Shakily, Takashi stood vaguely aware it was still pouring down torrential freezing rain. Blood crept from the corners of his vibrant purple eyes whose vision was blurred by the kick the back of his head. Stumbling forwards, his sword still clutched in his hand, the blade still oozing with blood. Takashi's eyes could faintly make out the Sakurai's clan leader. He had been fighting all day to thin the ranks to get to this man, now there were bodies of men and horses left bleeding, gushing sanguine red fluid into the dark pools at his feet. To some, he would look like a monster; covered in blood from head to to toe, his sword glimmering dimly as his legs from the blow to his head shook. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to let this moment escape him.

Heading for the lord of the Sakurai clan, his lungs in haling large gulps of air telling him to slow himself but his focus was beyond reach. Why had his own men tried to attack him? Noticing his sleeve was torn, he tore off his haori with his free hand realizing it at some point must have been broken at some point. Grunting through the pain he slowly tore at the material until he was left with just his curiass and his kimono and hakama. He stepped, or rather marched towards the man in his blurry vision.

His lungs expelling large quantities of air causing large formations of steam as his heated breath mingled with the cool air around him. Lightening flashed blinding everyone left on the field including Takeshi before a deafening thunder clap erupted over the field. It was only then that Takashi had realized it was night by looking up. But even with the thunder, he could still hear the shouts of pain, and screams of agony from the dying and wounded. He had stopped to take in the scene; a blood bath to be sure, then he heard the soggy wet ground behind him being moved across and in turning, felt the icy tip of a yari plunge through the layers of hardened leather that formed a bodily cocoon around his chest and abdomen.

It was an aishigaru of the Sakurai clan. His armor was dyed red. On his back was a Sashimono, small banners worn by Japanese medieval soldiers for identification during battles. The sashimono poles were attached to the backs of the chest armor by special fittings. Sashimono were worn by common soldiers, known as ashigaru, to elite samurai, and in special holders on the horses of some cavalry soldiers. The banners, resembling small flags and bearing clan symbols, were most prominent during the Sengoku period—a period of long civil war.

His first reaction was to grab the spearhead, which he did with his free broken hand. He grunt as he pushed down just behind the embedded tip. His face contorting while the blood already covering him made his hand want to lose all sense of traction. Sliding, his hand gave the weapon the leeway it needed to pierce his side. Throwing his head back he let out a disgruntled scream. Before cutting the head of the spear leaving it splintered. He then turned and faced the peasant soldier who had boldly challenged him.

The Ashigaru looked at his spear head and cursed as Takashi neared him. The six foot shaft comprised of bamboo was cut with a sharp head. Thrusting towards Takashi, Takashi aggrievedly struck back. His sword cut down the length of the pike splitting the weapon in half and severing the man's fingers. Takashi the brought the sword up at a high angle instantaneously, severing the mans head from his body. The ashigaru crumpled into a heap only after bathing Takashi in blood splatter from the suddenly severing several main veins an arteries.

Blood stained, Takashi glanced at his side before he stripped his chest piece off his body, peeling the tip from the perforation of his side. He was bleeding to death slowy because no vital organs were punctured. tearing his kimono down to his waist he tied it tightly around his slender figure and then resumed after the leader of the Sakurai clan.

About a quarter-mile from the battlefield proper, a simple travelling doctor took refuge from the storm. A sugegasa and straw cloak were not enough to keep all of this water out, but the figure took up residence under some trees at the side of the road more for the convenience of her horse than herself. She was no stranger to discomfort, but she saw no need to cause the beast to fall ill for her own convenience. Her matter was not yet of such urgency as to warrant this.

She was attired in the manner of a peasant, but though she was many things, this could not be considered one of them. As with any of her disguises various and sundry, she knew enough of medicine to pass herself off as what she claimed to be, but it was not truly her profession. Honestly, she'd chosen this guise not for its convenience, as any of a number of possibilities would have sufficed, but perhaps because it represented a wish. Sighing softly, the woman unfastened the conical hat and set it on the ground, falling into a crouch. She would not sit and dirty her vestments any more than necessary, but at least this way she could rest somewhat.

She was not unaware of the battle that raged a short distance from her. Indeed; it was why she was present in this place at all. Medicine box strapped to her back and shoulders, she had arrived in a nearby village a mere two days prior, intending to pass through and continue along this road to nowhere with nobody the wiser. That had been before her solitude was interrupted by a small child, a little girl claiming that her mother was sick. What had happened next was more a foregone conclusion than she would ever admit. Saying no to children was not something she could do, and so she'd attended the child's mother, who had nothing worse than a simple cold.

That might have been enough. She could have left, but the woman had turned out to be the daughter of the village elder, and they'd thrown together their humble means to feed her, despite her insistence to the contrary. When several of them had expressed concerns for sons and brothers caught up in the conflict between the Sakurai and Fujiwara, she'd known where it was all headed. All the letters home indicated that the battle would take place not far from the little town, and she'd agreed to go check on things in the aftermath, and treat the injured where she could.

If she'd resented being manipulated into it by the double-edged generosity of the townspeople, she skilfully hid it. Truthfully, she did not mind so much. She was used to being a tool, directed to an end regardless of her own thoughts on the matter. Thinking for herself was still a rather new sort of idea, and it was not as though she had somewhere else to be right now. She'd have to report her location to her master eventually, she knew that, but this would not be so long a stop as to hinder her progress overmuch.

Lightning lanced across the sky, visible even through the canopy of trees which was now protecting her from the worst of the elements. Mochizuki Chiyome, the timid medicine peddler without a home, kept her eyes to the ground, but Rokkaku Tsubaki, the Koga-trained shinobi, was always aware of her environment. The patter of heavy rain on the leaves, the chill that began to seep into her skin if she spent too long motionless, the smell of fresh water and, from some distance, blood and steel. After a time, she decided that the diminished sounds of battle meant that things were coming to a close, and she'd have to move now if she wanted to arrive early enough to save any lives. She carried in her peasant's kimono a list of names from the village, of young men and older ones to watch out for and ask after, but privately she was not so sure many of them would even still be alive. Peasants and their more makeshift weaponry did not last long against samurai.

Readjusting her medicine box, she patted the horse on the rump as a signal to start him moving. He was a good creature, docile and obedient, which made him ideal for carrying her things. Particularly those hidden ones which no mere doctor would possess. It was time to find the battlefield and see what use she might be, false physician or not.

Yoshio stared the young samurai down as struggled to reach him, he meant to kill the old man, but that did not stop him from holding his ground. He did not flinch, he did not shrink back, and he just stood holding fast to his bisento, with a stern look in his dark eyes."Hitokiri your injuries as great are, almost too weak for me to even bother, but I have my honor to keep and I must protect my master", Yoshio's voice was strong and authoritative that of a wise leader. Watching the young man as he practically impaled himself on his enemies spear. He was impressed by the young warriors determination, as he watched him continue to stagger forward, Yoshio let a concerned breath rumbled in the back of his throat. This was not the samurai that had killed wife, and the young man must have been a great warrior to have his own men turn on him. Only an order from his Lord would issue such repercussions, he was beginning to feel compassion for the young samurai. This had always been a weakness to Yoshio, a man being named as he found himself many times in battle feeling for his opponent.

