Chapter VII: Blade

She woke to the sound of songbirds calling cheerfully outside her window. Morning sunlight streamed through the glass in gold beams, tickling the floating dust motes with shimmering light. Fumi exhaled shakily and sat up, her hand instinctively reaching to touch the coarse wrappings of gauze that extended from elbow to wrist.

The last thing she remembered from last night was the pain.

"It's too deep to simply bandage," Muramasa said after Fumi had scrubbed herself of the blood and grime. "It's going to need stitches."

The cut she'd received from the broken window ran long and deep. Fumi knew little of medicine, but even she could tell his observation was correct. Reluctantly, she agreed to have him sew it up.

She remembered watching him pass the tip of the needle through a candle's flame. Sterilizing it, he told her. And when he said the word sterile, it reminded her of the anesthesia she wouldn't be receiving.

Muramasa must have seen the horrified look in her eyes, for he glanced up and said, in a soft voice filled with earnest sympathy, "I'm sorry. This will be greatly painful. Try to be strong."

Then the warm needle dipped into flesh. The stabbing pain ripped cries from her throat and tears from her eyes, and the fact that she couldn't struggle – lest her impromptu doctor botch the job – made the pain all that more difficult to bear. All she could do was grip the bed sheets with her free hand and sob while praying he would work faster. She just wanted it to be over, why wouldn't he just hurry, god dammit! The six inch gash was so long and the burning bite of the needle so intense; Muramasa's elegant fingers seemed to be moving so sluggishly...

After that, she must have blacked out, because she could neither recall him finishing the stitches nor anyone tucking her into bed. Yet when she woke she was nestled beneath the covers with a perfectly bandaged arm.

"Prrrrt!" The white cat she had seen on her first day in town sat curled up at the foot of her bed. It stretched languidly before yawning and regarding her with a friendly slow-blink of its eyes. "Good morning, Miss Fumi."

Oh god, she forgot the cat could talk. "Uh, good morning."

The cat jumped off the bed and brushed its body against her legs, its sinuous tail coiling up towards her knees. "I was instructed to watch over you until you woke up. I have a message to deliver." The cat reached up towards a small ribbon attached to its neck and batted at a tiny scroll tucked underneath it. "Would you mind taking it off? It's dreadfully itchy."

Fumi reached down to untie the ribbon.

The cat gave a hearty purr of thanks and scratched its neck with its back leg. Then, wordlessly, it turned towards the door and trotted out of the room, leaving Fumi alone with her note.

She unrolled the delicate piece of rice paper and found, in calligraphy so elaborate and looping that she struggled to read it, a short message:

"Please make sure to change the bandages on your arm before going downstairs. You will find a clean roll of gauze on the nightstand to your left."

She cringed when she noticed that not only was there a roll of fresh gauze, but the shattered remains of her cellphone. With a sharp clarity the memories of last night's escapades came flooding back, along with a wave of homesickness. She grabbed the phone and held it in her hand, feeling its weight, trying to count the myriad silvery cracks splitting white and harsh across the black screen. Out of curiosity, she pressed the phone's on button, and found herself unsurprised when the device remained dormant.

With a heavy sigh, she tossed the broken phone aside and began to unravel her bandages. Staring at the ugly, puckered gash and its ladder of black stitches made her feel queasy even on her empty stomach, so she made haste in applying new bandages before heading downstairs.

When she reached the bottom step, she was greeted by a vacant lobby.

"Where the heck did they go?" she said to herself.

"Outside." It was the cat again, who appeared beside Fumi and practically startled her out of her skin. "They're all doing...something to the side of the building." The cat padded over to a pillow by the window and circled the cushion before nestling down on top of it. "I'd help them but, I'd rather sleep."

Fumi couldn't really blame the cat. After last night, she certainly wished she could simply crawl back into bed too. Crawl back into bed, and wake up back in Sakura New Town. Wasn't going to happen, though. This was it, and this was reality. She might as well make the best of it.

