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Chapter 2: Paint and Profit

28th Day of Long Melt, 1554

“Ta-daaah!”

Hana stopped in front of the open door and sighed. Of course Chihiro was going to make a grand display of her arrival.

Chihiro cleared her throat to announce Hana's arrival again.

She wondered whether if it was too late to retreat, but it was.

The dark, shadowy yatagha darted through the gap and tumbled behind Hana, then grabbed and forced towards the village common room.

“H-hey! Stop that,” Hana hissed, but her resistance was half-hearted. She lacked the will to fight ever since that night. She was shoved through the door, and all she could do was turn and scowl at Chihiro, who flapped her beak open a few times in mocking, silent laughter.

Hana faced the village common room, and faced the assorted glares.

“Ta-dah,” the crow said, free of ceremony or effort.

Hana couldn't help but feel guilty; it took effort to annoy Chihiro. Hana knew she was only trying to help in return for what Hana had done for the young crow-girl back when they first met. A debt she neither wanted, but understood.

Resigned to being a spectacle, Hana knelt at the table and awaited dinner.

Sota tried not to stare, no doubt hoping she would talk with him, but just the sight of the man made her heart ache, yet her blood boil. Not to mention it was not a conversation for the villagers to overhear.

Chihiro sat beside Hana and chimed something about the upcoming food in her snappy, repetitious yataghan speech, but Hana was too inwardly focused to pay attention to the words.

The younger girls of the village served dinner; two held the pots while one portioned the food out and held a tray of venison slices.

Hana was surprised that they remembered not to serve her any venison. The inousa couldn't digest meat, so she just ate the rice and drank the vegetable soup.

Chihiro pecked at her food then tilted her head back to drop the food down her gullet with a violent wobble of her head, and the impolite display forced Hana to tap the yatagha's arm and point to her chopsticks.

“Behave,” Hana whispered. “Show some decorum.”

Chihiro clacked her beak in protest. She then glanced at the chopsticks, picked them up and resumed eating like a civilised being.

“Winter's on its way out,” said the village chief. “We will need every able-bodied man and woman to help ensure the dam, stream and rice paddy is in good repair before the thaw truly sets in. We'll start tomorrow morning.”

“Yes!” Chihiro bounced between scoops of rice. “Hana's ears are turning browny-brown! Spring is springing! Wany-waning winter!”

Hana sighed at the ongoing use of her fur colour as a calender, but nodded. “It is growing warmer, yes. My summer coat has begun to take shape.” She gave a short bow, but kept her ears pointed up. “I will be glad to help in any way I can.”

The chief squinted at the brown spot on Hana's ear, then in the eye. “No need for you to trouble yourself. I'm sure Nakamura-san will gladly help out while you recover.”

Sota nodded and smirked. “Whatever you need, old man. It's the least I can do for you hosting the three of us.”

Hana leaned forward on the table and glared at the chief. “I am able and willing to help, Shicho. I have been a burden on you for long enough.”

“I prefer help from those not considering their end, Hana,” the chief said with a sigh. “Besides... many would not want to work with you. We would sooner you leave once the valley is safe to travel. I hope you understand. You carry death with you.”

Hana stared for a moment longer, then settled back down. She could not blame them for their rural superstitions, nor muster any anger at his bluntness.

Sota said, “drop it, chief. I won't let you torment her.”

Furrowing his brow at Sota, the chief quietly continued with his own meal.

The rest of the evening was thick with both the warmth of the hearth as much as the tension of everyone involved. Sota's dogged determination, Hana's numbness and the chief's stubborn but understandable ire of the outsiders smothered any communal discussion beyond hushed whispers.

They had only been in Kyoba village for months, just as the paths to and from the settlement were getting snowed in, but they arrived with war at their backs and pursuers in tow. The villagers were terrified of them, but Sota had calmed the situation with his usual glib and personable methods. Chihiro helped as well, as her infectious positivity endeared her to the village, but Hana remained a deep, black well of negative emotions.

Hana felt like she was poisoning this place. Every time the village chief mentioned their unwelcome presence, Hana took it to heart, no matter how much Sota fought back, but that was Sota's way. It always had been.

With dinner winding down, Hana excused herself before Chihiro got any ideas to provoke any further dramatics from her.

Sota insisted on helping clean up, to continue in his attempts to curry favour with the people.

