Shouma

Shouma remembered the precise moment their journey to the pale stone temple went wrong: when they politely asked a frog for directions and somehow ended up in a three-hour negotiation for a slightly used fishing net. This was a pattern. They would set out from the lower docks of Waterfall City with a clear destination in mind—the market, a friend's hut, the great fish statue—and arrive hours late with a wild story and an object they had no memory of acquiring. Their carved cane wasn't for stability; it was for emphatically pointing at maps they couldn't read. Fellow chimps saw the weathered grey bandana and assumed they were a veteran of great battles. They were, in fact, a veteran of getting completely, hopelessly lost.