Leaving the cat to its slumber, Fumi slid open the front door to the inn, the sunlight nearly blinding her. She shielded her eyes against the glare and stepped out onto the walkway.

"For ten minutes, would you please shut up. Your voice makes my head throb!"

"Good! That's what you deserve because you're ugly and you smell!"

"If you weren't a mere child, I'd cut you down on the spot."

"I'd like to see you try!"

Two voices bickering from around the corner of the inn, just out of sight. One voice was highly familiar. The other was not. It was also strangely prepubescent.

With caution, Fumi peeked around the side. There hovered Muramasa in only his hat and hakama. The sunlight called to attention every raised scar and cut crisscrossing his dark, bare chest. In one hand he held a paintbrush, its end dripping with ink, and in the other a blank talisman. His gaze, however, was not fixated upon his task, but rather, on a small child-like being seated upon the top of a storage barrel.

The small yokai, scarcely more than two feet tall, was clad in full armor and held a miniature sword in his right hand. He had skin the color of rust and ruddy round cheeks. His eyes were pinched shut from laughter as he joyously watched Muramasa seethe. If not for his pointed ears and the small, yellow horns peeking out through the voluminous mane of brown hair cresting his head, Fumi might have thought he was human.

There were several other yokai around, also painting characters onto talismans, but most of them seemed to have halted in their duties to watch the spat between the samurai and the child. None of them noticed Fumi.

"What the heck is going on?" she said, drawing the attention of several yokai, including Muramasa.

"Ah, she finally awakens." Muramasa struggled to compose himself, though Fumi could easily see he was still fuming beneath his hastily applied facade. Behind him, the child blew a raspberry. "How is your arm?"

"It's fine," she said, brushing her fingers along the gauze. She winced when the gentle touch hit just the right spot. "Okay, maybe it's a little sore."

"I'm not surprised. It was quite deep, and you passed out while I was stitching it." He glided over and lifted her arm, closely examining the bandages to make sure nothing had bled through. "Keep an eye on it. We don't want it to get infected."

She looked away, finding it strange to see him act so caring. It was difficult to look him in the eye. Her face felt warm, and she told herself it was just the heat. "T-Thank—"

"Wait a minute, you're Fumi?" The rambunctious child leaped off the barrel and scurried towards Fumi. He stopped right at her feet and stared up at her through dark, narrow eyes. "You're so pretty! Why is someone like you hanging out with someone ugly like him?" The child pointed towards Muramasa.

Muramasa whirled around, his cool exterior melting as he fumed from within. "Ugly?" His golden eyes flared and he clenched his jaw. "How dare you!"

Fumi couldn't contain a giggle. Was Muramasa really getting riled up over a child?

"Yes," she said, still laughing and avoiding Muramasa's venomous gaze. "I'm Fumi. And you really shouldn't say things like that to Mura. He's a, uh, friend of sorts."

"I'm Oko," said the child, eagerly extending his hand for her to shake. "Your friend is really gross, though. Why should I stop telling him he's nasty if it's the truth?"

"That's it, I have had it with you!" Muramasa's fingers clenched so hard on the handle of his paintbrush that it snapped into splinters. He retrieved a fresh one from the pot of ink and, with forceful rigidness, roughly shoved it and a blank talisman into Oko's chubby hands. He leaned in close to Oko's face, his brow wrinkled in a threatening glare. "Shut up, and get to work. This needs to be done before tonight, do you understand?"

Oko stuck out his tongue and blew another raspberry, showering Muramasa's face in spittle.

Muramasa recoiled with a groan of disgust, and Fumi took the initiative to move in between the two yokai.

"Guys, how about we not start a fight first thing in the morning?" She tried to put on her best diplomatic smile.

Muramasa's eyes widened in astonishment, and he sputtered nonsensically before finding his words. "But, he started–!"

"How old are you again?" She smirked impishly at him. Fumi couldn't believe he was pulling such a juvenile routine.

