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Of Void

Chapter 1: Snow and Salt

28th Day of Long Melt, 1554

It was her tanto, a dagger she kept perfect. One tiny dent marred the beautiful, pristine black of the lacquered case, decorated with the purple blossoms of morning glories. A mark where the scabbard had been dropped. At the time, it had served its purpose. She had disposed of it. The blade wouldn't see its scabbard again. Then her life changed.

Just as it had on that day, that now felt long ago, she drew the dagger and dropped the scabbard. It clattered on the smooth, dark wooden floor. She waited for a moment, her ears twitched and listened for any movement, but she was still alone. She inspected the flawless edge. No, not flawless. It bore a mark. His mark.

A finger-shaped smudge of long-dried blood on the edge. She wouldn't clean it. That was the day he saved her life. One of many times.

How many times had he saved her? Or was it just the once, when it mattered most?

She thought of him. How he had stopped her, yet let her carry on. Denied her, yet accepted her. She had once made a horrifying peace, yet now danced a soothing chaos.

She sighed. Her lip trembled. She gently placed the dagger on top of a rolled cloth, clasped her hands together as they shook, and fought back the tears.

She looked over at her death poem. One of many. Only the last few bore such weight. Many before it were cynical, but the ones in the middle filled her with the last remnants of joy she had ever felt since she was a child.

“Hana?"

She froze at the voice, and the large, sparse bedroom came into focus. Clean, but plain. She sought no comfort.

Her ears twitched and focused on the sliding door, then her head turned to meet it.

“Yes, Chihiro?"

A pointed, black beak poked through the gap. A beady, deep blue eye blinked and looked at Hana. An eye surrounded in black feathered plumage, tinged with a shimmer of purple. A young yatagha girl, dark as night yet bright as sunshine, held the door with a scaled, taloned hand.

Hana made no moves to hide her intent. Chihiro had seen this before, and her presence was a mockery, however unintended. It was to push Hana on for another day.

Chihiro asked, “are you coming to dinner?"

Hana sighed. Her nose twitched, and she picked up her dagger and scabbard, and restored their unity with a loud clack.

“Yes. I suppose so, Chihiro. Thank you."

Chihiro chirped. “You're turning browny-brown already. Winter's over, Hana... please, enjoy the Spring. You promised."

Hana gulped, and ran her hands over her long, white ears, pulling one down in front of her eyes. A brown spot that would slowly spread as the year drew on. She knew it was there already, but she just needed to make sure. She lived in quagmire of denial, and certainties were far and few between.

“Hurry-hurry! Dinner's going to get co-oold!" Chihiro snickered.

Hana threw the rolled cloth at the door. It didn't make any sound, besides the wooden snap of the sliding paper door closing as the crow girl shielded herself from the furious, impotent flash of anger.

Chihiro's voice sang, “cold ice, colder rice! Can't be warmed, can't be spiced! Hop along, little hare! Nothing here, nothing there!"

Taloned feet tapped and bounced on the wood floor outside as the crow-girl danced.

“No rice for you, no food; it's true! Only good for making glue! Sticky sticky, rolly roll! Upon the page, not in the bowl!"

Despite everything, even her annoyance, Hana huffed a spectre of a laugh. It made her feel warm. Normal.

She chided, “I'm coming, you mean little sparrow." Speaking helped her hide the grin as she opened the door, only to see Chihiro cartwheel away to escape Hana's petty scorn.

Turning back toward her room, she picked up her poems, rolling up the paper. The first poem made her pause and stare.

Sunshine in winter,

Breath like crystals, soaring mists,

Returning as dew.

The sun was in their eyes, back then... a strategic choice. And when she met him.

Hana closed her eyes, and finished rolling the page.

***

11th Day of High-Scatter, 1552

“Damn this sun!"

“Shut up."

“Well, can you see, Nomura?"

“Hayato, you complain when there's snow, you complain when there's sun. You probably complain when you're deep inside a woman too. You should be more like Sota. Silent as the moon."

