Post by Yoshihiro Minamoto on Feb 10, 2012 19:33:53 GMT -8
A chilled wind blew through the blossom trees, rustling the leaves as it went. It was the middle of winter, and snow was on the ground, blanketing the Earth with a white ocean. The trees were lucky to still have leaves on them, though most of the leaves were on the ground, at the base of the blossoms.
Though it was winter, the river had not yet frozen over. The water still flowed smoothly, eroding the dirt on its banks. No fish were present, however, as they had all swam upstream for warmth long ago during the wane of December. Now, in February, only water flowed through the stream, along with the occasional leaf that fell into the water. The forest itself was silent most of the time, save for the occasional cricket that chirped at night, signaling the arrival of the evening. Most animals were in hibernation at this time, making the forest a relatively safe place to be.
All in the middle of this, or more accurately, to the side of this, lived the man known as Yoshihiro Minamoto. After relocating here more than twenty years ago, Yoshihiro found himself adapting to the environment. He learned to hunt the animals for food. When there were no animals present, he learned to hunt the insects. When there were no insects, he learned to survive. After his first few years, Yoshihiro felt it necessary to travel back to the main city, at least every once in a while, to acquire supplies and food that he may need. When he returned, he found it to be much different than when he had left. The rebellion seemed to be over, and people seemed to be at peace.
On this particular day, Yoshihiro sported his usual tan kimono, along with a rather new Japanese Rice Hat that he bought only a few months ago. He also had equipped his Katana, something he never parted with. It was always at his side, no matter what. He stood in front of his small straw hut, which he had built when he first settled in the forest. It was relatively big for what it was, and allowed him plenty of room to live. It was a rectangular shape, about ten feet long and five feet wide. It had been rebuilt many times over the years, even changing from a pyramid shape to the current rectangle, but it was always his home, and would be for a long time.
The wind blew around him, as he stood readying himself for his quick journey to the city. He checked to make sure he had his bag of coins, filled with exactly ten coins, and found it hanging on the side of his kimono as always. He then checked to see if his sandals were in good shape, which they were. Finally, he double checked to see if his blade was still at his side, which, of course, it was. With that, he was off.
The city was about what would be equal to one hundred yards in modern measurement away from his hut. He had grown used to this long walk though, as he did it periodically. Though the snow was thick on the ground, Yoshihiro had little trouble walking. Though a normal person may stumble, Yoshihiro walked gracefully and solidly, as if it were flat, hard ground. It was as if he had no idea that there was actually a foot of snow beneath him. Finally, after what seemed to be a short time to Yoshihiro, he had arrived at the city gates that went out to the forest.
The gates were not too high, but high enough that someone could not climb them without a struggle. They were extended by great rock walls that scaled to greater heights, protecting the village from attack. The tops of them, though not by design, were hard and raggedy, making it even more difficult to traverse, if one were to do so. It was a pretty solid piece of work.
At the gates were two guards, stationed as always, to monitor who was coming in and out. As Yoshihiro approached, both guard opened the gates for him without asking questions, as they had grown to know Yoshihiro throughout the years. Whether it was out of friendship or out of sympathy, the guards had become sort-of acquaintances with Yoshihiro, giving a smile or two each time they saw him.
Inside the city was a different story. It was bustling with people, even at this time of year. People who gave disparaging remarks toward Yoshihiro. Most thought he was a simple-minded hermit who had lived his whole life in the forest. Parents would keep their children away from him, children would keep their pets from him, and adults would snicker behind his back. Yoshihiro, though, did not care, for he knew not how to care. He had been away from the public for so long that he did not know how to respond to their comments. They simply passed his mind. After walking for a bit, he saw the sign in the middle of the road: "市場." He had arrived at the Market.
Yoshihiro walked to the shop he usually visited, which was open like always. It was a rectangular building with a great window in the front, from which the salesclerk did his selling. It was like the shops that would arise later in Italy. The shop itself was a source for dining, offering great food as well as some bargain appliances.
In the window was a rather old man, probably around the age of sixty. He was adorned with a white beard that extended down to the middle of his neck. His hair was very thinning, and only small strips of white could be seen on the top of his head. Yet he was not slow or frail like other elders. He could still move around very well, and was a great seller. When saw Yoshihiro approaching, a small smile grew on his face. Yoshihiro replied with a smile of his own, and reached in his bag of coins to pay for what he had come for. He placed seven of the coins on the shelf extending from the window, and the shopkeeper nodded. The keeper turned to his right, went to the wall of the shop, and after a few seconds, returned to the front with a bag of dumplings and a bowl of rice. Yoshihiro nodded with a smile, but then pointed to a wooden spoon lying on a table near the front of the shop, on display. Yoshihiro took out one extra coin, and put it on the shelf. The shopkeeper nodded once more, and retrieved the wooden spoon. Just as Yoshihiro was about to leave, however, a voice rang out from behind him.