Muramasa grimaced and averted his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Fumi turned then to Oko, crouching down so that she was at his height. "Now, Oko, sometimes even if you think something about someone, you shouldn't necessarily say it. Especially if it's an insult. It's rude."

Staring at Muramasa, Oko narrowed his eyes to slits and pouted. "Alright, fine!" he said with a childish sigh of defeat. "I'll stop calling him stinky. For now."

Oko stomped back towards the barrel. He sat down at its base with a huff and began painting on his piece of paper. It quickly became evident that he couldn't read, for he could produce nothing but messy, black scribbles.

Fumi sidled over to Muramasa. "And you. Can I speak to you for a moment? Preferably away from your, uh," she looked at the array of other yokai, some having returned to their duties, others still regarding her with bright-eyed curiosity, "friends?"

Muramasa massaged his temples, his eyes pinched shut against a headache. "Yeah, sure. Lead the way"

She led him out to the front of the inn and onto the small veranda where they could be alone.

Muramasa sighed, his stiff posture and squared shoulders visibly relaxing. "Thank the gods you gave me a reason to get out of there. Thought I was going to kill that kid if he kept it up any longer."

Fumi crossed her arms and tapped her foot, her expression one of amusement. "You let a kid like that get the best of you?"

Muramasa removed his hat and scratched the back of his head, his eyes shamefully averted from Fumi's. "Look, everyone has things that set them off."

At that Fumi laughed. To think Muramasa's was juvenile insults, of all things! She had stopped taking insults like Oko's as a true personal affront in the 5th grade.

"Anyway," Muramasa said, replacing his hat, "what is it you wanted to ask?"

"Just what is going on back there?" she exclaimed, motioning back towards the inn where the yokai were gathered.

"That? It was the innkeeper's idea." He sat down on the inn's front steps. Fumi took a seat next to him. "You know that tomorrow is the full moon, yes?"

Fumi's body stiffened. Her injured arm itched. "I knew it was soon, but I didn't know it was tomorrow."

"Well, it is. She's having us string up the talismans for protection. Just in case anything happens."

"Like last night?" She rubbed the gauze.

"Yes, like last night," he said. "That's not an incident I care to repeat."

"Likewise. By the way," she said, "thanks for saving me."

"It's fine," he said, quiet and solemn. "I told you, I refuse to stain my hands with your blood."

Fumi wondered if perhaps there was more to it, but she kept silent and allowed a lengthy pause to fall between them. The only sounds that filled the air were the morning songbirds and the gentle summer breeze. Fumi watched the clouds above, slowly crawling across the sky while Muramasa stared down at his scarred hands in thought. They sat together like that for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet.

Muramasa broke the silence with a weary sigh. "I guess I should get back to work." He rose from his seat. "They'll never get it done without someone to give them some direction."

"Would you like me to help?" Fumi stood and brushed the dirt from her clothing.

"Yes, but not with the tags." He nodded towards her arm. "I need you to go into town to get supplies for your wound. That, and to buy a sword."

Fumi arched a quizzical brow. "A sword?"

"You're going to have a little bit of self-defense class this afternoon." He began to float back towards the group of yokai. "Nothing too complex, just enough to help you defend yourself in case anything like last night's incident ever occurs again."

A chill scampered down Fumi's back. She knew for certain something like that would happen again. If not tonight, then later on her journeys with the samurai. She couldn't count on Muramasa to always protect her. Truth be told, she didn't want him too. Fumi liked her independence, and she couldn't have that if she remained forever chained to his heels.

Muramasa handed Fumi a coin purse that had been tied around his waist. "That should be enough to get you a sword and some medical supplies. There is a yokai named Shobushi here at the inn who knows a fair deal about the blade. I'll send him along to help you pick out one that is proper."

"Do you want me to take Oko along, too?" She hefted the pouch idly in her hand. "He seems to like me and it would get him out of your hair for a bit."