Sota yawned, listening to the other two guards bicker. He sat on the back of the wagon, atop the cart's spare wheel, and huddled into his straw coat for warmth. He breathed between his clasped hands and rubbed them together. At least he could see, even if remaining in the shade robbed him of some much desired warmth. They were high over Kanzaki mountain's solitary pass, and the thin air only made the chill more severe. The black rock spires astride the path were as ominous as they were merciful, breaking the monotony of snow.

Sota paused, focused and listened. There was the thunder and crunch of hooves on snow.

“Hoi!" Sota stood and hammered his fist against the wagon. Nomura and Hayato both turned from the path and turned about. Both held brandished shining cross-spears that stung Sota's eyes as they flickered even amongst the peerless white snow, and they moved to cover the back of the wagon. Sota toward the approaching horse in time to see it on round the corner.

Nomura sighed and lowered his spear, then kneeled in the powder, as befitting the general's approach. The great horned helmet, layered steel armour and famous nodachi said more than even an exposed face would, even if his was hidden behind the permanent grimace of a menp?, a war-mask.

“Taisho Owada!"

Hayato then dived down to bow as well. “Taisho! We are honoured!"

Sota remained where he was but made it seem like he was too busy keeping watch than to prostrate himself for the general.

Owada rounded his horse and glared to the sides of the pass, his hand close to the grip of his sword. His breath steamed with all the fury of a dragon as he calmed himself.

He growled, “up! Have you seen anyone?"

“No, Taisho," Nomura said as he and his companion stood. “The path is as pure as the snow itself. What's wrong, Taisho?"

“Two of the town guards were assassinated last night! We do not know who did it, but a stranger, an inousa, was seen heading in this direction!"

Hayato tilted his head. “The hare people? There are no inousa outside of Jinu province unless they march to war."

Sota frowned, and cleared his throat, but Nomura butted in before he could speak.

“Either way, only The Dragon himself could see any souls up here. Our mortal eyes have seen nothing."

Movement.

Or was it? Sota looked to the sides. He wasn't sure.

“On alert, you three," Owada said and continued to pace. “We remain here for reinforcements before entering the caldera. The trees there will no doubt be where fools are likely to strike. This salt must make it to the castle."

Sota clenched his jaw. White moved against white. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Something was coming. He said nothing.

“How many soldiers, Taisho?"

“Ten. They'll be here soon."

“It must be a desperate band to ambush a salt shipment," Hayato mused. “Hah, even more desperate to have inousa in their ranks."

“Bandits don't believe in luck," Nomura added. “They believe in killing, so watch the front. Sota, watch that side, I'll cover south!"

Hayato moved up beside the horses, covering his eyes as he once more squinted into the punishing sun, while Sota watched the north and Owada watched the rear.

No sooner than Sota got into position, he heard the trickling of pebbles scattering on rock. All eyes suddenly went to one spire as a small boulder rolled down the side, filling the air with powder and shale.

All eyes, except Sota's. He watched a white figure darted between two other spires. He moved so his back was against the wagon and clenched his fist around the grip of his weapon.

A dark line moved before the low sun. A plunging shadow. Sota ducked beneath the wagon.

He saw it. Bandage-clad, white furred digitigrade legs. Clawed paws of a bipedal hare, dressed in many layers of ragged clothing. They barely disturbed the powder as they ran with desperate speed in a violent tempo.

The inousa, a woman by the slender waist and shoulders, but wide hips and thick thighs. She dived low and rolled beneath Hayato's spear, her sword in hand.

He failed to catch her movements from the blinding sun

She climbed to one knee and thrust her sword under his armpit in one snapping movement.

“Wh-" Hayato uttered, then groaned.

The hare stood and pressed a foot against Hayato's side. Her thick, powerful thigh flexing as she strained with effort and plucked the sword free. A jagged, chipped and damaged katana. A thrust under his armpit, away from the plates of his armour. A stab to the heart. She was an experienced, skilled killer.

Sota grimaced and crawled beside the wheels of the wagon, trying to avoid notice. He still didn't draw his weapon. Not yet. He had to bide his time. Find the right target. His loyalties were in flux.

The hare snagged Hayato's spear, and wielded both at once. She rushed at Nomura, who squinted and raised his spear to block her charge. She leapt with famous inousa prowess; higher than Nomura was tall and half that again. Trails of snow followed her paws as they poised for Nomura's head. She then kicked down, and leapt, using his head as a platform.

