is the first symptom." Spun-Duh was already rummaging through his pack. "I have a tincture of iron-leaching fungi. Three drops daily, and your heart density should normalize within a week. Though we might need to drill a small drainage hole—"
"MY HEART ISN'T ACTUALLY HEAVY!"
"Phantom weight syndrome then? Even worse. That requires cranial trepanation."
"I'M SAD!"
Spun-Duh paused. Processed this. "Oh. Emotional weight. Why didn't you just think that at me?" He tapped his temple. "Much clearer than all these organ-weight metaphors."
The Breaking Point
During battle planning, Silenus announced: "We must break their spirit before we break their lines."
Spun-Duh slammed his hammer on the table. "ENOUGH! First iron temperature, then organ density, now we're breaking spirits? Spirits are alcohol! You can't break liquid! You can distill it, ferment it, drink it, but not BREAK it!"
"Their morale—"
"Morels? NOW we're talking sense! Morels are excellent fungi, very nutritious. But why are we breaking mushrooms? We should be cultivating them!"
The Revelation
That night, Ora found Spun-Duh alone, carefully cataloging fungi.
"You know what metaphors are," she said quietly.
He didn't look up. "In Boleto, thoughts were clear. Pure. You thought 'sad,' everyone felt sad. No decoration, no confusion, no... metaphors." His voice cracked slightly. "I pretend not to understand because if I admit your mouth-noise makes sense, then I admit the network is really gone. That I'll never again feel the pure truth of another mind touching mine."
"So you make jokes."
"I make observations. You surface-dwellers make them jokes." He held up a small mushroom. "This is Memorialis Connectrix. It used to carry thoughts between the great fungal colonies. Now it's just a mushroom. Like I'm just a dwarf making noise with his mouth-flap."
He carefully placed the mushroom in his collection.
"Your heart really is heavy, Ashkore. I can smell the weight in your pheromones. But at least you have metaphors to carry it. All I have is the literal truth: everyone I could truly talk to is dead."
He stood, hefted his hammer.
"Tomorrow, tell Kaelen his iron is exactly 1,247 degrees. Perfect striking temperature. I measured."
And he walked away, leaving Ora to wonder whether his misunderstandings were armor against a truth too painful for any metaphor to soften.
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*End Chapter 13.8*
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