If the Crane Sings

(零). burning spirit

There was something that Sanada Shigeharu found strange about their encampment.

In all his years of warfare, he had felt the same feeling countless times. Uncertainty, when he would not be sure about anything. Many inexperienced clan heads would have ignored it, but he was one who paid attention to every little detail. Even the feelings his gut told him. Despite the small flickering flames of the torches, he was barely able to pinpoint anything through the thick forest, and the darkness that swallowed everything up.

Shigeharu knew it was useless to bother the thought further. He would just have to be more cautious with whatever he did. The ashigaru were beginning to settle for the night. There was no point in waking up the foot soldiers, it would just be cruel; and he was beginning to regret marching them on so relentlessly throughout the day.

But in times like this, it was mercy that would get anybody killed. Mercy for an enemy. Mercy for the soldiers over the chances of getting ambushed if they halted their advance.

As much as he hated it, he'd sworn to himself for him to cast out any remaining kindness he'd had in him. The times would continue to flow, and he would not willingly give himself to the current. He'd change with it.

I have fought countless battles. How can I still be thinking about something as trivial of a matter as this?

"What thoughts come now?"

Shigeharu smiled. The unmistakeable voice of a young boy - strong and jovial. "The same," he replied nonchalantly, without turning around.

"You must stop. You've been thinking about the same thing for three nights now. Speaking things of how uncertain you are about ambushes in the vicinity." The voice came again, with a sharp snap to it.

"I never trained you to be this perceptive, Makoto." He said, his smile growing.

Shigeharu spun around, eyes fixed onto the boy standing before him. The boy stood up straight, his eyes staring back at him. The boy was young, twenty or so years of age, a haori draped over his pleated hakama. His hair reached his shoulders, messy and unkempt.

"My Lord, it is getting quite late. Perhaps you should leave these thoughts for tomorrow. You'll be able to conjure up a strategy better, and our foot soldiers will have rested enough to be able to tighten our clan's defenses."

He chuckled, amused at how the boy addressed him. "That is true. However, you are always so formal, my boy."

The whine of the younger man sheathing his katana pierced the silence between them. He bowed before him, no different to how a vassal would bow to his lord. "Father, is that so? It is only proper that I address you as my lord."

"I trust that you are training well." Shigeharu's gaze trailed down onto the blade's hilt, that the boy's hand rested on. "I have seen it, you are growing better in the execution of your techniques."

"I am glad to hear that you believe so." He lowered his head.

 "Dedicate your mind, your body and your spirit. That is our way of life. You are following it well."

The night was cool and particularly calm, like the sea on a clear day. But even a calm sea had the potential to turn into a storm.

Chaos erupted all around them as Shigeharu's words trailed from his lips, like a volcano that had just awakened. War cries filled the sky, as armored men sprung from the trees and honed in on the Sanada camp from all sides. Blades unsheathed, the bloodlust in their eyes threw the Sanada soldiers into a panic.