Nomura neck crunched from the impact. He stumbled and staggered.

Sota's mind reeled and remembered an old proverb; the inousa box for sport but kick to kill.

Nomura was already dying, but the hare landed behind him and thrust with the spear into his back anyway. The armour resisted the one armed strike, but she pushed him over and onto the floor. The hare screamed, high, long and shrill with fury, as she dropped her katana, held the spear with both hands. She stabbed Nomura again. And again. The armour gave. Blood sprayed. Bones creaked. She wasn't satisfied. Again. She twisted the shaft and left the spear embedded. Less a weapon than a tombstone.

Owada bellowed as he charged past, his dark nodachi seemed to absorb the light as he swung low.

The hare sprung forward, avoiding the horse's armoured legs by a scant few inches.

Owada's blade scratched the snow, sending a feathery plume of white into the blue sky.

The inousa rolled over and recovered her katana as Owada ran ahead and began to circle around for another pass.

Sota and the hare's eyes met. Her white fur marred with crimson streaks. Her eyes wide. Furious. Deep brown. Dancing. Flickering. Wild. Fear and focus.

Beautiful. Like the scattering swirl of dead leaves of autumn, resigned to fade into winter.

She was expecting to die.

Owada made his approach with another roar as his blade made the sun bearable with the darkness around it.

The hare foolishly stood her ground, weapon at the ready. A blow for a blow.

Sota gritted his teeth. He stumbled out from under the cart and dived at the hare as Owada took another mighty swing.

The cart's wheel was cleft in two, and it toppled. spilling boxes of salt across the path.

Sota received an elbow, a fist, a knee. He endured the rapid blows and rolled aside, drawing his sword as the hare got to her feet.

It was not a full sword, despite what its elaborate hilt suggested, but the stump of one, now fashioned into a jutte. A steel truncheon, made for self defence, with a flange designed for catching and turning aside blades. It was merely a distraction. His other arm darted behind him.

Even as focused and savage as the hare was, she stared in disbelief at his weapon as her nose twitched. Her long, erect ears twisted and turned, then she moved to attack Sota. But not before he had struck a match and lit a fuse on a pouch on his back during her moment of hesitation.

He tossed the bag, and it burst in a puff of flame. A scattering of tiny, folded paper shapes sprayed around, and they crackled into multi-coloured smoke.

The hare raised her arms as the tiny things popped in a flurry. A child's plaything.

Owada bellowed, “I have her!"

Sota pulled another trick from his belt. A long, rectangular strip of paper, covered in dark markings. A talisman.

“Kioku!" He spoke like thunder, and struck the paper on his weapon. Sota then sprinted toward Owada, and lunged with all his might as the air beyond the short weapon warped.

Before Owada could begin his swing against the inousa, Sota struck Owada, The jutte didn't seem to reach him, yet steel fragments, cloth shreds and blood sprayed across the air. Some clung to a sanguine phantom of a curved sword protruding much farther from Sota's weapon. Nothing moved or made a sound except the galloping horse for a few moments before the blood fell into the snow.

Owada groaned in pain, and toppled from his mount. He rolled in the snow and clutched his side.

Sota turned as the hare glared between himself and Owada. Her pronounced incisor teeth shone in the sun, and she charged for the fallen general.

General Owada snarled and took a hefty swing with his sword. It took the hare by surprise, and she both ducked and brought her own sword up, and the already damaged katana shattered.

Even so, the inousa plunged and landed on top of Owada. She thrust the snapped blade against his armoured mask with a flash of sparks. Owada dropped his cumbersome sword, too long to use in the skirmish, then grasped her arms and they began to struggle. He was stronger, but she moved with such speed and ferocity, every time he seemed to get an advantage, she pulled form his grip and dived back in with another desperate stab.

Sota shook his head at the spectacle. It bordered on comical, but he had already made his move. He picked up Nomura's spear and ran over, ready to finish Owada, but the struggle was too frantic. He couldn't risk attacking without also striking the inousa.

The hare suddenly let Owada grab her arms. She pressed her feet against his chest and neck, and began to push, her thighs bulging and flexing beneath the white fur. The general grunted and rolled, slamming the hare into the ground, yet she didn't relent. She kept pressing her feet as hard as she could against his neck until the metal collar began to buckle.