Muramasa laughed, a rare sound of genuine amusement. "Please feel free. I will forever be in your debt."

xxx

Fumi recognized Shobushi as the fellow Muramasa conned out of his money on their first night at the inn. She felt immensely guilty over the fact that the money she planned to use had originally been his (and had been transferred to her possession by less than honest means) but Shobushi – ever idealistic – informed her not to worry about its origins, stating that he was honored to have lost it to a fundafa player as talented as Muramasa. Fumi failed to follow his logic, but she saw no use in arguing with him any further as it seemed he could not be dissuaded.

He did, however, prove to know quite a great deal about the blade. He struck her as airheaded and overly optimistic about money and his endeavors of success ("I shall one day make a fortune with my luck," he had said on the way towards the town's shopping district), but about the blade, his knowledge was sharp and deadly serious. Upon reaching the smith, he did wonders whispering in Fumi's ear, helping her carefully select a blade that was the perfect length and weight for someone her size.

Oko, alarmingly enough, seemed to take a liking to Shobushi, despite the samurai yokai's deep admiration for Muramasa, and behaved as well as a child could. He seemed perpetually in awe at the swords hanging on the smith's walls or displayed behind glass, his narrow eyes particularly fixed upon one blade of bright silver that he stated reminded him of a sword once wielded by his father.

By the time they finally returned to the inn, the sun was beginning to set, coloring the sky with long splashes of yellow and peach.

Fumi walked up to the front steps of the inn and, before entering the building, bowed deeply to Shobushi. "Thank you," she said, feeling the weight of the sword now secured around her waist. "You were a huge help today." Fumi reached into her kosode and pulled out a small satchel of coins, which she held out to Shobushi. "I want you to have these. My treat."

Shobushi shook his head, holding up his shadowy hands when she tried to step closer. "I can't! Muramasa won them in all fairness, I can't accept this kind of charity."

Fumi snorted with laughter and forcefully shoved the satchel towards Shobushi's chest. "You don't know Muramasa like I do. He probably had cards hidden in his sleeves."

Beside her, Oko stomped his tiny feet, kicking up small plumes of dirt. "I bet he did! He's stinky, and only a stinky man would do something like that."

"Look," Fumi said, meeting Shobushi's shy gaze, "I know you don't want to accept money from Muramasa, but he gave me this money, so technically it's mine. And as the owner of this money, I'm giving it to you." She smirked. "And, besides, how can you gamble your way to wealth if you have nothing to bet with?"

He considered this for a moment, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the bag. At length, they curled around the heavy sack, which made its way into his pocket. A bright smile just barely peeked over the high collar of his robes.

"T-Thank you!" He bowed back, his wide straw hat toppling awkwardly off his head.

Laughing, Fumi stooped down to retrieve it. "It's no problem," she said, brushing off the dust and handing it back to the now blushing samurai. "You deserve it. I know Muramasa is going to be happy with the blade you picked out."

At the mention of Muramasa's name, Shobushi's eyes sparkled with glee. "Oh, I hope he does!"

Oko looked sidelong and made a disapproving, flatulent sound with his tongue.

"I'll see you guys later," Fumi said with a wave. "And again, thank you so much, Shobushi."

She paused long enough to witness him wave back before she turned and stepped into the lobby.

xxx

"Hm." Muramasa hefted the blade, his hands lightly grasping the hilt, testing its weight and balance. "He did you well." He handed the sword back to Fumi, who returned it to the scabbard tied to her waist. "It's a well-made weapon and should serve its purpose just fine."

He and Fumi sat on the veranda together, watching the sun make the last of its journey beneath the darkening horizon. Fumi smiled inwardly at his words as she imagined how excited Shobushi would be upon hearing of Muramasa's approval. She couldn't wait to tell him.

"However," continued Muramasa, "a fine weapon can only get one so far. Even a poor blade can be deadly in the hands of a master, and a fine one benign in the hands of an amateur."

"I guess it's time for you to train me, then?" She rubbed her arm where the remnants of a few mosquito bites still lingered.

