2 A song, a fire and a blade

Abe hurriedly made its way towards his home. The sky was in total darkness as layers of invisible clouds carpeted itself from the moonlit. His home was a thatch hut, roundedly shaped with a single door opening as tall as he is. There was no window, and only a small wooden bed which attached itself to badly-crafted table where he keeps most of his belonging on top of it.

He sets a fireplace and keep the door open to ventilate the smoke out. He sat on the bed, while his left hand grabbed the curved blade from the table. No one except him would notice that there was a finger guard at the edge of the hilt, that can prevent his blade from being disarmed.

Abe gently socketed his index finger into the guard and made a speedy circular motion of his blade. He grabbed his blade in various position as if the blade was a part of his hand.

It was a Karambit.

An ancient forgotten weapon that is shaped after a divine tiger claw. It was smaller than a sickle used by a mortal farmer, but its greatest advantage lies in its flexibility and concealment.

Hooking, slicing, clawing, throwing and stabbing. Karambit is able to flex itself as long as the user is deft with his finger coordination. It was considered as the deadliest short-range combat in the ancient times but most of its arts had lost under the passage of time.

Abe clawed his karambit onto a few chestnuts that he collected days before, and gently hooked it towards the fireplace, ready to roast it. He nibbled a few of it, while intermittently continue to sing its repertoire of old uncomprehensible songs under the wrap of a silent lonely night.

"Kid! have you collected enough grass?"

An eerie voice creeping in from outside of his hut. Abe mumbled a bit before he took notice of what is happening.

"Yes uncle" Abe replied in respecting manner and walk himself towards the door and smiled "Please come in uncle, you know i've always let the door open"

"You brat! you know i hate those grass where you thatched it as your stupid walls and roof. Your carpentry skill is so atrocious that you cant even craft a door for yourself!"

Abe giggled while cleaning every corner of his teeth from the leftover of his chestnut. Under a normal eye, there was nothing in front of him except a number of nearby gravestones which is lit by the shine of his fireplace.

And yes, the uncle was a ghost. Abe was born with a heightened spritual sense which enable him to communicate with the dead. He always made friends with the dead around him and he's always considered himself as a part of them rather than a living creature.

"Brat, you need to burn all the grass that you cut and turns it into a powder. Ten catties should able you to venture deeper into the graveyard"

Abe nodded and he understood that the "immortal" grass he was playing make-believe was called nirvanic grass. The grass always appear on the outermost part of any graveyard, and is normally treated as undesirable weed by mortals. However, for the dead, the weed marks a significant boundary between the land of the dead and the living, so a ghost may never became astray from where he belongs.

"And one more thing, you should ready yourself. I can sense enourmous aura of death coming in from the direction of where the girl that owed you a copper coin was heading"

"yaya"?

............