Year 1468, Month of the Dragon (34+ years ago), Crab lands

The lean Crane samurai relaxed against a gnarled birch on a small hillock, completely obscured by brush. He wore a long, muddy cloak wrapped about him, making him nearly invisible in the daytime, and completely invisible in the fading sunlight. He had been camping there for almost three weeks, observing the road and a ramshackle Inn frequented by a cadre of ronin bandits. The thieving band was lead by a renegade priest that erased all traces of their passing, stymieing all tracking attempts. Fortunately, they had been spotted in public on several occasions. This Inn was one such place.

If the Crane could not track and hunt Maruki One-arm's band directly, the Crane would wait until the shugenja bandit again came out in public.

Scouts were sent to stake out several locations where witnesses had seen the murderous thief in the last few months. Unfortunately, this Inn, the Sochu Waypost, was in Crab lands and that Clan would certainly not take kindly to any foreign troops on their soil. Diplomatic methods between the Crane and Crab had failed and so the Harriers were called in to solve the problem quietly.

The Daidoji warrior shifted slightly, willing the discomfort in his limbs to fade. His mind wandered as he listened to the voices of the wind and the rustling of the leaves. He enjoyed this type of work and the peacefulness and solitude that went with it, even though it hurt to be away from his eight year old son, who was never far from his thoughts. He was a smart child, and athletic.

This scout was in his twenties, a more precise age was impossible to determine as his hair was dyed the traditional white of his family, tied back in a short pony tail to keep it out of the way.

His mind wandered as he listened to the voices of the wind, and heard their whispers and playful antics. He had always could hear them, but it was not until recently he realized few others did. The bushi thought that his life would have been very different now if he had trained as a priest instead of a warrior. Would he have even have had a son if he had become a priest?

At that moment, interrupting the Crane's thoughts, six armed men came down the path, passing the hidden samurai. Leading them, on a small Rokugani pony, was a dark-haired man with his right arm missing just below the elbow.

Daidoji Atsuo had found his quarry.

The bandit and his men entered the inn after the stable boy took Maruki's horse. Words were exchanged. Atsuo surmised that the ronin were not staying long as the stable boy made no effort to remove the pony's saddle, but simply tied its reins to a post and went about his business. So much the better, it would be good to move again.

The sunlight was fading fast, but the moon would help him see the six as they left. Atsuo felt fortunate that One-arm had the steed. It was easier to follow a mounted man in the shadows.

Then, without warning, Atsuo heard a rustling near him and a young boy's voice, "Hello, samurai-sama, are you lost?"

Looking down, Atsuo saw a peasant boy of fewer than 10 years staring at him with an innocent, helpful look. He was struggling to carry a sloshing bucket of water.

"Are you with the group that just came in?" the boy asked.

Atsuo quickly returned his gaze back at the inn. The bandit and his men were just emerging. One-arm began to untie his pony. The scout's mind whirled for a moment, cursing this distraction from his duty.

He thought quickly. "Thank you boy, but I am fine. Please leave me be," he whispered as a command.

The boy clearly missed the hint and continued, "You must be from Crane lands, I see your white hair from beneath your hood."

Dread descended upon Atsuo at that moment. He had been spotted and, worse, identified as a Crane uninvited in Crab lands. The ronin shugenja began to leave with his party, back the way they came. Atsuo was going to fail his mission.

The scout knew what he had to do although his conscience and the winds themselves were telling him "no, no, no," over and over again mixed with the rustling of the leaves. He whispered to the boy, "Look, boy, they are leaving."

The peasant lad turned to watch and, in that instant, Atsuo's katana flew out, removing the boy's head in one fluid, silent motion.

Emptiness descended upon him, a sick horrifying feeling, that he would never forget the rest of his days. The wind suddenly picked up and howled.

He left his hiding spot and trailed the bandits.

Atsuo returned three days later, his mission a complete success. He reported to his Gunso immediately.

"You have performed well Atsuo-san, the vermin have been exterminated," his sergeant's voice grew soft as he continued, "but I regret that I must share with you tragic news. Your son, Ryoshi, died three days ago from the plague sweeping the area. It seemed he was getting better and was going to live, but, as the sun set, he breathed his last breath."

"You have my sincere condolences."

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I want to die.

How does a parent live knowing that his son perished because of his own actions?

Of course, most don't believe me -- that Ryoshi's death was connected with my mission in the Crab lands.

Hundreds died in the plague, they say. The Crane Clan Champion himself succumbed. How could I possibly be at fault? I must put it behind me, they claim. It is embarrassing to mourn so long.

My wife, too, is gone. She requested and received the divorce she craved. She needed to leave the man who caused these problems. I still do not know if she blames me for Ryoshi's death or could not tolerate my self-loathing after the fact. Either way she is gone. It is for the best. We only argued when we were together; it is unseemly to argue with your spouse.

My gunso has given me extra duties to take my mind off matters. However, I do not perform well, for my mind is always distracted. Two times I have begged my daimyo to let me take my own life. Two times I have been refused.

The spirits call to me, but I do not understand their words. In my imagination, they taunt me, reminding me of the young boy's face - even has his head tumbled to the ground like some child's ball.

Now, I kneel before my daimyo. I ask him a third time to let me make the three cuts.

Again, I am refused.

This time, Asahina Masato is there. He whispers in my Lord's ear.

My daimyo relieves me of my current duties and sends me with the old priest. I am ordered to obey the old shugenja in all things.

Winds whisper comfort
Cherry blossoms bring solace
An old man smiles

Now I am an old man, or at least older. I retain some of my Harrier reflexes, but my belly has grown large with my sedentary duties and my large appetite. My hair is almost gone, although I can still make a topknot. Now, when the Kami whisper to me, I understand and I listen. I no longer carry my Daisho, only a simple bo staff to defend myself when necessary. I am not so much a pacifist as I am a healer and defender of the soul's purity.

I travel the towns in Crane lands, healing the sick and entertaining children. If protection is needed, I provide that too, as I am able.

The emptiness that filled me thirty years ago has been replaced with a sense of peace and tranquility. I understand that there is nothing I can change of the past, but my own current self. My memories occasionally bring on sadness, a deep melancholy that is almost incapacitating, but I work through it.

As I spread happiness, mine grows.