"A waste of a great warrior Fujiwara even after being forced to cut down his own men, he still strives to keep his honor and complete the mission he was sent for", anger beginning to come out in his voice. This man did not deserve to be treated so dishonorably, he had done much for the Fujiwara clan the young samurai's reputation had preceded him. “You are a fool Fujiwara!, full of greed and fear of the lands seeing you for the snake you really are, you would cut down your own champion in his prime!", Yoshio started to step forward. "I knew you were dishonorable but this is almost too much", he said to the wind hoping his voice full of spite hoping it would carry to the rival clan leaders ears.

Putting the blade of Bisento at the ready, thoughts began to race through the old warrior’s head he could take the boy out in one fatal swoop. Or he could use the young man to his advantage, a small bit of deception to have a strong warrior on his side. He made a swift decision and took the opportunity to strike. For an old man he was swift and fluid having trained as a Shinobi gives you an advantage especially with someone who does not know this. Before the young hitokiri could react, he was right on him the blade of his weapon coming right at the young samurai. "Make your choice! or you will die as the men that have fallen before you".

"Hitokiri your injuries as great as they are, you're almost too weak for me to even bother, but I have my honor to keep and I must protect my master",

"Save yourpity for the weak and feeble, none for me." Takashi panted heavily, the color draining from the pigment of his skin moment by moment.

Takashi then glanced down and pressed a hand to the spear wound to his side just above his left hip. The application of even the slightest bit of pressure caused blood to rush between the cracks and folds of his own hand; rivulets of carmine fluid pouring over his gloved fingers. His breathing becoming all the more labored as he mentally prepared himself for this fight.

Anyone could see this was meant to be a suicide mission. To start with, he wasn't given a significant enough force, not at least to take on the heavy sōhei and yamabushi concentration in these wooded areas. His Ashigaru had been ripped to pieces by these monks. Now this monk wanted to stand in his way, to keep him from the head of his master? He wasn't going back to his lord empty handed, or he wasn't going back to his lord at all. That's what he determined.

His eye sight was failing, and the sensation of his hands, fingers-even his arms were beginning to feel the cool clamminess of death touch. Regardless, he was not afraid. Death came to everyman, he was no different. However, as shock began to set in, his heart rate began to beat faster, working harder, taxing itself. Also, his thoughts began to stray. It was evident in the prolonged blinks he would unconsciously do to try and refresh his straying memory of what he had to do. A pain started to become quite evident, even this was visible by his deep by shaky breaths.

Nevertheless, as the old hermit lunged towards him--his eyes unable to cope with the stress of his swift movement, for the briefest of moments, he thought he had actually disappeared. However, his eyes caught the sight of the pole-arm instantly his body reacted out of its instinct and drew to the side; the bisento's blade much thicker and wider than a naginata. The lightening catching its polished surface and reflecting.

"Make your choice! or you will die as the men that have fallen before you!" His feet shuffling, more or less as his hips pivoted him to his right, allowing the man's own weight and that of his weapon to steer him directly into the line-of-sight for Takashi's sword. Merely drawing his sword upwards and at an angle, Takashi sought to end the man's life with one decisive blow.

The deeply curved sword's tip caught the fringes of the older man's attire, the edge so sharp that it split his clothing as it cleaved through his weapon's shaft. His arm retracting to finish the blow, but something wasn't right. Takashi could hardly feel his movements and drew his sword away too soon. From the diagonal slash he had given, only the weapon in the man's grip suffered the most damage. A light cut over his carotid, too shallow to allow any heavy bleeding before Takashi spun around and caught himself by plunging his sword into the earthen mound he stood on.

The world was spinning suddenly, he felt so confused as to his direction...

The battle had taken it's toll on both sides, but yet he still fought on. Each breath pierced his lungs with the cold of the air around him, but each exhale heated the air directly in front of his face. The battle had claimed his horse, though he was fond of the beast, he had known better then to make a bond with it. He had just recently cut down a common foot-solider, finding it almost too easy, even if there were more then one. He had been trying to reach the position of his lord, having to fight through several enemy soldiers to do it. His head-band had been cut from his head by a quick arrow though at most it had only nicked him. He pushed forward, his body reaching within to find reserves of energy to fuel his muscles.

Once he finally reached the scene his eyes only fell upon a warrior marred with blood and missing most of his armor, marching forward; who he could only assume was the Hitokiri. Though as he blinked away beads of sweat another warrior; one he could barely make out as his lord challenged the bloodied one. He panted heavily, his lungs filling with that much needed oxygen as he pressed forward, only to be stopped by several warriors. His arms were weakening, but still they lifted his long bladed-weapon, The first man charged, not giving him the chance to even shift into an attack position; caught off guard he side stepped bringing the blade down in an arc; catching the shoulder of the man and cleaving through it. Hid opponent howled with pain dropping the sword and gripping at his nearly ripped in two shoulder as he looked up with fear at the reflection in the blade; his own face, until his head was cleaved from his shoulders.

Though this was not enough to scare off the other two; one holding a spear; stabbed forward with it, swinging his own weapon upwards he cut the head off the spear and with a hard step forward he swung his sword horizontally cutting through the man's chest; he watched as his second foe fell to the ground clenching the mortal wound to his torso. The third though, shook with fear barely gripping the katana in his hand. With one fell swoop He removed the man's hands, and then cut open his belly. His sword remained tightly in his left hand, though his entire body felt like a boulder, and his muscles were nearly ready to give out. That, however was not an option; his grip tightened and his legs continued forward. He needed to reach the clash between the Hitokiri, and his lord

The fight between the Hitokiri and his lord seemed to quick to watch, Yoshio's weapon seemingly being damaged, and he almost flinched as he could only guess the man was going to end his lord's life, but before he could; his sword plunged into the ground and held him up. This was a blessing to see, using the reserves of energy that were left he charged forward. When his steps slowed and he was within range of both men he stopped and panted heavily. He said nothing but stood there his sword held tightly in one hand while his right hand gripped at a skin-deep wound along his shoulder, a wound earned near the beginning of the battle for carelessness. He could only guess what was going through both men's minds, and though he felt the urge to end this battle by taking this man's life right now, he also felt complied to just watch and wait it out.

Yoshio, in a split second as his weapon became two, tossed the useless pieces aside. He then jabs points on the young samurai's legs, arms and lastly his neck rendering him immobile and unconscious. “It is finished go and tell you master that I have defeated his assassin! And if you value your lives leave my land!”, when last of the Fujiwara ran in fear of the man that had defeated Takashi Kien he knelt next to the boy... What the retreating men did not realize is that Takashi was not dead and that Yoshio had only rendered him defenseless. After all the enemies had cleared the battle field, Yoshio picked Takashi up, put him over his shoulder, and began to carry the young man like a sack of potatoes. The monks that had been waiting patiently went in to care for the dead. “I hope you appreciate this hitokiri, I could have let you die. But I chose to let you live to take your revenge”.