Then her arm made a dull pop. She screamed in pain, but her focus was unbroken even as her strength began to fail.

Sota realised she had dislocated her shoulder. He stepped closer, as if to help, but just stared in horror.

She hissed through clenched teeth as the muscles in her arm were pulled, stretched and torn. The pain must have been excruciating, yet still kept trying to kill Owada. She was too driven. Too determined.

Finally able to kick her off, the general coughed and gagged as his collar pressed against his throat. He wrestled with the straps, and pulled the mask and collar off, revealing his old, grizzled and bearded face.

The inousa struggled to her feet with only one working arm, but Owada picked up his sword.

Sota raised the spear, ready to blind-side Owada, only for the hare to screech, “no! He's mine!"

He winced at being exposed, and Owada snarled at him.

“Traitor!"

The general took a wide swing at Sota, who raised the spear to block. The mighty blade cut through the shaft of the polearm, leaving him with a sharpened pole

The hare took the advantage, charging in with the stem of her blade.

Owada stepped into the hare's charge, knocking her to the ground. She landed on her injured shoulder and yelped in agony. She was dazed and vulnerable. It was the first time she seemed mortal in her single-minded berserker assault.

Sota intervened, and jabbed at Owada with the snapped pole. It glanced against the general's eye. He bellowed in pain and took another, wild and blinded swing.

Sota stepped closer, where the blade would be useless. He rammed his shoulder into Owada, and he stumbled over to the still prostrate hare.

She rolled, her arm flopping and useless, and kicked out Owada's legs. The general fell, and she met his tumble with the broken katana into Owada's eye, and it crunched through his skull.

Owada moaned and writhed. The hare hissed and pushed again with her legs, forcing Owada onto his back. She then scrambled into a mounted position on his body, and plucked the blade free with a shower of blood. As with Nomura, the hare repeatedly stabbed Owada's exposed face and neck in a furious flurry. She grew more and more covered in gore as her shrill scream filled the air.

Sota was terrified but fascinated by this inousa. As the hare's stamina waned and her scream fell into strained gasps, Sota stepped forward and tapped her uninjured shoulder.

“Hoi. You okay?"

The inousa flinched, and slashed over her shoulder. The crude blade glanced off his armour, but he stepped back all the same.

He yelped and hissed, “are you daft!? Stop that!"

The hare struggled to her feet. She glanced at her ruined katana, tossed it aside and tried to lift the general's huge nodachi with one hand instead.

Sota continued, “you're demented! You can't-"

She hefted the blade over her shoulder, and began to approach him. Her paces grew more assured. She was strong. Far stronger than he expected.

Or just so desperate, so driven to kill, she was filled with The Dragon's own strength.

Repeating his strategy as with Owada, Sota reversed course and ran at her.

The hare woman tried to swing the sword, but he was on her far too quickly. He tackled her to the ground and wrapped his arms around her neck, trying to choke her out. He didn't want to hurt her, but this had to end.

She bit his arm repeatedly, trying to find a soft spot in the armour. She found one. He screamed in pain but kept his grip as she gnawed on his elbow before, after a few moments of squirming, she finally fell slack.

Sota stood and sighed with relief. He checked his arm and winced at the teeth-marks, then down at the unconscious hare.

“The Dragon's merciless sun, what an idiot..."

He then regarded the dead trio of men as he tied her up with rope from the wagon.

“... I better not be invoking the inousa curse."

Once she was secured, he offered a prayer to the fallen with a clasp of his hands and a bow to the south. He then set about trying to replace the cart's wheel, and looked at the spare on the back cubby. He needed this salt shipment for his own purposes, even more so without Owada, Nomura and Hayato. But then he remembered there were those reinforcements Owada had mentioned. He couldn't risk them arriving and finding this mess.

“Can't believe I'm using up all my talismans for this," he muttered and sighed. “Oh well, needs must. Kioku!"

Sota took out another paper talisman. He slapped it against the severed wheel, and watched as it pulled itself back together, as if it had never been damaged. He then picked up the spilled salt and put it, as well as the inousa girl, into the wagon. Sota then climbed onto the front and urged the horses forward.