Fumi hadn't been looking forward to this hour. There was no way she could ever become skillful at swordplay in merely a day, and the thought of Muramasa's reactions to her fumbling attempts caused the contents of her stomach to congeal into an icy stone.

"Indeed, it does," Muramasa said with a slight nod. He rose from his seat. "Come. We will go into the woods where there are no distractions."

"Alright." Fumi stood with an audible and nervous sigh before trailing after him.

She followed him in silence as his wraith-like form drifted effortlessly though the woods. Fumi had a bit more trouble traversing the land; brambles snagged at her kosode, and she stumbled more than once over protruding roots and treacherous rocks in the gloomy darkness. Each time Muramasa said nothing; he simply stopped moving and occasionally looked over his shoulder expectantly as he waited for her to catch up.

It became apparent early on in their journey that he sought something specific out here in the woods, with how his bright gaze looked out into the shadows of the trees with a hard intensity. Fumi wondered what he was looking for.

At last, they stepped into a clearing with hard, flat ground overgrown with tiny, blue wildflowers. Here the canopy of the forest opened up, revealing a ceiling of stars. The moon stared down at them like a giant, pale eye, tossing silver light into the clearing and causing indigo shadows to seek refuge along the edges of the forest. It was here where Muramasa finally stopped.

"Perfect," he said, surveying the wide clearing. "This is where we shall start your training." He flicked a hand towards the sword at Fumi's side. "Take it out. First we shall work on your stance and balance."

With a hiss of steel, the sword came free from its scabbard. Nervous, her heart fluttering slightly, Fumi held it out in front of her with one hand. She had never paid much attention to swords or kendo growing up, and samurai stories seldom interested her, so she truly felt clueless standing there in the dark with her new blade in hand.

Immediately, Muramasa began to chuckle, though his tone lacked any patronizing edge. Instead, he sounded truly bemused.

"Well, first you're going to need to hold it with two hands." His touch light and gentle, he grabbed her free hand and brought it up to join the other around the grip of the sword.

"I'm sorry!" Fumi stammered, her knuckles paling around the grip.

"It's fine," he said. "This is just practice." His hands came to rest on her shoulders, exerting upon them a light pressure. "Now, relax. Your shoulders can't be stiff for this. There you go, that's better."

Fumi relaxed beneath the touch and found herself puzzled by the tone of his voice. So calm, so patient. She felt she could even faintly detect notes of approval. Was this really the same Muramasa she knew? The awful, cruel teacher described by Kagero?

There came a silvery whisper as Muramasa withdrew the Juuchi Yosamu and stood by her side, holding it before himself in a battle-ready stance, an image of perfection against Fumi's awkward imitation.

"Hold it out like this," he instructed, "and find your center of gravity. Feel it in the ground, right between your feet."

Fumi tried to feel it and, after a moment of awkward shifting and shuffling, she felt that perhaps she was gaining a sense of balance. Still, she knew her arms were stiff, a tight knot could be felt forming between her shoulder blades. Fumi had much work to do on her stance, but she felt less afraid. Muramasa was not such a cruel teacher.

"You're getting there." Muramasa hovered around her in a circle, observing her posture from all sides. "Move your left foot back just a bit and relax your shoulders again. Then we will move on to the next thing."

"Next thing?" Fumi said after correcting her posture, trying her best to loosen up her shoulders.

"Yes, the next thing." He crossed his arms and nodded sagely. "Proper posture won't protect you alone. You must learn to attack and to guard."

"Ah." Fumi combed her fingers through her tangled brown hair, feeling foolish. "Makes sense."

With the cyan tip of the Juuchi Yosamu, Muramasa pointed to an empty point in space. "Pretend there is an enemy there. I want you to slice him, first left, then right, and end it with a thrust."

"Alright," Fumi said, reading the sword and balancing on her feet. This wasn't so bad. She was starting to even have a little fun. "Sounds easy enough."