Kasumi was sitting waiting in their hut naginata in hand, her sister had blissfully gone to sleep, but Kasumi would not till her father returned. She began to hear the familiar sounds of horse hooves, and tired men shuffling their feet. She stood and opened the door just slightly enough to peer out over the men returning home after what looked to be a harsh battle. Men caked head to toe in mud and blood, then came the man she had hoped to see return. Her heart leapt for joy in her chest and she opened the door wide. She didn't say a word she just started ran to him, Yoshio smiled as his beautiful Kasumi came running. He could remember when she was so young she would do the same run to him when he would come home alive from battle. When she made her way to she stood in front of him smiling as other men milled past them hoping to have their own loved ones run to them. That was when Kasumi noticed the man flung over her father's shoulder. She immediately began to go into protector mode, “Father quickly bring him into the hut”, she said with haste in her voice. Yoshio, brought the young samurai into his home, and explained things to his daughter. “Father how could you bring your own assassin back here. Have you gone mad, I feel you may have sealed our people’s fate by this,” she said with a worried sigh as she tended to the samurai's wounds. She knew her father to be wise and wouldn't go against his order but this was a hard to swallow. She could feel the lump in her throat build, she looked down at the hitokiri. He looked quite young, and handsome; “Trust me my daughter if we go as I have planned we will have a great ally on our side”, as she looked at the samurai, “I pray you are right father."

Ichiro remained silent throughout the night. He was a little disappointed that he was unable to accompany Yoshio to battle, but he wouldn't argue his master's orders. He knew better than that. Still, a hint of relief played inside him, and he was grateful that most of the men returned safely. The storm was now taking it's toll on the earth and it's inhabitants, but something like the weather meant little to Ichiro. He was sitting in the corner of the hut, watching curiously. However, he had a disgusted look on his face once his eyes fell on the infamous hitokiri. "Sir, I don't mean to speak out against your better judgment.. But what's he doing here?"

This man looked older than Ichiro, and he was gravely injured. Not surprising, considering his master's experience in battle. Why the Fujiwara chose to pit the hitokiri against the leader of the Sakurai clan was a mystery to Ichiro. It sounded more like a trap than some kind of threat. This man is lucky he lives.. Very lucky. Ichiro looked down to Kasumi. "What do you want me to do?" He wanted to help, but at the same time, he didn't want to be a bother to her. It was his job to protect her, that was it. Yet he felt he owed these people more than simple servitude, and took it upon himself to help them as much as he could.

Blood. The ground was stained with it already, oversaturated with the rain and the life-essence of too many men to count. Each of Tsubaki's footfalls squelched in the earth, bringing up a pale pink, watery fluid that was the precious life of man mixed with the sustenance of the very world itself. Blood and water. Someone had said once that blood was the thicker stuff, but she had always found it left the body just as easily. You fought, you bled, and you died. That was the way it ended for people like these men, people like her. It didn't really matter if you managed to avoid the blades of your foes, for there was always another waiting to find your back, a poison anticipating its pass over your lips. If you were lucky, time took you instead. She couldn't say it was a better way to go, just a longer one.

The scent of it cloyed in her nose, and she suppressed the frown that threatened. She had long ago lost her right to pity the dead, or to mourn them; people like Tsubaki were not given leave to shed tears on anyone's behalf, least of all their own. Tears were trained out of you, right along with love, compassion, and mercy. The fact that she felt stirrings of some of these old things about the beating muscle in her chest did nothing to reassure her of her goodness; it made her only all the more confident of her guilt and wicked soul.

It was an easy thing to say that a tool was not to be blamed for its use, but a tool did not feel. Since she felt again, it was impossible to save herself with this line of reasoning. Kneeling beside the first still-breathing man she came across, Tsubaki assessed the damage to his body. He'd been slashed horizontally across the chest. Being a peasant, there was little in the way of armor to protect him from this, but it was likely that the pain alone was the reason he'd fallen. How long had it been since pain had bothered her so? She found she could not remember, then shook her head at her idle musings and set to work.

The battlefield was hardly the place for such ministrations, but she had little choice in the matter. Either he was treated here, or he died. Simple as that. Her lips moved, quiet words of comfort bubbling from her throat as easily as if they always had. As though she were meant to say such things. It was painful, and the thought tore at her. Pretending had never been difficult for Tsubaki, but pretending to be something so completely opposed to her true nature? It simply made her wish for things that would never be. The man cried out as the disinfecting solution made contact with his wound, but she did not flinch from his thrashing, pinning his arms and legs with an expert precision. The stitching proved easier, and the addition of pristine white bandages to his wound was a simple matter.

She did not linger, but rather moved onto the next man. This one was better-dressed, clearly a samurai, Fujiwari from his crest. She did not know the circumstances of this battle, and she would not discriminate. When she took her place beside him, though, the man shook his head. "Don't. I'm beyond saving. Kill me, please." It was not hard to tell that he was correct; he was bleeding profusely, and already pale from the loss of his fluids.

"I cannot." This caused him to stare at her, hard. She met his gaze unflinchingly, and he made a scoffing sound.

"Don't lie to me, woman. You could kill me twelve different ways with nothing but your hands. I know the eyes of a killer when I see them." Tsubaki was honestly surprised. Nobody saw through her disguises, ever. Perhaps it was just the ramblings of someone half-gone, but all the same he was correct, and she sighed. She could do the deed with poison, send him off peacefully into a never-ending sleep, but she knew that was not what he wanted. "We were... told to kill one of our own," the man confessed, half-clouded eyes staring above him into nothing. "Takashi Kein. A hitokiri. I guess they figured he was too dangerous or something." He coughed weakly, and she was about to urge him not to speak, when he held up a hand to forestall any such thing.

"Honestly, I don't know what the reason was. I don't much care, either. Orders are orders, but wrong is wrong, and I deserve this for trying. Give me the end I've earned, girl." The man managed with Tsubaki's assistance to reach his knees, and she took his sword. Properly, it should have been done with her own, but they were on the other side of the field, and he didn't have that much time now that he'd aggravated his injuries by moving. Wordlessly, Tsubaki withdrew the katana from its saya, the whisper of sound inaudible over the pelting rain and the man's own harsh and ragged breathing. Inhaling deeply, she raised the blade in both hands, letting the saya fall to the ground, and in one swift, smooth stroke, brought the sword down on the back of his neck. The cut was clean and practiced, his end as painless as she could make it.

After that, she moved from person to person, saving who she could and putting others out of their painful misery. She was surprised by how many of both sorts thanked her for her efforts. It was a most disconcerting thought, that she should be given gratitude for such things. An indeterminate amount of time later, she removed herself from the field, having managed to move most of the survivors off into one area. She'd fetch the locals for them, then leave. She had no need to stay any longer.

She was soaking wet, hair plastered against her face, when she finally made it to the nearest settlement. The doctor she was directed to swiftly made his way out with a party of men to find those she had managed to treat. She hoped they would not notice or think anything of the out-of-place ritual execution in the center of the field.

The battle had ended with the swift action of his lord. Though he was quite surprised by the next action; Yoshio had picked up the hitokiri, and proceeded to bring him back. He found this quite odd, more so than the very fact he had let the man live. He would not question his lord in this decision though, for it was not his place. He turned to look out amongst the battlefield, and at all the corpses and broken weapons that laid scattered around the area. This was a sight he could never get used too. The battles only taxed the people involved and caused more strain on the peasants, but again, it was not his place to question orders.

When the had arrived back home the men that had survived the conflict seem to wander off. He himself stuck close to his lord, when the man's daughter Kasumi came and greeted her father. He stayed quiet, with a straight face. He watched as they retreated into Yoshio's house. He followed but only to stand guard at the door. He didn't really expect to be needed. With how badly the man was injured, he didn't suspect that he would be fighting any of the people in the hut any time soon. He would not feel right leaving his lord unprotected, while an enemy of the clan rested in the House of Sakurai. With a passing nod to the younger samurai that served as Kasumi's bodyguard, Ryuu turned away, keeping watchful eyes trained on nothing and everything at once.