It would seem Sota and the hare shared a goal. He couldn't help but wonder what destiny awaited them.

He doubted it was anything good.

* * *

*Crunch *

She yelped and clutched her shoulder. It burned, then went numb.

“Stop fidgeting," said a nearby male voice.

After a moment of hesitation, the knife's edge of fight or flight, she remained still and observed. They were inside a shallow cave. The wagon she had attacked sat by the entrance. The horses grazed nearby. Snow had been packed over her shoulder. Warmth from a campfire.

“What's your name, inousa-chan?"

She scowled and turned towards the man. “Don't you dare call me that!"

The man sighed and rolled his eyes. He was thin, with a scruffy appearance and untamed black hair. His eyes were dark, yet had a light within them that seemed brighter than the fire, still clad in lacquered wooden body armour and a straw overcoat,. He also wore a winter jacket beneath the protection, a thick woollen haori.

“So you can speak," he said. “For a while I wondered if you were feral, just as much as I wondered if I needed a bigger pot."

She stared at him, but tilted her head in confusion.

“To eat you!" He said and chuckled, affecting a giddy, hand-rubbing walk back beside the camp fire. “Feral rabbits go in the pot. Talking ones? Not so much."

She glowered at him, and looked to threaten him, but soon found her good arm and legs were tied together, wrist to thigh and by the ankles. Her injured arm was loose, besides being packed with snow around her shoulder, but the damage to it meant it was too weak for now. She pulled her injured arm free, revealing a paper charm stuck to it. The same thing the man had used on his weapon.

“That will have your shoulder mostly fixed in a little while," he said. “No need to thank me, but if you could sate my curiosity; I assume you're no fan of the local lord?"

She shook her head. “I intend to kill him."

“Ah. Glad to hear that. Then I am Sota Nakamura. I think we can help each other."

“I care little of who you are, ministry."

Sota raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?"

“You use ofuda. That's ministry magic."

Sota made an 'oh' with his mouth, and gave a confirming shrug. “Smart. Yes, I use paper talismans. I'm not ministry though... I used to be one of the 'tongueless'."

She huffed. “You talk a lot for one."

“A fact I love to exercise!" Sota chuckled. “It's delicious in both senses, taste and irony. But seriously, inousa-chan, what's your name?"

“I told you not to call me that."

“Then give me a name, inousa-chan. That way I don't have to keep calling you inousa-chan, inousa-chan."

She squirmed and snarled, then gasped as she twisted her vulnerable shoulder, and calmed.

“Hana."

Sota rubbed his fingers under his nose. “Just Hana?"

“I have no clan or family left. All I have is my given name and purpose."

“Besides a roll of poetry and a dagger, you mean," Sota said and took out the tanto and a bamboo scroll case from his coat. He then smirked. “They're both beautiful. The dagger especially. A virgin blade."

Hana's brow flinched. She thought to ask for the tanto back, but it would be foolish. “It, too, now has but one purpose."

He sniffed. “Neck or belly?"

She tilted her head again in confusion, her ears perking up.

“Your foe," he said, and poked his neck. “Or you," he continued, and ran his fingers across his midsection.

“Both," Hana answered. “How did you know-"

“That you intended to kill yourself? I've never seen someone so dead-set on eliminating someone without a hint of self-preservation, Hana. The way you attacked my companions and the good General Owada was quite something. Like watching a rooster fighting a fox."

“Owada was a monster. He deserved worse." Hana stared at the fire.

“No doubt. You don't live to be as long as he did as a man of war without causing some atrocities. Killing him would see you executed on sight by Lord Kou's men."

“Which begs the question: why spare me? Why not seek revenge? Or are you handing me to Lord Kou?"

“We share a goal," Sota said and poked the fire with a stick, sending embers floating up against the backdrop of falling snow and darkness. “I seek his death too. I was using Owada's men as cover, but thanks to you, I need a new strategy. I think that fair recompense would be you helping me in turn, no?"

Hana wondered whether to ask what his purpose was, but she had little reason to doubt him. He had her dead to rights and at his mercy. The only reason to keep her alive if he was an ally of Lord Kou would be to witness an execution, in which case; why bother healing her shoulder?