A mischievous chuckle rumbled low in the back of Muramasa's throat. "Yes, but you must keep your stance and maintain your center of gravity while in motion."

Oh. Silly her to have assumed it would be so easy.

"No, go," he said. "Try to feel it. Flow into your motions. Move with your blade, not against it."

Fumi did not quite understand what he meant by that, but she resolved to try her best, as always.

Her first attempt she knew was awkward, stumbling, the act of staying in stance while remaining in motion proved to be far more cumbersome that she expected. Muramasa watched in silence, his bright eyes calculating, the pupils frequently growing and shrinking as he observed his student's efforts.

When Fumi had completed her first cycle of attacks against the invisible adversary, the yokai simply said, "Again."

And so she did it again, dicing up invisible loiters with an equally as awkward series of swings and thrusts. She stumbled over her own feet, feeling as thought her shoes had somehow grown three sizes larger over the course of the hour.

"Again."

The woosh of a blade slicing through thick summer air. The dampness of sweat as it began to bead against her brow. Sticky hair adhering to her forehead, threads of it getting in her eyes and making them itch. Moisture gathered uncomfortably beneath her armpits, and slicked the palms of her hands.

"Again."

A burning pain in her biceps, thighs that ached to take a seat. Sore arms and sore legs, muscles being pulled taut to their limits.

"Again."

And yet, sore as they were, Fumi felt a change in her motions each time her teacher called "Again". She could feel that center of gravity, rock solid beneath her, and the knot between her shoulders had loosened its coils despite the new pains forming in her arms and legs. Fumi could move and step, thrust and swing, and her body, acclimated through the hours of repetition, could follow through with a grace she didn't know she possessed.

She completed yet another cycle of exercises and readied herself for Muramasa's single-word command, and instead was met with the sound of subdued applause.

"Well done," Muramasa said. "I'm pleased with your progress. You are a swift learner."

Fumi flashed a wide grin and shook beads of sweat from her sodden bangs. "I might not be the greatest, but I will always try my best.

The moon was higher in the sky now, and fireflies had come out of hiding to dance around them in the purple shadows of the night.

"That's a good quality to have. Don't lose it." He looked her up and down, his expression softening as he examined her sweat-streaked hair and heavy breathing. "I have one more important thing to teach you. However, if you'd like you may rest a bit first."

"No," Fumi said. "I want to finish what we started. We can rest when we're all done."

He hesitated a moment, his jaw clenched and his narrow pupils regarding her uncertainly. "Alright. I'll teach you how to guard." He lifted the Juuchi Yosamu into position. "When I swing my sword towards you, I want you to block it with your own. Simple enough?"

Fumi swallowed hard and nodded. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Everything about Muramasa and the Juuchi Yosamu was intimidating, and she felt wary about having that thing swinging down towards her.

"Ah, o-okay!" Sword gripped in sweaty palms, she held her weapon at the ready.

"Are you certain?" Muramasa arched a brow. "You seem hesitant. There is no shame in ending the session early tonight, if you are too tired."

"No, I can do it. I'm fine, honestly," she said, not-so-honestly. Her limbs felt like sacks filled with sand and her eyelids like sheets of lead. Now that she had momentarily halted her exercises, the exhaustion had caught up to her and all she yearned for was food, a bath, and sleep. But she had never been a quitter, and quitting now, just before the very end of his lesson, somehow seemed sacrilegious.

"If you are certain." He lowered his blade just a hair. "I'm not here to push you."

"I am certain." Fumi could feel herself growing annoyed with him. She imagined her parents – far off in another time, in another place – and how they believed she should be pushed. They would be so ashamed if she quit now.

"Alright," he said, giving in to her tenacity. "Be on guard."

Her hands tightened around the blade's grip.

"HAA!" In a flash of teal metal and purple robes, he swung the blade down towards her.

A loud clang echoed through the woods and her vision erupted into a white-hot image of pain as agony rippled up her left arm. Muramasa hit her blade at an odd angle, sending it flying from her grasp to sail end over end until it landed unceremoniously amidst the waist-high blanket of wildflowers. Fumi's free hand immediately latched on to its suffering counterpart as she sunk to her knees, fighting tears and moaning in pain.