Kasumi gave an exasperated sigh, "His wounds are great Ichiro but he will live", as she continued her ministrations the spear wound, being the deepest would make it the easiest for infection to set in. She pulled her medicine box taking out her herbs and other things she used when men in her village were injured or sick. She pulled out a needle and a horse hair thread carefully threading the needle, “Its a good thing father used the pressure points on him or this would really hurt”. She took to stitching the wound shut, pinching the flesh together as she went along the wound, making small precise stitches that only a woman with great experience doing this could do. After she was satisfied with her needle work, she pulled out a small mortar and pestle, picking out several different herbs making a Hābu no shippu o gyōko (coagulating herb poultice). “This will help the bleeding from starting again and also fight against infection”, she started to smear the poultice over her stitching of the deep spear wound and on the various other wounds. She then pulled out some leaves “Sutetchi (stitch leaves)”, she said while putting them on top of the poultice, over the other various wounds, including the one she had to sew herself as a precaution, then wrapping all the wounds with strips of cloth. With that she looked at her father, "I have stabilized him, now please tell what is your plan for this young man?” she asked her father.

Yoshio sighed, "Come and I will tell you my entire plan, we can leave him here for a moment and I'm sure Ryuu would like to hear as well", they all stepped out onto the verandah of the house. The old leader of the Sakurai was still in his wet clothes, caked in mud and the hitokiri's blood, "We are going to put on a bit of show. We will take on the clan name Matsumoto; this was my mother's clan. We will integrate Takashi with our clan, he has only known the cruel world of the Fujiwara, and so we can show him that the way of bloodshed is not where your focus should be. Much as I have taught you men, you were not born into my clan but you have earned your places in it. But as of now Fujiwara believes that he has yet to actually battle the leader of the Sakurai, and I plan on keeping that way. Which is why I did not let you go into battle with me it is a precaution that I have taken to help protect my daughters. But I couldn't not keep my honor and cut down this warrior; if we can show him the snake that Fujiwara is he would be a great asset to us. That spear should have killed him but he didn't so I see this as a sign from things greater than myself. I hope you are not offended by this but I feel that this young warrior was sent to us to help us get the upper hand over the Fujiwara. Now the choice you have to make is whether to go, or stay and help me show this great samurai what you have learned", Yoshio turned and went back into the hut Kasumi assumed he planned on changing his clothing. Yoshio stopped in the room where the young man was out cold, he went over to where his daughter had set the mans katana aside. Respectfully observing the fine craftsmanship of Japanese steel, "A fine weapon, I am sorry but for now you will not need this", he walked away with sword in his hand. Going into his room he lifted up on a piece of the floor just under the bamboo tatami mats. There was a small compartment where he could store the sword and not have to worry about it being damaged, "It will be safe hear till it is needed again".

Kasumi had worn the kamon of Matsumoto before her father always took up the kamon of his mother when he wanted to hide. She knew that he was trying to protect the people by doing this but it hurt her deeply that he chose to remove himself from the clan of Sakurai to do so. She looked around at the men who had become like brothers to her; Ichiro and Ryuu were both always by her or her father’s side. "What do you to think of this?” she asked the two warriors. She knew that she was quite apprehensive she had only known the samurai of the Fujiwara to be cruel and unforgiving, it was men like that, and that had killed her mother as she tried to protect her daughters. Her mother was a loving and caring, and she had pleaded with the samurai to spare her. The man just gave her an evil smirk and cut her down in cold blood. "I will do what ever my father asks of me but I am not so sure that this is a good idea, I can not trust a Fujiwara to be nothing but dishonorable".

Ichiro was quiet for quite some time. He was always a little blown away at Kasumi's vast knowledge of medicine. The samurai's mind flashed back to when he was a tad younger, and it replayed a memory of this girl treating his wounds. Despite being older then her, he had much respect for Kasumi. It took a lot to be the eldest daughter of someone like Yoshio, and Ichiro was baffled the girl hadn't gone mad by now.

He walked to the front of the room, but did not leave the hut. He didn't trust the unconscious man laying there. It could all be a ruse. The hitokiri could be awake, simply waiting for the perfect chance to kill each person here. Nonetheless, he payed attention to Yoshio's words and thought about the idea carefully. "So, you would take him under your wing and teach him the ways of the Matsumoto?" Ichiro couldn't help but smirk at this idea. It was clever, deceiving, and nearly fool proof. Nearly. The head of the Fujiwara and the other hitokiri no doubt knew what this man, Takashi, was it? Looked like. If the other Fujiwara stumbled upon the Matsumoto hideout and discovered Takashi still lived, it could prove fatal. And there's still the off chance the hitokiri would reject the offer of hospitality and try to escape. Still, Ichiro would always follow his master, regardless of the situation.

Ichiro bowed slightly to Yoshio and spoke in a quick yet calm voice. "It's my duty to protect you and your family, and I shall do so until the day I die." The samurai walked back into the hut and took a seat in his usual spot in the corner. He tugged off his shirt, revealing his scarred and bruised torso. Ichiro would have to take off the Sakurai mon that was stitched onto the back of his shirt, and replace it with one from the Matsumoto clan. He didn't mind it, and in fact rather enjoyed messing with his clothing. It gave him something to do besides sit around and watch. "What do you to think of this?” Ichiro merely continued with his stitching, staying silent for a moment. "It's a little different then what the Master usually does. Although I'm not too keen on the idea, I believe any man can change if he's given the opportunity. However, I doubt this one will." He nodded over to the unconscious Takashi, another hint of disgust settling on his face. He didn't know why, but Ichiro had a bad feeling about this man; this samurai who would kill whomever he was instructed to.

Ryuu turned his attention to Kasumi as she began to treat the wounds of the hitokiri. He felt the man was quite out of place here being an enemy of theirs, yet being treated by Kasumi. He really didn't know what to think currently. Once she finished with the hitokiri's wounds Kasumi asked a very valid question of her father. Then came the time to hear Yoshio's plan. Ryuu himself wasn't really for the idea; but he would not go against it. Yoshio had made a decision, and he would follow it just like his father would have, though hiding hid opinion wasn't something he was happy to do. even so, when given the choice to leave, he could only shake his head. "My father served you faithfully until he died, and I will do the same," he said, bowing slightly.

He rubbed at his forehead a little; hiding who they were. That wasn't a thought he enjoyed. He looked over at Kasumi as she asked her question, but before he could even reply Ichiro said his piece. He nodded to the young man's words, finding them justified by the battle he had just been in. He found it was his turn to say something, and cleared his throat. "I agree with Ichiro; this wasn't exactly a normal action for this situation , but I think it could be a good idea. If we can show this man our way of life, maybe we can have him on our side, and this would turn the battles around." He wasn't quite sure if the idea would work, but if it did well then at least they'd have a better chance now against the Fujiwara.