“Fine. But I will be the one to kill him," Hana said.

Sota puckered his lips, then shrugged. “Seems fair. So long as he dies and his records are put to the torch, I don't care what else happens. I'll finally be free."

Hana peered at him. For an abject stranger, he was too open. She couldn't tell if it was a ploy or if he was just an idiot.

He noticed the harsh look with a little grin and answered, “ministry business. Only a few people know I'm 'tongueless,' but even one is too many."

Hana narrowed her eyes. “Yet you've just told me."

Sota's grin widened as he placed her dagger by her side and gestured to it. “Just as well you have plans to silence yourself, eh? Now that that's settled and we're in agreement about helping one another, I'm famished! Salted vegetable broth sound good to you?"

Hana looked at her bound limbs, then the dagger, then at Sota with a frown.

“What?" Sota huffed and put a pot of water over the fire, and began chopping vegetables. “You want me to feed you as well? A little light exercise on your working arm should help."

“It's not that," Hana sighed. “The dagger has but one purpose, and it is not cutting rope."

“You're so high-born, it's not even funny, 'Just Hana.' Fine." Sota approached and used his vegetable knife to cut her bonds. “What a pair we are; the tongued tongueless and the nameless inousa noble."

Hana rolled her eyes and kept still as the rope was cut. She then stretched her limbs and pulled herself to the fire as Sota continued preparing the vegetables, sitting in silence for a time.

“Where is Owada's sword?" Hana asked as the water began to boil.

“In the wagon," Sota replied and nodded to the cave entrance.

“Good. I will need it."

“You trained with that thing?"

“No, but it does not matter. I will learn, and I will kill whoever stands in my way."

Sota sighed. “You have skill, hidden behind that frenzied spirit of yours. Where did you learn?"

Hana gave him a long stare, then the fire for a time, before nodding to herself.

“My parents. It is inousa tradition that all children are trained in combat. When the boys are old enough, they also go to war to test their mettle, while the girls study and become flawless in the art of the blade to protect the home. When the boys return as men, they marry into other families, and the techniques are shared with their offspring. It is a practice we call 'the bond of soul and blood'. As our bloodlines are shared, so are our finest techniques. It has made the inousa strong."

“And feared," Sota said. “Your kind are seen as ill-omens all across Sensuma."

Hana managed a bemused tweak of the mouth, if not a full smile. “Only because those that face our kind in battle seldom live to tell the tale."

Sota chuckled as he poured the vegetables into the water, along with some of the cargo salt and some dried herbs, and began to slowly stir the pot.

“A fair philosophy: one does not eat well without mixing many different ingredients and giving them time to stew." Sota glanced at Hana for a moment. “But one also does not celebrate the dish without letting others taste it. The inousa aren't exactly wide-spread, nor open as a people."

Hana sat in silence. A wordless, motionless shrug.

Sota dropped the issue and let the vegetables cook. He pulled out a few strips of paper, then a foreign, folding straight-razor.

She stared as he pulled his left arm out of his straw coat, unbuckled his bracer, then rolled up the sleeve of his woollen haori jacket. A myriad of scars covered his forearm, and he cut a fresh wound amidst their number with a grimace.

“What are you doing?" Hana asked.

Sota ignored her, and swabbed his finger along the wound, his lips pursing from pain as he did. He then ran the blood over a strip of paper into an old Sensumaran script. After a few more passes of his wound and the paper, he blew over the page, and the crude lettering sizzled and reshaped into deft, clean strokes as if painted with a calligraphy brush. He then set it to one side, and picked up a second sheet of paper.

Hana watched in wonder as he repeated the process a three more times. By the time he finished the fourth, he seemed out of breath and closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing as if strained.

“Those ofuda..." Hana said, but paused.

“I am not a true tongueless," Sota said, “but I was shown one of the shapeless forms before... removing myself from my position in the ministry."

“I remember. You struck Owada with an invisible blade."

Sota shook his head. “I struck him with the memory of a blade. My jutte was reforged from an old, larger sword from the east. It remembers what it used to be. My ofuda reminded it of this former state, albeit for only a few moments; there isn't enough steel to let it remember for long."