"Oh, gods, Fumi!" He was abruptly by her side, kneeling down in the tall grass with her, reaching for her damaged wrist. "Let me see."

"Ow." She let him take her hand, and winced when one of his spindly fingers pressed itself against her wrist. "Why'd you have to come at me so hard?"

"I didn't mean to. It's been a while since I've trained with anyone. I miss teaching. In the heat of the moment, I got carried away." He averted his gaze, embarrassed. "Can you move it at all?"

Fumi grimaced, but managed to move her sore wrist in a full circle. "Yeah, it hurts a little, but I think I'm okay."

"Just a sprang," he said as his fingers moved lower to unravel the gauze that hid the row of stitches trailing down her arm. "And I completely forgot about these. I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have pushed you."

She felt a tightness in her chest, finding his kindness bizarre yet comforting. "It's okay. You didn't push me. I did."

"Yes, but," he let go of her arm and rose to his full height, "I had the choice to indulge you in your foolishness, which is something I shouldn't have done."

Fumi moved to retrieve her sword. "We were both acting like idiots, then." As she stood, blade in hand, she tossed him a wide smile.

His brow pinched angrily and he opened his mouth to retort, but his expression abruptly softened and the retort came out only as a quiet laugh. "Yes. I guess we were." Muramasa looked up at the sky towards the high moon and its entourage of stars. "It's quite late now." He sliced a tiny cut on his hand, sating the Juuchi Yosamu's thirst so it could once again sleep. "I think we should be getting back soon."

"Class, dismissed!" Fumi sheathed her sword and bounded after him as he drifted off into the woods.

Xxx

They adopted a far more leisurely pace on the way back. Fumi was grateful for that, for her wrist still stung and her legs had practically turned to liquid. She knew she wouldn't be able to match the pace Muramasa had set last time. He seemed acutely aware of this and stayed by her side, making sure she avoided any pitfalls hiding on the forest floor.

It still felt strange to her, to see him act so kind and so friendly. And just as they were at the edge of the woods, with the cleared fields and buildings of the town peeking through the thinning trees, Fumi remembered something Muramasa had said. Something that intrigued and fascinated her.

"Muramasa?"

He acknowledged her with the tilt of his head and a noncommittal grunt.

"Did you…say you liked teaching while we were out in the woods?" She tried to keep her tone serious, but after his display of friendliness during their training, she couldn't entirely mask her air of amusement.

"I…" His eyes widened as he sought for an adequate answer. "I did. I had a few apprentices whom I trained while I was alive."

"That much I gathered, but, I thought you said you hated Kagero?" She put her hands on her hips and smirked at him. Perhaps she'd been right before. Perhaps there was a softer man beneath the hard shell.

He sighed and his whole body seemed to droop. "I don't hate Kagero. Back then I had been the only person even willing to train him, he was so foolish and clumsy. I grew to care about him, and he grew to learn, however slowly."

"Why'd you stop?"

Muramasa barked a short, harsh burst of laughter. "I died!"

Fumi cringed, her shame coloring her face red. "Oops. I should have known."

"And the only reason I acted so harsh towards him when we first met was because I was angry." The two began walking across the fields, now nearing the inn with its golden, illuminated windows. "I was hurt that he had given up everything I taught him to learn a different form of martial arts."

"Ninjutsu?"

"Indeed. I am over my anger now," he said as they reached the front of the inn. "I feel it suits him."

"I'm glad." The ghost of a smile just barely touched her lips.

They reached the entrance of the inn. Muramasa floated up onto the veranda and slid open the door for her. "Well, it is time for bed. Tomorrow is the night of the full moon and we must remain vigilant. Get some rest."

"You too," she said, heading towards the stairs. Halfway up the flight, she turned around to tell him goodnight, but he had already vanished.