Takashi's eyes moved beneath their lids, beginning to make the transition from dreaming sleep, and awake and somewhat coherent. His head was turned in his sleep, and when his eyes caught the sight of the older man, the man he had been fighting before and in his hand was his own Uchigatana. The hilt was made from an unfamiliar, even rare substance. A heavenly body of metal that fell from the sky. The finished blade was even crafted of this strange alloy, giving it a distinctive polished onyx appearance but also two very important features: It made it unusually light, first of all. This would seem to make it a very flimsy material. However, fighting swords encountering hard objects have a common defect, which is a broken kissaki, the tip of the sword's cutting edge, that has subsequently been repaired. This sword had no such defect, meaning it was also remarkably strong and could theoretically, easily cut through inferior metals. The kissaki was an o-kissaki, The kissaki length was far larger than the width. It looked emphatic for the eyes.

Wincing, he didn't make a sound, but when Yoshio began to move by him he lunged for the older man. His legs springing to action, startlingly despite the nerves being 'pinched' or out of defiance of it. Regardless of the cause, it would have surprised the old man that he could even stand. Despite the young Kasumi's diligence, blood began to leak past the slightly torn sutures, his momentous action. He was delirious, burning fever and sweat conquered his skin. His hair, uncharacteristically unkempt and his attire entirely disheveled if even existent. His body was littered with scars from previous conflicts, even well befor their battle. Tales of how this man would find ways into a fortified camp to assassinate his target and leave a trail of blood only to vanish like a moon behind the clouds were proven in their fullest.

"I will say this once," He panted heavily while having a hold of Yoshio's wrist that held Takashi's sword. "drop that sword, now." Takashi's eyes, despite the apparent weariness, despite passing the threshold of pain few could make it through, held a very grave and sobering look. The look of a killer with no humanity in him. Something connected him with the weapon that Yoshio now clutched. For a brief moment, the old man saw how the spirits of those he had slian rest in the colors of his eyes, an unusual and strikingly beautiful violet shade. It would be enough to unnerve any man, indeed, it was enough to stir the fear of Takashi's own lord enough to want to be rid of him.

Yet, her he now stood after all things. Sword slashes, spear impalement, a kick to the head by a horse as he slew it and its rider. He survived venturing into enemy fortifications and left a trail of death and destruction. He almost didn't seem human. Now, with this glimmer of the horrible killer within him now threatening Yoshio, now giving him a look that would freeze lesser men still. The man he had been forged into, the animal that was unleashed-- he could almost see the insatiable hunger in Takashi's eyes to be worthy of something. But even Takashi didn't know what he was truly was looking for, he just simply followed orders and lost his humanity somewhere along the way. Yoshio could see that he didn't try to elude the sinister notion that he was a mass murderer, that he accepted it because it was what his lord had wanted.

A man with no conscious, a creature that could kill even a child without remorse or regret. But in doing so, Fujiwara built his own fear. Yoshio could see why Fujiwara wanted to kill his own man. Because of how dangerous he could be, regardless of his devotion. If he could kill so easily, and be exceptionally gifted at it, then what was to stop him from killing his own lord?

As the moment passed, however, Takashi felt his strength waning. Stumbling backwards he spun and darted out side brushing past Ryuu, Kasumi and Ichiro. All could see was huts and one lone structure at the apex of a mountain. Still panting considerably hard, he stepped up to one of the guards, unsheathed his sword and shoved the man backwards. Immediately several others armed themselves preparing for a fight and Takashi leaned over one arm holding his bleeding side while his long dark hair clung to his face.

He then stumbled towards the stone steps, believing the leader of the Sakurai clan was at the house at the summit. Beginning to ascend the steps his hands went numb again, dropping the sword as his eyes glazed. His will to fight outlasting his physical limitations as a human being. He collapsed on the steps, edging closer by reaching out with one trembling hand and trying to drag himself up the steps. Finally, his body gave out on him, and he wouldn't wake for several more days...

"Mochizuki-sama!" Uegi Sachiko, the little girl who had spoken, raised both tiny arms into the air and waved them enthusiastically. At first, Tsubaki was afraid that something must be wrong with the child's mother again. Had she misdiagnosed? But upon closer inspection, the Koga shinobi was able to determine that the girl was just happy. Why, she could not say, but then did an innocent child need a reason to be happy? Probably not. Tsubaki relaxed; relieved of the tension that had threatened a few seconds before. Forcing a friendly smile onto her face- for of all expressions, this was the one that came naturally least often- she knelt so as to be at eye level with the child's doe-eyes and patted her head gently.

"There's a man looking for you," Sachiko chirped happily. "Tou-san says he's a yamabushi!" There was a pause, and when the girl looked up, she found that the friendly doctor who had helped her mother had abruptly regained her height, and something in the woman's eyes looked sad. "Mochizuki-sama?" she questioned hesitantly, and the doctor looked back down, expression back to normal.

"Thank you, Sachiko-chan," Tsubaki replied quietly. "Would you go check on your mother for me? I'd like to know how she's doing. You remember what I taught you to look for, right?" Sachiko nodded enthusiastically and turned, running back to her own house as fast as her little legs could take her.

It had been three days since the incident, and afterwards, Tsubaki had remained with the villagers, continuing to minister to the wounded as she was able, though it seemed that soon, her little charade would be at an end. She was never sent for personally unless there was something important to be done. She made her way without haste back to the small hut the village had loaned her; the only other occupant was an old woman who spent most of her time at her son's house anyway. It was a humble dwelling, but clean, and Tsubaki had enjoyed living in it.

As promised, a man dressed in the manner of a yamabushi awaited her outside, and she walked right past him and opened up the door, gesturing him inside first. Once out of the range of prying eyes, she descended to her knees and bowed, forehead to the floor. "Gintama-dono," she intoned. This was not just any man, but the right hand of the Koga, and the superior officer of all field personnel. Returning the formality with the lesser greeting demanded of himself, he handed her a missive, which bore the same bellflower seal as her preferred clothing.

"It has been a while since you had to execute a task of this magnitude, Rokkaku-san. Make sure you do not fail it. You are doubtless aware of the battle that took place three days ago; certain people have become interested in its outcome. The head of the shrine a few towns over reports that members of the house of Sakurai have retreated there and exchanged the mon on their backs. She has been persuaded to need another priestess to assist her with the upkeep. For now, you watch, and await further instruction." Tsubaki nodded, then bowed again, watching Gintama leave with a feeling akin to dread. The Koga knew just about everything, and it did not surprise her that they might be getting information from a miko. She was not sure why the Sakurai were suddenly interesting, though, unless this conflict with the Fujiwara ran deep enough that the Koga thought to keep tabs on both sides now? It was something to consider.

Not a half-hour later, a woman dressed in the haori and divided hakama of a Shinto shrine maiden departed the town on horseback. When little Sachiko returned to the doctor's hut to report her mother's condition was improving, she found an empty room, save for the prominent presence of a medicine box, a small note written in elegant script attached. For Sachiko-chan.

---

Half a day later, Tsubaki was greeted by Miyamino Hatsune, the priestess at the Shinto shrine in the clan village of the Sakurai, presently masquerading as the Matsumoto clan. The fact that the Koga knew this already was enough to make her wonder why she was here in the first place, but clearly it was some other piece of information they were after. She would not be surprised if there was another of her group among them already. This most likely meant that her mission would end in an assassination.

The woman could not help but speculate, then, on just who it was she had been sent to kill.