Hana returned to her room, climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. She had no spirit, yet felt eager. Life before that night was so simple; seek and slay those who had destroyed her life. The swansong had lasted almost half of her life, and without it, what use did Hana have? She heard the finality from strangers, but persistence from those she considered... whatever it was Sota was. Hana no longer knew.

She sighed and stood from her bed. She took out an ink block, a brush, a spare sheet of parchment, and finally her roll of poems. She prepared the ink, and felt the nostalgia of a thousand calligraphy lessons flow. That spectre of home. Before she was broken.

After practising her movements of flowing brushwork on a spare page, she took the brush to the poetry scroll.

Sleeplessness sets in,

The mind races, ideas flow,

Body disagrees.

* * *

14th Day of High-Scatter, 1552

Sota yawned and sat up, his already wild hair somehow even more chaotic. He listened to the clear swooshes of air as he looked across at Hana.

Owada's blade was now an extension of her. The transformation was uncanny; where just two mornings ago, she was unbalanced and struggled with handling the seven-foot long weapon, The subtle shift of her hands along the two-foot long grip, the expert pivot to compensate for the length of the blade, the way her legs bunched and flexed to counter the weight.

The nodachi being made of immortal steel meant it was thinner than a common sword. While still heavier than a katana, and more cumbersome, Hana's clear experience shone. Her long feet danced as she stepped both with against the flow of the blade in a series of controlled swings. Her playful hops mixed with severe leaps, where upward strikes of inousa-blessed leg-strength were counterbalanced with downward chops, backed with her weight behind the blow.

She was beautiful. A woman's grace paired with the murderous, focused stare of a predatory beast, tempered with the famous inousa generational demand for peerless technique.

Sota couldn't help but stare, and if Hana noticed, she didn't show it. In these moments, away from her foes, Hana was beautiful. An oppositional beauty, as a gnarled and fallen tree might possess to a skilled craftsman. Hana's demonstrated ugliness on the inside was what gave Sota a desire to reconnect it to the elegant and soft exterior.

Hana somersaulted high and cleft a sturdy tree-limb in two from the trunk. She landed and took a knee, then tucked the mune of the sword within the inside of her elbow. She drew the blunt side across, wiping the sap and dirt from the blade. Due to its length, she had to pull it twice, sliding her grip as she did. Hana suffered the same awkwardness sheathing it, as she held the blade in one hand to guide it into the scabbard, then let gravity take it the rest of the way inside with a loud clack.

She stood and took a deep breath, securing the nodachi across the small of her back with the sageo cord. It looked ridiculous; Hana was five foot six inches tall, not including her long ears and average for a Samsaran girl, but the huge blade made her look like a walking cross.

Sota scratched his chin. “You could probably cut a slot out of the back of that scabbard; it's immortal steel. That stuff doesn't tarnish, and it would make it easier to draw and sheathe.”

“I intend to throw the scabbard away when I fight anyway,” Hana replied, and sat down beside the embers of last night's campfire. “And neither do I plan to sheathe it until everything has been eliminated.”

Sota rolled his eyes and cricked his neck. “There's more to life than slaughter. Come on, live a little.”

Hana remained silent.

“I'm regretting this already,” Sota grumbled and stood. He picked out some dried fish from the wagon supplies, popped some into his mouth and chewed as he went behind a tree to empty his bladder.

Hana asked, “how far is Kataga town from here?”

“We'll be there tonight.” Sota sighed as he finished relieving himself. “If we're lucky, we can make use of the darkness to get out before anyone's suspicious.”

“You make it sound like victory is assured.” Hana took and nibbled on a cabbage leaf as Sota sat down and smirked.

He said, “we simply arrive and deliver the salt, with you hidden on board to get inside, then act when we aren't being observed. I suspect the fact the shipment vanished from the roads might put a wrinkle in that, but I doubt they'll turn down a chance to receive such a valuable gift. I'll just say I took the wagon off road because of the risk of bandits after they slew Owada, Hayate and Nomura, and regale them with a tale of my daring escape.”

Hana's ears pulled back and she frowned. “You believe them that gullible?”

With a dazzling smile, Sota answered, “what's not to believe?”

* * *

“I don't believe you! Wait right there!”

“Oh, ten thousand shits,” Sota hissed, and rapped his knuckles on the back of the wagon.

Hana slipped out and crouched low, and went to draw her sword, to which Sota flapped his hand in denial. Instead he pointed back down the hill, towards the outer gate.

“Follow my lead,” Sota said as he removed the spare wheel from the wagon, which had another pouch of confetti poppers tied to the hub.