"Well, what do we have here?" a man dressed in raggedy black clothes asked Yoshihiro. The man was accompanied by three other men, all who wore the same type of ragged clothing. They were thugs. "Buying some dumplings and some rice? You know, I'm starting to feel a little hungry myself." The thugs laughed as Yoshihiro simply stood there, looking at them. The shopkeeper backed up from the window, and waited to see what happened. "Alright, hand over the food and your bag of coins." Yoshihiro did not budge. "I said, give us the coins and the food!" Yoshihiro still did not move. "Who do you think you are? I'll tell you who you are! You're a hermit who lives outside of the city, and who is about to get killed by me!" The thug took out a small dagger, and ran toward Yoshihiro screaming. In a flash, Yoshihiro unsheathed his grand katana, and sliced the thug across the stomach. The thug subsequently fell to the floor, clenching his wound.
His friends stood stunned for a moment, as the blood dripped from Yoshihiro's katana. One of them shook off the feeling, and ran for Yoshihiro. Once more, Yoshihiro made the slightest of movements, and cut the thug across the thigh, causing him to fall into the shop wall. The remaining two thugs ran away at the sight of seeing two of their brethren taken out so easily. Yoshihiro shook off the blood from his blade, and put it back in its sheath.
Yoshihiro fell into a state of wonderment, as he realized what he had just done. This had been the first time he had fought since... While there were the occasional groups of bandits in the forest, this was the first time Yoshihiro had actually been in a duel with his Katana... since he had seen his father. It had been so long, yet he executed everything so precisely. It felt so natural to him, just as it should with any Samurai.
His thoughts were broken by the excited words of a young boy. "That was amazing! You defeated those guys like nothing! You should join the army and fight in the war! It'd be over quickly then!"
'War? What War?' Yoshihiro thought to himself. But before he could reply to the young man, the boy was called away by his mother. Yoshihiro shook off his confused look and turned back toward the shopkeeper who was in astonishment. "I... I had no idea you knew how to fight like that," the shopkeeper said. Yoshihiro simply smiled and picked up his bag of dumplings, his still hot bowl of rice, and the wooden spoon. He turned away from the shopkeeper after giving a final bow of his head, and started back for his home.
Though it was winter, the river had not yet frozen over. The water still flowed smoothly, eroding the dirt on its banks. No fish were present, however, as they had all swam upstream for warmth long ago during the wane of December. Now, in February, only water flowed through the stream, along with the occasional leaf that fell into the water. The forest itself was silent most of the time, save for the occasional cricket that chirped at night, signaling the arrival of the evening. Most animals were in hibernation at this time, making the forest a relatively safe place to be.
All in the middle of this, or more accurately, to the side of this, lived the man known as Yoshihiro Minamoto. After relocating here more than twenty years ago, Yoshihiro found himself adapting to the environment. He learned to hunt the animals for food. When there were no animals present, he learned to hunt the insects. When there were no insects, he learned to survive. After his first few years, Yoshihiro felt it necessary to travel back to the main city, at least every once in a while, to acquire supplies and food that he may need. When he returned, he found it to be much different than when he had left. The rebellion seemed to be over, and people seemed to be at peace.
On this particular day, Yoshihiro sported his usual tan kimono, along with a rather new Japanese Rice Hat that he bought only a few months ago. He also had equipped his Katana, something he never parted with. It was always at his side, no matter what. He stood in front of his small straw hut, which he had built when he first settled in the forest. It was relatively big for what it was, and allowed him plenty of room to live. It was a rectangular shape, about ten feet long and five feet wide. It had been rebuilt many times over the years, even changing from a pyramid shape to the current rectangle, but it was always his home, and would be for a long time.
The wind blew around him, as he stood readying himself for his quick journey to the city. He checked to make sure he had his bag of coins, filled with exactly ten coins, and found it hanging on the side of his kimono as always. He then checked to see if his sandals were in good shape, which they were. Finally, he double checked to see if his blade was still at his side, which, of course, it was. With that, he was off.
The city was about what would be equal to one hundred yards in modern measurement away from his hut. He had grown used to this long walk though, as he did it periodically. Though the snow was thick on the ground, Yoshihiro had little trouble walking. Though a normal person may stumble, Yoshihiro walked gracefully and solidly, as if it were flat, hard ground. It was as if he had no idea that there was actually a foot of snow beneath him. Finally, after what seemed to be a short time to Yoshihiro, he had arrived at the city gates that went out to the forest.