Kasumi hummed a tune her mother used to sing to her as a child while she tended to Takashi's wounds he was healing nicely despite his outburst several days before totally reopening the wounds. When she saw him walk past , wounds soaking through the white cloth bandages. She was astonished at his reserve and endurance. “How can he even be walking”, she said to Ichiro and Ryuu. She ran to his side when he finally collapsed, “You foolish man”, she said under her breath, in a concerned tone. Takashi was helped back in and she went to work trying to stop the bleeding. She looked over at the man she had been caring for now for the past week. She smiled down at him, “You should wake up soon, you can't regain your strength just from the broth I have been feeding you”, she said as she brushed aside a strand of dark hair of his forehead. She continued to hum the tune as she took his hand, in her small thin fingers, gently slipping her other hand onto the small of his back. She carefully pulled him up into sitting position, taking her hand from his back and removing the old bandage that was over the spear wound. Gently she laid him back down on the bed now singing the song quietly as to not disturb her patient.

Nen-nen korori yo, Okorori yo.
Bōya wa yoi ko da, Nenne shina~

She carefully cleaned the wounds and put on clean bandages.

Bōya no omori wa, Doko e itta?
Ano yama koete, Sato e itta.

Sato no miyage ni, Nani morouta?
Den-den taiko ni, Shō no fue.

“There that should be better your wounds are healing well”, she turned away to gather up her supplies.

Yoshio watched just out of sight from his daughter, a look of concern crossing his face. He brushed off his feelings on what he saw, as his daughter's typical compassion for those who are sick or injured. He walked into the room “Kasumi, go and check on your sister I will sit with our guest”, he said with fatherly authority. The young woman stood and bowed respectively and left the room, Yoshio sat down on the zabuton next to the bed. “Well young man you can get up you know we are simple people and wont cause you any harm as long as you don't try to harm us”, he said knowing Takashi was awake”. “I will have my daughter prepare a meal and when your ready to get up, you may eat”, Yoshio bowed to Takashi respectively and left the room as well. He went back to his daughter, “Kasumi, prepare a meal for our patient, he will be awake soon and I'm sure he will be hungry”, he said chuckling slightly. Kasumi stood there with a shocked look on her face, “Father are you sure?”, she asked, “I changed his bandages and he was just as weak as he was several days ago”, she looked up at her father. He chuckled again, “My dear he is awake and has been for some time, I think maybe he has been just enjoying your company”, Kasumi sighed and continued on to prepare the meal.

When Takashi ran by Ryuu turned to look at Ichiro and sighed slightly. "Kasumi, you shouldn't be." His sentence never got finished as she was already out there. He followed after her. When the man collapsed on the steps he only sighed alittle. This entire situation had grown cumbersome. After they got him back into the hut and laid back down so Kasumi could treat his wounds, Ryuu had took the chance to go rest at his own hut. The battle had been won, and he was worn out.

The days that passed were constant training for Ryuu, feeling the need to better himself. He felt that with that last battle that he wasn't as good as he needed to be. Thus he needed to train harder, there could be a day when he would need to learn to handle his weapon better. Takashi was only one of the Hitokiris, they would all need to be at their best and he felt like the extra training could only increase his chances of actually standing up to one of them. Ryuu wiped the sweat from his brow looking towards Yoshio's hut, wondering how things were going in there. Ryuu slipped his haori from his body folding it and placing it neatly beside him, drawing his odachi; beginning to practice the motions of his style of fighting. His sword was longer then most, and a very clumsy weapon. The fact that it took an entirely different style of fighting to handle it properly was just a sign of how difficult it would be to master the weapon itself.

He rested the sword along his shoulder turning his attention to a few passerby waving to them with a smile. He was always glad to see the people that he had sworn to protect. After they had passed completely by he sat down in the grass his sword laying next to him, today was a peaceful one and it was good to have some time away from battles. The day seemed to be clear, the wind was blowing a nice cool breeze making the plants bend and sway. He rose from the grass sliding his sword back in it's saya. Ryuu picked up his haori putting it on and carrying his odachi in his right hand. He felt like walking along the village. First though would be a stop off at his hut, and that's where he was off to now.

Takashi opened his eyes slowly. The singing had gone from his ears. He found it strangely alluring, if not enchanting. His eyes looked around him as he lie still on the futon provided for him by these...people. The last thing he remembered was that older man's face. A brief moment of nostalgia overcame him, and the masses of body's floating in the field, drained of their blood. The torrential flooding seeming to wash away their very existences. How cruel fate was, to bring men into this world only for the purpose of slaughter. But as a warrior, he found it perfectly sublime. The act of courage, to stare death in the eyes and overcome one's fears with the sheer audacity and will to live.

The simple fact was, they were not better than him so they died. They were all gifted swordsmen in their own right. Gifted for others, but not for him. Not for the three others like him. The four of them like animals strode out into the field, spilling blood like ravenous beasts, proclaiming it was for their lord, all for him. All for his glory. They were tireless in their pursuit, they gave up all objectivity, all sense of reason of their own humanity. That was the Code of Bushido. Absolute loyalty to one's lord, above all else. To live and die by the sword, and to respect one's opponent. But what was this feeling? Relief? Was he..relieved to be taken by forces unknown, away from his lord's every beck and call? Did he feel some measure of harmony from that?

He grimaced as he sat up, clutching his side. He noted the concoction of herbs and some strange sticky substance that clung over the sutures. Easing himself on to his knees he finally pushed himself to roll over on to his chest and into a prone position. His body was stiff and resistant to working out but he would make it regardless. Once in a prone position, he lifted his head staring out straight ahead. Placing both palms and the ground and touching together both thumbs and pointer fingers. This technique required much more strength than regular push-ups due to the fact that all of the weight of the body being "pushed-up" is focused on one spot rather than spread out. Once he started, he wouldn't stop until three hundred push-ups were done.

The whole measure of the time it took him, he had begun to sweat. Not from the push-ups themselves, and the added task of when he would lower himself to the ground he would hover momentarily. His lean arms bulged, the veins extending along his hands, wrists, forelimbs and biceps--but rather the injury he had sustained. His frail appearing body showed its true colors; a highly detailed physique, that even wounded would work incredibly well although not 100%.

Once he had loosened himself up, he stood and stepped quietly from the room. It was frightening how he could be as silent as night in a cemetery. His feet carrying him through halls and along corridors until finally...finally he met the girl who had been signing. She had her back to him, she was preparing a meal. With deathly grace he grabbed a nearby knife and held it back handed and a against his forearm. One sudden movement and her jugular would separated. No screaming, no gargling. But for some reason, he simply stood there. Swallowing as he watched the girl with her back to him..completely unaware that a killer was in her midst.

Backing out slowly he continued on down the hall, stepping outside. The sun felt warm against his bare chest. He looked around the functioning village. Several huts existed, children at play and a market was set up not too far from here. He watched a young man not too far from where he was. He had a much larger sword than was standard. Even larger than a tachi. He watched carefully, then approached slowly only after he had sat down. With knife in hand and both hands.

"You swing too hard. You'll tire yourself out and then your enemy will take advantage. " Takashi spoke solemnly, now walking behind a tree that was near the young samurai who had just taken a break from training. He wandered away from the samurai, taking in his surroundings. His eyes cold and calculating as he lurched forwards, willing his body to move despite the stress it put on his wide sutured gash that ran clear through to the other side. His well toned muscular abdomen flared its musculature physique as he drew in each breath. He found himself at a well established Shinto shrine.

The knife he still readily hid behind his back, he came upon a long-raven haired woman that swept the grounds of the establishment. He had watched the couple that had gotten married prior, it had probably taken all morning, walk down before he had ascended. His predatory eyes locked on the woman, noticing her hands first. They were calloused...

