Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki

Finally! First RK fic, the Soujirou plot-bunny that's been sitting around for ages. It's quite possibly two years old now… title and random idea inspired by some random Spanish song from International Lunch Day at school. Song may have been titled, "the little ant," but I'm a French student and no one will bother to inform me about the song, beyond that it's a love song and may actually have nothing to do with ants. Therefore, it has little or no relevance… but if by some chance someone reads it and knows the song and tells me, I shall reward them somehow.

Later update--the song is "La Hormiguita," by Juan Luis Guerra. The lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with this story... but it was, regardless, what made the connection between "little ant" and "Soujirou." Credit where credit is due. The cute upperclassman with the guitar sang it better, though, in my opinion...

Er… moving right along…

The Little Ant

"Ah! The laces snapped again."

The waning of summer in the farmlands somewhere north of Kyoto and south of Tokyo. Long hours of heat from dawn until dusk, stretched further by every row in the rice paddy and every chirp of the cicadas. Dirt roads and worn paths wound through every prefecture, running past endless fields eager for an extra hand for the day.

Not that he minded. Wandering had been his own choice, and he was used to the hard work and lacking appreciation. Besides, he liked to eat, so he could not complain.

He set down the barrel of rice—how curiously light it felt now that he was grown—and perched beside it in the storage shed. It looked familiar, rather like home, not that he missed the place. For years, his home had been anyplace at Shishio-san's side. But he did not mind. A poor wandering swordsman was not the most enviable of positions, but he had done well enough for the son of his father's mistress. He had the privilege of a family name—Seta Soujirou. He had skills that Shishio-san had taken the time to train. He even had an education; both Shishio-san and Yumi-san had been intelligent and strong-willed people, so she had insisted on knowledge to match the refined elegance inherent to all of his plans.

He removed his shoe and knotted the lace methodically, one more to join the many others holding the threads together. Turning it over, he inspected the sole and sighed. The bottom of the sandal was fraying badly, nearly worn through at the heel. Sheltered under Shishio-san's grand notions about "what must be done for the sake of Japan," he had forgotten that anything less than shukuchi could ruin his shoes. Ordinary people, ordinary chores; in the end, they had the same effect as a madman's revolution.

Step by step, day by day, road by road, the life of a rurouni devoured his soles as effectively as the life of a juppongatana. It swallowed his entire self with the dust and dirt of his paths, the sweat of his toils.

The lace would not quite reach far enough to tie anymore. His smile did not falter, although his forehead creased slightly. If he had only a finger's length of string more… but he tucked the knotted cord into his sleeve to save.

Soujirou pulled out the packed of rice balls that constituted his lunch. The farmer was only willing to give him so many meals, after all, and he could not blame the man's distrust. Given the surprising amount of ex-assassins that roamed the country, the people had every right to be careful. How much harder must it have been for Himura-san, with his bright, Western-colored hair.

A bit of rice fell to the ground, and he stared at it sadly. He did not like to waste food, but he had recovered enough dignity while in Shishio-san's presence that he could not bring himself to scrounge in the dirt for a few large crumbs.

In any case, an ant on the floor had already found them.

He finished his meal, watching idly as the small insect scurried around, joined by one and then two companions. Little ants, each one so tiny he could easily squash it with a finger.

Such hard workers, but so insignificant, like the farmers in the prefectures, each resembling the next, waiting to be crushed by a powerful man such as Shishio Makoto. Or perhaps a strong boy such as Seta Soujirou?

But just because he had the power, perhaps, did not make it right… the same way it was not right to mistreat a child who had committed no sins.

One of the ants had picked up a cluster of grains larger than itself, and was making its way dizzily across the floor. What a mighty little creature. He could not match that feat, Soujirou thought, if he were the size of that insect. Did that make him weaker than the ant?

He unlaced his other sandal, in equal disrepair, and hid the string in a pocket as well. Now both feet were the same, and he ought to return to work. Stepping carefully around his fellow laborers, he glanced at the ants once more. There was nothing wrong with letting them remain in their illusion of power and contentment. He was almost fond of the little ones who toiled beside him.

Shishio-san would have ruthlessly crushed them. Himura-san would have protected them.

Soujirou simply left them alone.

Maybe he did not have to be the strongest. Maybe he did not need to sacrifice those weaker than himself to survive.

Maybe he, and everyone else, simply had to do their best to be strong in their own capacity. In little ways.

And maybe, he thought, he could get enough money at the next farm to purchase a new pair of sandals.

…
Owari
…

-Windswift