“No, we can still mount an attack!”

Sota scoffed. “I know you're set on dying, but I'm not! Now shut up and get ready to run!”

Hana began to argue, but then Kataga castle's alarm gong rang out in in rapid beats. The gates opened, and a forest of spears thrust through the opening as their wielders began to advance, and Hana whispered a curse under her breath as even she recognised they didn't have a chance of getting inside.

Sota struck a match and lit the fuse of the pouch. He then rolled the wheel down the hill towards the outer gate, where the guards began to try to pull the great double doors to a close.

As Hana and Sota ran, he yelled, clear and proud, “that will blow the doors clean open!”

The guards paused and saw the wheel as it bounced and careened down at them, and began belching smoke and bursts of flame. They dived for cover as they took the bluff.

Hana's incredible speed meant she overtook the wheel and slipped through the gate first, then the wheel harmlessly slammed into the doors as the fireworks finished their dramatic display.

Sota soon followed as the guards realised the ruse, but by the time they went outside in pursuit, the pair had ran off the path and into the darkness.

With the biting chill of the night air and snow in all directions, and their supplies in the wagon, they had no choice but to get to the Kataga town to decide their next move. They had to act fast, as an inousa outside of their home province was a rare sight, so Hana was going to attract attention. To at least improve their odds of non-detection and blend in as a civilian, Sota abandoned his militia straw coat and armour. They reached the town edge and climbed over the defensive wall of the settlement.

Kataga town wasn't especially large, but it was wealthy. Long, straight roads intersected one another in a massive grid of buildings with hard, angled slate rooftops for the frequent rainfall. Warehouses lined the docks that were the lifeblood of the town, on both sides of the expansive Shichitsu river. Kataga was the jewel in the north, and the main distribution of food and supplies all around the province. Its place on such a crucial waterway, which lead from the north coast all the way to the Ministry lands at the heart of Samsara, meant Lord Kou held one of the few weaknesses for The Dragon's own army. This meant Lord Kou was a well protected man.

Sota cursed under his breath as the sting of their failed attempt to get into the castle bit into them more than the cold.

Hana pulled her ears down and flipped up a crude hood as they walked through the streets. It grew busier as they left the sleepy outskirts and decided to get lost in the hustle and bustle of the less law-abiding lower districts. Glowing red paper lanterns became rife. Girls painted with white skin, bold and provocative blushes, sensually exposed shoulders and alluring fans, as tantalisingly dressed as they dared in the chilled night air. They viewed the pair with beckoning hands, hungry for coin and company, although not enough to leave the warmth of the brothel doorways.

Hana sneered at the courtesans but kept her cowl pulled tight. “We're not stopping here.”

“We could do worse than rent a room at a lovely hotel around here and-”

“It wasn't a suggestion.”

Sota snorted. “Is that blood or vinegar in those veins? You're not even alive; you're preserved and pickled, and not in the fun way.”

Hana shook her head and sighed.

“Although, speaking of... I could use a drink,” Sota said and pulled out his coinpurse. He felt the heft and squeezed it a few times, then chuckled. “Enough for a room, a meal and a couple of bottles! That's why you ask for some advanced pay when you run a caravan.”

“Are you a fool?” Hana hissed, her ears pressing against her hood as she slapped his wrist. “Where do you think we are? Put your coins away!”

“Bah, we won't be in any trouble. Relax! Besides, we might make some friends.” Sota smirked and waved Hana down a side alley.

Hana pouted and her ears flopped back down. She then glanced down both directions of the street and followed.

“You're doing this on purpose... why?”

“Making friends,” Sota insisted. “Keep your sword sheathed.”

As they passed some stacks of ladders, buckets and other bric-a-brac, Sota pushed Hana gently to one side, and dipped into the other himself. He saw a damaged straw hat, put it on and sloped it over his face, peering between the weave and resembled an impressively ratty scarecrow.

Three men with simple blades glared down the alley and entered, peering into the dark, then swaggered through, drawing their weapons.

Sota slowly drew his jutte, but kept it by his thigh so as not to reflect the gleam from the lit street.

Hana flexed her clawed fingers and took a long, deep breath, keeping her head low and away to block the white of her furred muzzle.

The men walked by, their eyes still adjusting to the creeping dark.

“Where'd they go?” one said.

Sota stepped behind the last, and raised his arms as he made an exaggerated spooky face. He breathed on the man's neck, and the thug spun and balked at the mocking visage. Sota screamed loudly as the thug almost jumped out of his skin. Sota headbutted the man and struck him across the brow with his jutte, and he collapsed in a heap.

