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To Catch the Wind

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"Samurai?"  Wind's voice was light, musical.  He said the word as if tasting it.  Opening his eyes he looked down at his waist.  No wakizashi but lone katana.  The scabbard was old and bore the signs of serious use.  The nature of the sword it concealed was mysterious.  It had been a long time since any addressed him as Samurai.

He regarded the man before him; young, strong with the fire of righteous indignation in his eye.  This one was mad at the ways of the world and meant to do what he could to change them.  The monk stood like a warrior, no visible weapons meant they were either concealed or out in the open.  Wind would guess the latter in this ones case.  In any case the monk reminded wind of a younger version of himself, before he could see what was.  He found himself liking Shouto instantly and hoped that would not bode ill for the younger man, for the path of the Wind was and always would be fraught with peril.

Nothing was coincidental or accidental.  He had seen that.  But there was to be at least one more.

"Shouto, I am called Wind."  he motioned to a spot close to where he sat. "Sit with me and tell me of yourself.  As for me I'm no Samurai.  I'm just an old man.  Why wouldn't I be in the forest?  You're in the forest away from any clans."  Wind made a sound in the back of his throat and spat.  "That must mean you're smarter than you look.  I'm to leave today on a journey.  Perhaps you'd like to join me...


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