Not too far from where Takashi had awoken and was speaking to Shinozuka, there was a small wedding ceremony in full swing. Tsubaki, who was assisting the priestess, found it quite ironic that the last of the funerals for the deceased had ended yesterday, but all the same she could not deny that there was a beauty to it that she rarely got to see. The couple were vassals of the clan, and thus nobody important would likely attend, but there was a simplicity to it that struck a chord with the complicated woman who stood at the side of it.

The bride was clothed and painted from head to toe in white, as was tradition. Her husband to be looked at her with eyes filled with an emotion Tsubaki knew very well that she had never felt, and she knew just from that that this must be a ren'ai. How strange to see something like that. It was certainly not a sight she had often laid eyes upon. Her father and her mother had not been in love, nor had any of the married couples she'd known terribly well.

Were she an ordinary woman, she probably would have been in the middle of such a ceremony years ago. But right along with her title, she'd given up her right to such things when she became a kunoichi. Shinobi did not often get to have normal lives, and certainly, she would not want one if it meant that those people were constantly in danger of being exploited by enemies seen and unseen. Still, she almost felt like she was missing something, watching this.

When it was over, she went about the duty of cleaning up the shrine, and took to sweeping it meticulously, the repetitive motion of the broom-strokes helping her reflect in a sort of meditative fashion. She'd regretted her choice in life on a few occasions (though the choice had not truthfully been hers alone), but never for such a silly reason as this. She would not allow herself to start now. Her life would never be what others had, and that was all there was to it. No sense in wishing endlessly for that which cannot be obtained.

Ichiro had shot up from where he sat when Takashi decided to try and escape their small village. He didn't go far, thankfully. Ichiro didn't feel up for chasing down a wounded man. He was surprised at the hitokiri's ability to stand, let alone move, after such a battle. He certainly has an unhuman like skill at surviving. Still, doing something so reckless as running while badly injured simply lowered Ichiro's standard of this man. To think one would go to such troubles as reopening his wounds after such hospitality. It angered Ichiro more than anything, although he wasn't completely sure why. The lingering feeling of doubt still held it's grip on Ichiro's thoughts, questioning whether or not the hitokiri's presence was really necessary or not.

After the mishap almost a week ago, the young samurai had mostly stayed close to Yoshio and Kasumi. He didn't want to leave those two alone, especially with Takashi here. When the hitokiri had woken for a second time, Ichiro was, oddly enough, gone. Yoshio had demanded the samurai take a day off, and instructed him to spend some free time doing whatever he pleased. So, he had rode to the village not too far from their own. It was known throughout the land for their vast and exquisite market, so he thought he would have a look. It truly was unique, an arrangement of merchants and traders lined up in the village every morning to sell whatever they could to passing wanderers. Ichiro couldn't help but be in slight awe at the ranging merchandise, although he hadn't planned to actually purchase anything.

He simply walked around, eying one thing after another. He had passed by a rather shabby looking vendor who was selling a katana, but the sword was in horrible condition. "To think some people will treat a weapon like that." He had stated, aloud, so the merchant could clearly hear him. "It's a disgrace to the sword as well as the owner."

For the rest of his stay, Ichiro decided to try and relax for once in his life. He found a nice overgrown tree and quickly fell asleep beneath the leaves. He was at peace for a while, or so he thought. He awoke when he overheard a group talking about the odd character who was staying up in the next village. He wasn't very surprised that people were becoming curious of Takashi's condition; they didn't get strange visitors often. Ichiro though had gotten a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and rode back to his village, fearing Takashi had woken while he was away and done something terrible. "He better not try anything.. Or I'll add new wounds much more severe then his current ones.."

The broom moved in methodical strokes, guided by hands that had long since retreated into the mechanisms of muscle-memory alone. There were so many thing that she knew how to do by rote that sometimes Tsubaki wondered if it wouldn't be possible to live that way entirely. It might be nice, to become disconnected completely from her every action. It would save her the senseless bouts of guilt and hesitation. She was a tool. A toll did not get to question the purpose for which it was created and used, she knew this, and so she tried to avoid indulging the little urgings of that pert of every human mind that believes it should be free.

The dust and debris at the front of the shrine slowly disappeared, but the one responsible was forced back into the present by the uncanny sensation of being watched. But by whom? Everyone in the wedding party had left already. Her brows furrowed together slightly, and she looked up, dark green eyes locking with a pair of most extraordinarily violet ones. She blinked, but did not drop her gaze. Probably a mistake, but who said a miko had to be fearful?

She understood then, what that man on the battlefield had meant about her having the eyes of a killer. If hers in any way resembled the ones she was looking at, it made perfect sense. There must be a difference between those who were pushed by circumstances to kill and those who lived to do it. This man was certainly the latter. She tilted her head slightly to one side and regarded the guest steadily for a moment, not speaking at all, mostly because she did not feel the need to. Her hands stilled, and she folded both over the top of the broom.

"You are not Matsumoto," she observed. This was more a guess than anything else, but he certainly didn't seem like any of the others she had seen around here. "Of course, that hardly matters. The shrine serves anyone who wishes it. Is there something I can do to help you?" Shifting positions slightly, she bowed, but said nothing to introduce herself. It would be necessarily a lie, and while she could rattle one off as smoothly as flawless silk, she did not particularly wish to unless she must.

Beyond the simplicity of her words, she would leave him be if that was what he wished, and she went back to sweeping, acutely aware that he had not moved but refusing to be made nervous or uncomfortable by this. Tsubaki was not a particularly shy individual, just quiet. This was a trait that tended to carry through all of her disguises, and thus, the closest thing to honesty that the stranger was going to get.

Ryuu turned as a voice spoke out to him. It was none other then Takashi. This surprised him; This warrior had fought against him and Yoshio, and the rest of their clan. Yet here he was offering his advice to Ryuu. He was a little shocked, and within that time of him being shocked the male had moved on before Ryuu could utter a word. He blinked a few times and then shook his amazement away. Ryuu continued on his way to his hut, stopping there to change out of his haori and hakama. Once he was out of his training outfit, he slipped back into his O-yoroi, and picking up another horned headband for his hair, tying it back. He smiled tapping the top of each ivory horn sighing contently knowing that they were there.

Ryuu left his hut with a smile upon his face, today was a beautiful day. He had the day off, and the people seemed happy and carefree; just the kind of motivation as well as morale boast he needed. He stopped his walk, stretching and yawning lightly now just realizing that he was still alittle worn out. He looked back to his hut, and then forward. "A nap would be good, but do I have the time?" He couldn't help but think to himself. A day off, and he didn't know how to spend it. He turned his attention forward once more, and began to walk.

He neared the shrine, noticing Takashi standing near a shrine maiden. He couldn't help but watch, but it wasn't to long before he strode forward. "Takashi, thank you for the tip" He said with a slight bow, "I will heed your advice and watch how much strength I put into my swings." with that said he stood straight though the shrine maiden caught his attention. Something about her was different, she seemed; to distant, or it could just be his mind playing tricks on him, he wasn't to sure. He did however turn his attention back to the man wondering what he would have to say.