One of Hana's ears perked, the other flopped. “Nonsense. It is a thing, a weapon. It cannot remember."

Sota grinned. “All things fear The Dragon."

Hana's lower ear raised an inch. “So?"

“So all things obey His words. As a false tongueless, I know only one of His words, merely sculpted to what I wish, and the metal obeys. Just as the wagon's wheel obeyed, and your shoulder now obeys; it remembers how it should be, and because all the pieces are there, it becomes fixed."

Her eyes narrowed, but Hana said nothing. She felt her shoulder. It ached, but more akin to if she had strained it a week ago rather than dislocating and tearing it just hours before.

A longer period of silence later, and Sota passed Hana a bowl, some chopsticks and a wooden spoon. He then began to portion himself a large bowl of the broth and plucked a few larger cuts of cabbage, carrot and daikon radish. He then handed her a ladle to serve herself. And she did the same. Once they both were satisfied, the pair ate in silence, drinking the broth and using the chopsticks to eat the larger cuts of vegetable.

No sooner than Sota had eaten his fill, he threw more logs onto the fire, settled next to it, pulled a blanket over himself, and fell asleep as if without a care.

Hana sat in thought for a time before she stood and approached the wagon. It was filled with wooden boxes of salt, as well as other travel supplies, but most importantly it had Owada's nodachi.

She took it and drew the massive sword. The flawless, dark blade had the telltale flow of an immortal starsteel, and was as longer than she was tall. Seven foot from pommel to tip.

Hana briefly looked at Sota, who snored serenely, then began a slow, steady set of swings. The weapon was heavy, but not unbearable.

This would be the blade that would end her foes and, eventually, let her finally find release.

* * *

28th Day of Long Melt, 1554

“She'll be here, old timer," Sota said as he scratched his stubbled chin.

The village chief bristled his moustache, and shrugged. “You can't raise the dead, young man. That girl's spirit died too long ago. One doesn't walk the dying path for that many years without taking that sin unto themselves."

Sota glanced at the twenty people that comprised the village, but nobody was going to support him in this. They were good people, but ignorant.

He said, “Hana's not dead. She just needs time."

“You're asking the spent embers to boil a full pot, lad. There may be warmth to be had, but-"

The large sliding door suddenly opened, and the gathered village watched as a dark figure dived in and came to a halt at the long-table, kneeling and ready for dinner. A slim, three feet tall crow girl.

Chihiro innocently glanced about as everyone sighed and returned to hushed talking amongst themselves. The yatagha sat still, as if she had been sitting there all this time.

Sota glanced between the crow and the door. “Chihiro, is Hana coming?"

She simply raised a taloned, scaled finger, yet said nothing. She blinked and seemed to be listening, but Sota couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary.

“Chihiro, I sai-"

“Apapap!" Chihiro chirped at him, then back to silence.

Sota took a long, deep breath and bit his tongue, then folded his arms.

Chihiro rolled backwards in front of the door, then to the side, flipped onto her feet and made a flourishing, two-armed gesture to the part-opened double doors.

“Ta-daaaah!"

Nothing.

Yatagha didn't show emotions like anyone else, but Sota knew the beaked equivalent of a pout when he saw it. A swift puff of her throat feathers, a set of blinks of her beady eyes.

“Ahk-kek," she cleared her throat, re-gestured and once more announced, “ta-daaaah!"

The village chief sighed and went to speak, only for Chihiro to caw loudly and dive through the door. A scuffle ensued, followed by a frustrated and stumbling Hana, who turned, scowled out the entrance for a moment, but ultimately approached the community table, then knelt at an empty spot.

“Ta-dah," Chihiro droned, with all the dramatic flair and enthusiasm of a wet firecracker. She sat beside Hana suddenly chirped, “dinner-dinner, if you please and many-many thank yous!"

Sota looked at Hana as he sat at the table, along with the last of the villagers, but the inousa wouldn't look at him. She just stared at the bowl in front of her as the younger girls of the village portioned out a single cut of venison, a small portion of rice and a vegetable broth. Hana only received the latter two.

Knowing there was no ground to be gained with her here, Sota at least took solace that she would be with them for another day.

He had to help her. It was the last loose end.

* * *