Hana darted forward, and her foe raised his crude blade. Hana got close, blocked his swing, wrist to wrist, and struck his nose with a rising heel of her palm. He stumbled and his eyes watered, so she slammed her knee into his gut, spun on one foot and thrust the other into his chest. He was sent flying into a pile of wooden buckets with an almighty clatter of splintering wood.

The remaining man turned and rushed at Sota. He took a swing with his cleaver.

With a clash of metal, Sota caught the blade in the flange of his jutte. He twisted his grip and clinched the man's blade. The thug tried to pull back.

Sota stepped with the man's retreat. He traded locked weapons for locked arms as he met the man's momentum and cast his foe's blade away with a metallic pang. Sota flowed like a river as he once more switched his grip from a lock of arms to an elbow around the man's neck. With a final dancers twirl, Sota sent the man tumbling over his hip and down into the ground with a hard thud.

“Hoi! Good to meet you,” Sota said as he ducked and pressed his knee on the thug's shoulder.

The thug tried to punch back, only to take a jutte to the knuckles. The fallen man to yelped in pain.

Sota continued, “consider me your new father, because if you don't start answering my questions, I'm going to start dishing out some much needed spankings.”

The man cried out, “fuck y-”

He received a slap across the face.

“What are you do-”

And another slap.

“Cut that-”

Yet another slap. The man clutched his cheek and began to weep.

Hana, having double checked the other two weren't going to be a problem, approached and crooked her head at the man.

She said, “you haven't asked him a question yet.”

Sota glanced at Hana, then the thug again. “He's already had plenty of questions, in the form of questionable life decisions, bathing habits, choice of vocation... he's a perfect example of how not to live life!”

The thug pleaded, “it's not my fault I-”

Sota slapped him again, and continued, “so, now that we've established you've taken the wrong path many times in life, shall we begin rectifying that? I'm part of the Dragon's Ministry! Kioku!” Sota threw a talisman at the broken buckets, and the thug gasped as they gathered back into a stack, and mended themselves into their less broken states.

“Now,” Sota said and pulled the thug's gaze back to him, “you tell me what I want to know, and I'll give you The Dragon's blessing to turn a new leaf and not be a scumbag. Sound good?”

“Uh...”

Once more, a slap.

“Yes! For the love of all The Dragon knows, yes! Stop hurting me!”

“Lord Kou,” Sota said and pulled the thug closer. “Tell me everything you know about him!”

“Is this necessary?” Hana protested. “We could just ask an innkeeper for such information.”

“If you want to know the unknown, seek those who hide,” Sota said with a smirk, “And besides; pragmatic and foolish men often dream big and poke in corners most wouldn't dare.” Sota sneered at the man again. “Am I right!?”

The thug winced and expected a slap, but Sota just stared.

“I bet you've seen or heard of people breaking in to the castle before. Maybe even you've considered such a thing yourself, so tell me everything you know!”

* * *

“The Dragon's bile and ten thousand mortal shits,” Sota growled and kicked a pebble down the street so hard it pierced a paper lantern. “He's not even in his castle!? After all that work I put into joining the militia!? And dealing with the damn salt wagon!?”

Hana sighed. “It's irrelevant. We know he's gone on the water, and we know he's had dealings with these... what were those foreign cat people called again?”

“Yeah, the Cera'an,” Sota said and calmed down “Ardentiphan natives. Traders or some such. I'd heard of them back in the ministry: they were once loose bands of tribal clans, but this one Cera'an woman started getting involved in urban politics and began unifying many of them. Did a damn fine job of it too from what I've heard.”

Hana narrowed her brown eyes and they flickered in the dim light. “If they're on the coast, then I say we go there and deal with them. We will either eliminate another of Kou's allies or at least retrieve more information.”

“Following the paper trail after Lord Kou? I concur. I have no desire to do any eliminating though.” Sota scoffed and then shrugged. “It's all death, all of the time with you isn't it?”

“It was all that was offered to me and I now seek to strike the balance back,” Hana whispered. “It's all I have left driving me onward.”

Sota gave her a sideways glance. “It's clearly not. You have a life and you have skills, why not earn a living? An inousa with your talent for fighting could earn a fortune as a sellsword.”

“I will not sully the last scraps of my honour with becoming a mercenary. I shall honour my fallen family until I cannot fight. Then, by The Dragon's grace, take my own life on my own terms, before I am executed by whomsoever seeks revenge or justice in turn or debases me. The cycle ends with my death. I have made peace with that.”