Before Ryuu had interrupted, while they were still alone Takeshi had focused his violet eyes upon one of the old established shrines. Having past the threshold of the sacred grove's Tori gates and stepped up each stone step that were aligned by komainu, great lion statues that guarded the entrance. He now stood, ironically enough by the purification trough. Found near the entrance, the water of these fountains was used for purification. You were supposed to clean your hands and mouth before approaching the main hall. But Takashi seemed to heed the warnings from spirits and kami alike; perhaps it was the amount of blood that stained his hands and indeed his presence carried the bitter taste like a flaunting aroma that saturated the tongue. He was a youkai with deceptively beautiful eyes.

"You are not Matsumoto," she observed. This was more a guess than anything else, but he certainly didn't seem like any of the others she had seen around here. "Of course, that hardly matters. The shrine serves anyone who wishes it. Is there something I can do to help you?"

""Nor are you what you claim yourself to be,"" He readily, and unhesitatingly slid the knife through his girdle making it quite obvious.""Miko don't fight, they aren't allowed to.Those callouses on your hands are from holding a sword for much to long, and from drawing a weapon from its sheath. If you were anyone else you'd be badgering me with annoying questions or would be very tense. You do neither, you're much too relaxed. What are you?""

Takashi was cut off, his ears picking the sound of someone ascending the steps behind him. Immediately he ceased his interrogation, turning his head he caught the sight of Ryuu. He was wearing his armor as though he were about to go fight again.
"Takashi, thank you for the tip" He said with a slight bow, "I will heed your advice and watch how much strength I put into my swings."

He simply stared at the younger, before looking else where.""Heh. Remember, ōdachi's blade may be long but it's brittle and will break if stressed too badly. It's not meant for sustained sword on sword combat, its meant for killing a rider an the horse in one, fluid motion. To cut upwards at the throat of the steed and sever the belly of its rider."" Takashi stepped past Ryuu, and away from the Miko. He paused just after having stepped by Ryuu. ""Make no mistake, I do not tell you this information as a friend. When it comes down to it, I'd much rather prefer to kill a man that wasn't killing himself to try and get his sword off the ground because he's too tired. There's no honor in simple slaughter."" He continued to step down the stone path, until he had reached the bottom. He then headed back to his beginnings, once again thinking about that girl...

Kasumi turned and noticed her knife was missing she sighed, dinner was almost finished so she decided to wake their guest. When she walked into the small room she saw that he was gone, she sighed, "I hope he doesn't try something foolish", she said in the empty room. She stepped out onto the veranda looking around the village she noticed Takashi heading back towards the house. She smiled and shook her head, walking up to him, "It's good to see you up and moving; I have made a meal if your interested in eating real food", she said looking up at him. She didn't understand it usually she would have grabbed her weapon and went after him, knowing he had a knife. But for some reason she trusted him she felt that under the exterior of the killer; was a man that wanted nothing more then a life that was rewarding in other ways than how many heads he collected.

Yoshio had been tilling the ground in a small field that he had made for his family's and other's in the villages. Now that the wet season was finally coming to an end again he could start planting. But he could feel the hunger pains begin the churn in his stomach. He had left his daughter alone in the house, with a great enemy many others in the clan were surprised by his actions. But what they didn't understand is that each assault from the Fujiwara were taking more and more of their best warriors. And if they took much more their clan would be destroyed like so many others in their path. He couldn't let that happen, his thoughts went back to his daughter and he decided to check on her and Takashi. As he came around the corner the house he noticed that Takashi was indeed awake and about. He also saw his daughter talking him, their was no alert, no raised voices just a simple conversation. He had watched his daughter many times as she had cared for the hitokiri. He had never seen her care for any man with such devotion sometimes staying up late into the hours of the night watching over him. He smirked to himself, "Maybe she is the key to all of this, a way of showing this man that there are things more important in this world than killing one another", he said as he folded his arms across his chest and went back behind the house so he would not interfere.

Kasumi put her hand on Takshi's shoulder, "Come eat you need to regain your strength", as they made their way back towards the house Kasumi smiled, "And by the way I want my knife back".

This is not good. Granted, she knew the man with the killer's eyes could not prove any of his claims against her; her knowledge of what she was supposed to be was perfect, and no pattern of calluses on her hands was going to make a difference in this regard. But even so, to have someone around who knew even without proof what she was risked a serious compromising of her mission.

In situations like this, the protocol was clear: evade until he left, then leave herself. A compromised shinobi was no good to anyone, and there was no way of knowing what this man's connections were or would be in the future. He did not wear the crest of this family, and he was yet allowed to walk as he chose about the town, armed, no less. There was no denying, then, that he was someone important, or at least represented some investment on behalf of someone powerful. “I’m sorry, samurai-sama, but I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. My hands are hard from labor, honest work. I wouldn’t know how to even hold a sword.” She smiled, but the response was just for show, and they both knew it by that point. Still, it was a necessary charade.

She was glad of the distraction the other man provided, as it gave her reason enough to excuse herself from the conversation and duck back into her quarters without being rude. She met the eyes of the priestess and the expression on her face said enough. "You were called away by family," the old woman informed her concisely, and Tsubaki nodded.

The kunoichi waited until the men had both left, then slipped away, once again on horseback, this time headed for the nearest Koga safehouse. From there, she would make a journey to their stronghold and report what little she had managed to learn. But that man knew her face and at least guessed at her identity; she was now completely useless as a spy on the Sakurai. Whether they would try to replace her, she didn't know, but she had told them the tells he used, and it seemed unlikely that they'd find anyone who knew how to use a weapon without the requisite proof on their hands.

She’d never again set foot in that town, and its residents would not know what became of her, nor she know of them. Sometimes, she would wonder what might have been, but always dismiss the thought. Such sentiments were unimportant to one such as herself.

Ichiro rode down a rather deserted road. It was a back road, more of a shortcut, to the village, and Ichiro had used it numerous times. The path was steep and winding, but it would cut off a few minutes of travel time, which was always helpful. Ichiro came to a stop, letting his horse rest from the climb. The rest of the way was just a straight line, so it wouldn't be long before he reached his destination. He heaved a sigh, still unsure if he could trust Takashi. Ichiro had been gone all day, yet never received a report on the hitokiri going mad and slaughtering everyone. Perhaps he was misjudging the man. Still, the samurai would keep a close eye on Takashi whenever he could.

He spurred the horse into a fast trot and let his mind wander about, trying to piece together how a plan like this was going to work. I suppose Yoshio-sama knows what he's doing.. It would be a much needed strength for us if the hitokiri decided to join forces with the Sakurai.. But I still have my doubts.. His thoughts were interrupted though by voices. They were faint at first, but grew, getting closer to Ichiro. He could make out a sentence or two, but was shocked to hear the conversation. "Are you sure this is the right way?" "Yes. The report I was given stated that Kien Takashi was hiding out in this village." "Well, what about the residents? Do they know it?" "Most likely." "So then, kill any witnesses?" "Kill them all."

Ichiro kicked his horse into a fast run and darted back to the village. It would be reckless to fight those men by himself. He would probably kill them, but then what of the bodies and horses? And then there was the lecture he would no doubt get from Yoshio. No, it would be best to leave them be for the moment and tell Yoshio. The horse darted into the village, and Ichiro jumped off it, his grip on the handle of his sword. He ran for the house and spied his master attending to the soil. "Yoshio-sama!" He shouted, rounding a corner and sliding to an abrupt stop, panting slightly. "Yoshio-sama. I fear someone knows of the hitokiri's presence here, and are on their way to silence him, along with all of us."