The gates were not too high, but high enough that someone could not climb them without a struggle. They were extended by great rock walls that scaled to greater heights, protecting the village from attack. The tops of them, though not by design, were hard and raggedy, making it even more difficult to traverse, if one were to do so. It was a pretty solid piece of work.
At the gates were two guards, stationed as always, to monitor who was coming in and out. As Yoshihiro approached, both guard opened the gates for him without asking questions, as they had grown to know Yoshihiro throughout the years. Whether it was out of friendship or out of sympathy, the guards had become sort-of acquaintances with Yoshihiro, giving a smile or two each time they saw him.
Inside the city was a different story. It was bustling with people, even at this time of year. People who gave disparaging remarks toward Yoshihiro. Most thought he was a simple-minded hermit who had lived his whole life in the forest. Parents would keep their children away from him, children would keep their pets from him, and adults would snicker behind his back. Yoshihiro, though, did not care, for he knew not how to care. He had been away from the public for so long that he did not know how to respond to their comments. They simply passed his mind. After walking for a bit, he saw the sign in the middle of the road: "市場." He had arrived at the Market.
Yoshihiro walked to the shop he usually visited, which was open like always. It was a rectangular building with a great window in the front, from which the salesclerk did his selling. It was like the shops that would arise later in Italy. The shop itself was a source for dining, offering great food as well as some bargain appliances.
In the window was a rather old man, probably around the age of sixty. He was adorned with a white beard that extended down to the middle of his neck. His hair was very thinning, and only small strips of white could be seen on the top of his head. Yet he was not slow or frail like other elders. He could still move around very well, and was a great seller. When saw Yoshihiro approaching, a small smile grew on his face. Yoshihiro replied with a smile of his own, and reached in his bag of coins to pay for what he had come for. He placed seven of the coins on the shelf extending from the window, and the shopkeeper nodded. The keeper turned to his right, went to the wall of the shop, and after a few seconds, returned to the front with a bag of dumplings and a bowl of rice. Yoshihiro nodded with a smile, but then pointed to a wooden spoon lying on a table near the front of the shop, on display. Yoshihiro took out one extra coin, and put it on the shelf. The shopkeeper nodded once more, and retrieved the wooden spoon. Just as Yoshihiro was about to leave, however, a voice rang out from behind him.
"Well, what do we have here?" a man dressed in raggedy black clothes asked Yoshihiro. The man was accompanied by three other men, all who wore the same type of ragged clothing. They were thugs. "Buying some dumplings and some rice? You know, I'm starting to feel a little hungry myself." The thugs laughed as Yoshihiro simply stood there, looking at them. The shopkeeper backed up from the window, and waited to see what happened. "Alright, hand over the food and your bag of coins." Yoshihiro did not budge. "I said, give us the coins and the food!" Yoshihiro still did not move. "Who do you think you are? I'll tell you who you are! You're a hermit who lives outside of the city, and who is about to get killed by me!" The thug took out a small dagger, and ran toward Yoshihiro screaming. In a flash, Yoshihiro unsheathed his grand katana, and sliced the thug across the stomach. The thug subsequently fell to the floor, clenching his wound.
His friends stood stunned for a moment, as the blood dripped from Yoshihiro's katana. One of them shook off the feeling, and ran for Yoshihiro. Once more, Yoshihiro made the slightest of movements, and cut the thug across the thigh, causing him to fall into the shop wall. The remaining two thugs ran away at the sight of seeing two of their brethren taken out so easily. Yoshihiro shook off the blood from his blade, and put it back in its sheath.
Yoshihiro fell into a state of wonderment, as he realized what he had just done. This had been the first time he had fought since... While there were the occasional groups of bandits in the forest, this was the first time Yoshihiro had actually been in a duel with his Katana... since he had seen his father. It had been so long, yet he executed everything so precisely. It felt so natural to him, just as it should with any Samurai.
His thoughts were broken by the excited words of a young boy. "That was amazing! You defeated those guys like nothing! You should join the army and fight in the war! It'd be over quickly then!"
'War? What War?' Yoshihiro thought to himself. But before he could reply to the young man, the boy was called away by his mother. Yoshihiro shook off his confused look and turned back toward the shopkeeper who was in astonishment. "I... I had no idea you knew how to fight like that," the shopkeeper said. Yoshihiro simply smiled and picked up his bag of dumplings, his still hot bowl of rice, and the wooden spoon. He turned away from the shopkeeper after giving a final bow of his head, and started back for his home.