Sota stopped and stared at her. “Cycle?” His brow twitched and he scratched his eyebrow. “Your family must have angered the wrong people then. There's a reason foreigners call this the Isle of War, so I guess that's to be expected; one conquest will inevitably fall to the next. Such is also The Dragon Ministry's desire. Am I right?”

Hana's nose twitched as her ears folded down behind her head. She looked to remain quiet, but sighed.

“Yes. That is accurate,” she concurred. “My family fell foul of the endless flow of warfare.” Hana gave Sota a long glare. “But I will not speak any more on the issue; I have no desire to relive the past, nor any purported future of which you believe I am able to attain. Now we rest, and tomorrow we seek passage to where these Cera'an beasts currently reside.”

Sota shook his head. “Whatever, I'm through with tonight too. And parched.”

* * *

“That'll be a hundred yon,” said the boatman.

Sota nodded and winced at the bright sunshine reflecting off the snow-peaked mountain. He kept his eyes low as he struggled with the cottony ache of his brain after a night with too few hours of sleep and too much rice wine.

Hana stopped beside him as he counted out the four-sided, studded bronze coins. She was hooded and more thoroughly covered, with some new trousers and footwraps. It helped at a glance, but any fixed stare would see Hana's true nature, with her digitigrade legs, the subtle bump of her puffy tail beneath the seam and the short white muzzle poking from her cowl.

The boatman lowered his head and looked at her, then chewed his lip. “... a hundred and fifty.”

Sota glowered at him. “The Dragon's own shit are you talking about? We just agreed on a price.”

“Inousa are a bad-”

“A bad omen, I get it, fine. Whatever, you superstitious old fart.” Sota poured more yon into his hand.

“In the name of Lord Kou and the Ministry, I have a decree!”

Everyone stopped and turned. A squat, rotund woman dressed in silken robes raised a scroll in her hand. She unfurled it, and revealed a crude depiction of a scruffy, dishevelled man and a lot of writing.

Sota grimaced and ducked his head down, tugging his battered straw hat to cover his face.

“A bounty has been placed on the head of one Sota Nakamura and an inousan accomplice! He is wanted for the murder of General Owada, two soldiers of the Baiju region militia and abandonment of duty! Seven thousand yon for Nakamura, and three thousand for the inousa, wanted alive! That's a whole kinroku up for grabs, so spread the word!”

Sota and the boatman glanced at each other, then Sota reached out and grabbed Hana's arm as she gripped her sword.

“No, no and no,” Sota whispered, pointing between Hana and the boatman. “No death, no screaming, no shouting. I'll give you five hundred yon to get us out of town immediately.”

The boatman smirked. “That's a lot less than a whole kinroku. Profit is pretty scarce at the moment, and I can't remember the last time I felt a gold piece in my hand...”

“It's also a lot more than you'll be able to spend than when my inousa friend cleaves your head in two,” Sota said with an earnest smile and chipper, friendly tone. “You, the big lady... hells, half the town will be dead before you can say a damn word and certainly before any of the local police get involved.”

The boatman took one step back, but Hana took two in pursuit and made him freeze. Sota then wrapped an arm around the boatman's shoulders. He winced at Sota's still sake-rich breath as he leaned close.

“Trust me, she isn't picky on who she kills and she's prone to excessive violence.”

Hana didn't even flinch. “It's true. We also drink the blood of our victims and I am rather thirsty.”

The boatman's expression sank as he met Hana's glare. Besides the subtle twitch of her nose and flinch of one of her ears beneath her hood, her eyes were unmoving, unlike the man's mouth as his lips drew tight and exposed gritted, yellowed teeth as the fear set in.

The man gulped and beckoned them onto his riverboat.

Sota chuckled as he boarded, and placed his coinpurse into the boatman's coat.

“It's a little shy of five hundred, but I'm sure that won't be a problem, right?”

The boatman nodded rapidly as the sun glistened off of his sweaty brow and he deployed the sail. He then cast off from the docks with his foot and rowed with the guide paddle until the breeze took over.

Sota gave Hana a surprised chuckle as they moved behind the sail, which gave them some reprieve from any errant eyes as the docks passed by. Hana removed her hood and sighed as she let her ears flop, then pricked up in the gentle, cold breeze.

“Nice work,” he said. “I didn't expect you to play into that.”

