The warm morning sun filtered weakly through the overcast sky into the open grove. The soft rustle of the willow’s long branches as it brushed the pond’s surface filled the air with a gentle whisper. Seikage’s eyes fluttered opened when the broken sunlight danced across his face, reflected of off the pond’s rippling surface. A pulse of sharp, burning pain radiated from his ribs, forcing out a low groan through his cracked lips as his body instinctively curled towards the source of his pain. Each heartbeat sent stabbing jolts throughout his body. The world slowly came into focus, his awareness distant and muted. I… I still live? The thought drifted sluggish and disbelieving. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself into a sitting position. The motion sent agony through his body and his right hand shot instinctively to his side. After a moment of fighting down the nausea that rose in his throat, He pulled his hand away. His fingers were wet and sticky. The first thing he noticed was the strong coppery sent of blood, followed by the sickly smell of decay. As he stared at his stained fingers, fragmented memories of the desperate battle and despite escape through the forest came to him. The ghostly echo of men fighting for their lives, the clash of weapons, and screams of the dying all drifted in the silent air. The image of a black spear as it arcing towards him and the haunting image of a large kanabo as it raced towards him and the sound of a horse’s thundering hooves filled his thoughts.

  His eyes drifted to the bamboo forest beyond the clearing, but his mind was not seeing the trees, only faces. He saw the face of the spearman he spoke with by the fire. His name lost to death, like so many others. He remembered the guard captain, fighting desperately, only to have his life ended with the thrust of a cursed weapon. A pulse of fresh pain tore his mind back to the present. Shifting his wait, he felt the rough pressure of bandaging beneath his torn clothing. His obi was wrapped tightly against his ribs. Confused, he had no memory of tending his wounds and no memory of how he managed to survive the night. As he scanned the grove, he saw his battered tatami-dō and katana near the water’s edge. Relief surged, tempered by hallow ache in his chest. At least he still had his blade and his life, if nothing else. Bracing himself, Seikage tried to stand as his vision swam. Sharp, splintering pain howled from his right let the moment he put any substantial weight onto it, nearly sending him back into unconsciousness. The world tilted and a bout of fresh nausea threatened to empty his stomach before he was able to balance himself. “No sudden movements,” he grunted under his breath. Shifting awkwardly so that his left leg bore most of his weight, he slowly limped towards the water. Every step a battle against agonizing pain and weakness. Strange… when did I move so far away? The thought barely registered over the pain and his body’s burning thirst.

  Everything after the ambush was a blur and the distance before him felt insurmountable. Finally reaching the edge of the pond, he collapsed next to his belongings. Trembling, his fatigued hands dipped into the cool, clean water. He carefully cupped the water to his lips as he drank slowly. Forcing himself to sip, the lessons of past campaigns and injuries had taught him the dangers of gulping down water. The last thing he needed was to vomit or aspirate. His cracked lips and dry throat demanded to be sated. After sipping enough to dull the edge, he sat up and truly took in his surroundings. There was no battlefield, no distant cries of the wounded and dying. No crows circling and fighting over the dead. Instead, the grove was quiet and peaceful. Water from the river and pond lapped gently against stone, a faint breeze carried a delicate, sweet floral aroma of cherry blossoms and lavender.

  Feeling more aware, he took stalk of his situation. He was injured, without coin, without food and no idea where he was. He could not remember which direction he traveled, or how long he traveled before collapsing. In truth, he did not think he would even survive. What do I do now? His head throbbed with each heartbeat as he scanned the grove. The morning sun glared down through the thinning clouds, causing a throbbing pain behind his eyes. The bright light caused a sharp, stinging sensation that intensified his persistent headache. Gritting his teeth, he reached over and picked up his katana and tatami-dō. Using his sheathed katana for support, Seikage slowly stood to his feet and started to limp towards the willow tree, hoping that the shade would grant him a reprieve from the cruel sun. Every step was agonizing. His mind kept flashing back to the battle. What could I have done different? I survived, but did anyone else? Were we victorious? What was the cost? As each thought flowed through his mind, his headache grew worse. He may have survived, but he knew that many did not. Akamura Village was a small village. The loss of the militia and guardsman would greatly impact the village’s productivity, especially during harvest season. He regrated that he had so little time to help train the militia. After all, it was part of his original agreement, but the subjugation force had to act after finding out the bandits’ location. If only…. No! It doesn’t matter, he could not change the past. Besides no good could come of thinking on the village’s future hardship. Especially since he was unsure that he would survive the night. A sudden breeze swept through the grove and movement in the tall grass at the edge of the clearing caught his eyes. He shifted into a guard stance with most of his weight on his good leg. His breath stilled as he strained his battered senses, ready to draw his sword. Squinting against the harsh glair of the sun, he searched the line of bamboo and grass for any signs of a threat. The pain in his skull intensified as he forced himself to focus, taking in everything his senses could tell him. There! A flash of fabric fluttered along the trees as the wind stirred.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Tension coiled in his shoulders as he waited for another ambush. His heart pounded painfully against his lacerated ribs. For a long silent moment, he stood their motionless, ready to defend himself despite the protests of his broken and weary body. After several painful breaths, no movement or signs of an attack appeared. Painfully, he moved cautiously to where he saw the movement. He sighed with relief to see it was nothing more than his furoshiki. Seikage bent down to pick up the wrapped bundle, but pain lanced through his body and he collapsed gasping. He laid there, trying to catch his breath and the pain slowly resided. Heart still racing, he managed to sit back up and collect himself. Seikage unwrapped his furoshiki. Inside the cloth laid his flint and steel, a small bundle of twine, a writing brush and ink stick, a small cooking pot, his spare clothes, a whetstone, and a bag with just a few handfuls of rice. Exhailing a long, tired breath, he wheezed “At least it is enough to get by for now.” Bracing himself for more pain, he struggling to back to his feet and limped his way beneath the willow tree. Along the way, he nearly collapsed twice due to pain and exhaustion.

  Slumping against the ancient trunk, Seikag let his body go limp, every labored breath was strained with the constant throbbing of pain. He set what few possessions he had next to him, his katana resting across his lap. The bowed willow branches, swayed in the gentle breeze, sheltering him from the cruel light of the sun. It was not much. It did not grant safety. But for now, it was enough. “At least it won’t rain,” he muttered, a faint smile ghosting across his battered face. The memory of his younger, more foolish self, needing to take shelter in the hollow of a lightning split tree flickered through his mind. Seikage’s eyes drifted closed as the bone weary warrior succumbed to his exhaustion. A fleeting thought crossed his mind just before surrendering to sleep. I survived… but for what? If someone tended to me, why? The willow wept softly above him as the river whispered beyond the tree. Seikage, battered and broken, slept as he balanced on the edge between life and death.