Hana shrugged. “I will engage in your buffoonery if it gets us closer to our goals. Besides, I had no desire to slaughter half the town, as you put it. Only those that get in my way and those I seek.”

Sota watched as Kataga town drifted into the distance. “Just how many people are left on this list of yours?”

“With Owada dead, just Lord Kou, the man behind the attack on my family,” Hana said as she unstrapped her sword and sat on the deck. “Anyone assisting him is optional.”

“And how many were there to begin with?”

“A score.”

Sota whistled. “And you've spent seven years hunting them down?”

Hana nodded.

Sota turned and rested his elbows against the edge of the boat, leaned back and stared at the sky. Hana had to have been in hear early teens when her troubles started.

“Do you really still plan to kill these Cera'an traders? I get they're in bed with Lord Kou, but half of Samsara is; the whole north thrives on his town and caravans. Besides, you realise the Cera'an only been dealing in Samsara for about five years. They're nothing to do with what happened to you.”

“That depends on them. The longer I dally over my pursuit, the higher the chance I will be found out, captured, undoubtedly tortured, raped and, if I'm lucky, slain. I just want to invoke the justice owed to my family, and I shall pass on. No more, no less.”

Sota sighed and wondered how much of a lost cause Hana was, and watched the bright blue skies in silence. Both empty, beautiful and beyond his reach.

* * *

29th Day of Long Melt, 1554

Hail struck as if the village was beneath a waterfall. Sota stared at the ceiling as flashes of lighting illuminated room in narrow spikes of white light and the room was smothered in a crashing, ceaseless clamour of ice.

“'Long melt' my ass,” he grumbled. “Rain I can get behind, but this?” Sota stood, scrambled over to and shoved open the window flap and yelled, “choke on The Dragon's mighty dick, winter! Cut it out!”

It was probably morning, although the thickness of the cloud overhead and overall blackness made that dubious. He got dressed in several thick layers and a heavy outer coat anyway, as much to abate the cold than to brace for a day of working on the dam, and opened the door. He ran over to the village hall, where many others were huddled around the hearth, and joined the murmuring group.

Hanging over the central fire and from the ceiling like a giant bat, her birdy, taloned feet digging into the rafters, was Chihiro.

Sota managed a smirk. “Are you breakfast? There's not much meat to you, little one.”

Chihiro cawed twice in a weird laugh. “Breakfast is for peck-fast-breaking!”

“More like beak-fasting,” Sota replied. “Why are you up there?”

“It's warmy-warmer! Hot air goes up, like so-Sota's talky-talk!”

One of the grumpy older ladies scowled up at the yatagha. “Get down from there before you get feathers in the pot!”

With a swing, a flip and a flamboyant pose, Chihiro landed and sat next to Sota.

A large cauldron was hanging over the fire, filled with a gloopy rice porridge. Meanwhile a large metal plate was being used to grill some fish, and a vat of pickled vegetables was being served into bowls.

Sota leaned down and whispered, “be honest with me, Chihiro; does Hana seem to be coming around? I can't get anything out of her.”

Chihiro's beak opened a crack and she replied, “maybe? She still looky-looks at her dagger a lot. Your stain on the otherwise shiny-shiny blade.”

With a sigh, Sota nodded and patted her on the shoulder. “Maybe you could go get her for us? Just to be sure. I refuse to give up on her. She deserves as good a life as I can find for her.”

The door opened, and to Sota's surprise, Hana entered. She was soaked and shook some of the excess hail and water off her fur by the entrance before sitting beside the fire.

“Good morning,” Sota said. “I'm glad to see you here without yataghan coercion.”

Hana glanced at him, but didn't reply.

Chihiro squawked, “heyo!”

Hana managed the most rudimentary smile as she replied, “good morning, Chihiro.”

“I don't know what's colder,” Sota said and folded his arms like a moody child. “The air outside or... bah, never mind.”

He both wished he could take it back, and yet would do it again if given a chance. Saving her was the right move. Likewise, he neither wanted thanks but also wanted some sign she appreciated what Sota had done that night... or something. Any sort of reaction beyond this tepid, ongoing silent treatment.

It wasn't a fight worth picking, despite his lurking annoyance. He felt any pressure from him would just send her further away. He just dropped the matter.

Hana finally looked at Sota for more than half a second. She seemed to want to say something but she, too, left it unspoken.

They ate breakfast, abandoned the sanctity of the hearth, and all headed outside as the hail slowed, but the bitter cold remained.

* * *