Post by Isawa Mitsuru on Apr 23, 2012 0:31:14 GMT -5
Spring birds chirped about the garden of the family estate. All around signs of winter melting into a brisk spring were popping out. Along with the birds, flowers were fighting to open their colored petals and heavily pruned trees were sending out exploratory leaves to see if it was indeed time to grow again. Even the evergreens continued to shake off the long, cold, phoenix provincial winter as a pine tree here or there dropped some snow off its accumulations of needles.
On the far side of the garden, Isawa Aramine, my younger sister, prayed at a family shrine. Her devotion to the spirits and her early training in the arts of the Earth brought our family much honor and a sense of pride.
As for myself, I sat against a wall just inside a room opened to the outside garden. I was, technically speaking, looking out at the garden but I wasn’t really taking any of it in. I was simply staring out and thinking, perhaps excessively so.
It was nice to be back in good, clean clothing bearing the symbols of the Phoenix clan. It was nice to be far, far away from the forsaken fields and hillocks of the Shadowlands. However, I still bore the special souvenir given my by the Book Keeper while visiting there. A Kuni physician had confirmed that not only had my arm been broken, but my shoulder blade had also been cracked by the frozen blood projectile that had hit me while fighting an oni. Fortunately, the Kuni had been able to heal up a lot of the damage but because I hadn’t seen him immediately after suffering the injury it wouldn’t completely heal. Not much would be affected, but I would always be reminded of the kindness of the Shadowlands whenever it rained. My arm was still in a sling as the bones finished knitting and this was the focus of my thoughts on this cold early spring afternoon.
Questions ran through my head as commonly as surfacing doubts about my own competency as a samurai. I felt…broken in more ways than one. There are many tall and thick pine trees in the Isawa woodlands and these are sometimes used as the pillars of temples and castles in our lands. The tall and strong wooden shafts are often used as examples of personal strength which grows with each of us as we become adults. However, I thought, a single woodsman with a tool no longer than my arm can topple in a day what has taken generations to build into an otherwise indestructible tower.
I felt very much like a felled tree these days. Where I had thought myself imperviously strong I had been crashed down emotionally. When an entire caravan of merchants was slaughtered I could do absolutely nothing. There was no way I could help them and I could barely help myself or the single escaped gaijin who managed to survive by his own strength.
Honestly, what good was I? How could I be of use or service to the empire or my family if I had no skills to contribute? How could I bring honor to my ancestors’ name if I only just froze when confronted with a challenge? And if I was of no use to anyone then why was I here? What was the point of living?
Deep in thought as I was I had not noticed the approaching figure behind me until it knelt heavily by my side. I slowly looked over at it and was pained to see the austere visage of Isawa Gomaru, Master of the Void.
I shrank a little and felt that I had been reduced to the size of a cricket before the man who had guided me along my own path of knowledge. He was perfectly arranged and the very picture of a shugenja of the samurai caste. His clothing was dark and reserved and perfectly creased along its folds and smooth and clean everywhere else. His simple kesa sat on his shoulder and flowed down onto the ground around him, making him look like a temple statue. Even the hair on his head, or rather the lack thereof (her always kept the top of his head cleanly shaved) was perfect. His sideburns were all straight and groomed while his thin eyes also looked out upon the beautiful garden. Unlike myself, not only was he taking in every detail of the garden but I could feel through the Nothingness that he was pulling in the supernatural elements of the garden for his own appreciation.
How unlike this seemingly perfect statue I was. How different from the ordered appearance and serene manliness of this infinitely more experienced sage. I could never become like him. I could never attain the sheer heights of knowledge or skill or courage that he had surpassed years previous. Why was I even alive? What could I ever do to compare to this paragon of virtue?
Without moving to look at me his deep gravelly spoke to the room in general and to me in particular with all the accuracy of a Tsuruchi arrow.
"There is a kind of tree that is larger and stronger even than the pine. This tree can grow to over a hundred feet tall and wider than a man’s arm span. When it falls to the ground, as all trees must, new smaller trees will take from its strength and grow into not one, but many of these same kind of trees."
With this he turned while still kneeling and gave me a curt bow. He rose and exited the room, leaving me to ponder his words.
And they were all I needed.
On the far side of the garden, Isawa Aramine, my younger sister, prayed at a family shrine. Her devotion to the spirits and her early training in the arts of the Earth brought our family much honor and a sense of pride.
As for myself, I sat against a wall just inside a room opened to the outside garden. I was, technically speaking, looking out at the garden but I wasn’t really taking any of it in. I was simply staring out and thinking, perhaps excessively so.
It was nice to be back in good, clean clothing bearing the symbols of the Phoenix clan. It was nice to be far, far away from the forsaken fields and hillocks of the Shadowlands. However, I still bore the special souvenir given my by the Book Keeper while visiting there. A Kuni physician had confirmed that not only had my arm been broken, but my shoulder blade had also been cracked by the frozen blood projectile that had hit me while fighting an oni. Fortunately, the Kuni had been able to heal up a lot of the damage but because I hadn’t seen him immediately after suffering the injury it wouldn’t completely heal. Not much would be affected, but I would always be reminded of the kindness of the Shadowlands whenever it rained. My arm was still in a sling as the bones finished knitting and this was the focus of my thoughts on this cold early spring afternoon.
Questions ran through my head as commonly as surfacing doubts about my own competency as a samurai. I felt…broken in more ways than one. There are many tall and thick pine trees in the Isawa woodlands and these are sometimes used as the pillars of temples and castles in our lands. The tall and strong wooden shafts are often used as examples of personal strength which grows with each of us as we become adults. However, I thought, a single woodsman with a tool no longer than my arm can topple in a day what has taken generations to build into an otherwise indestructible tower.
I felt very much like a felled tree these days. Where I had thought myself imperviously strong I had been crashed down emotionally. When an entire caravan of merchants was slaughtered I could do absolutely nothing. There was no way I could help them and I could barely help myself or the single escaped gaijin who managed to survive by his own strength.
Honestly, what good was I? How could I be of use or service to the empire or my family if I had no skills to contribute? How could I bring honor to my ancestors’ name if I only just froze when confronted with a challenge? And if I was of no use to anyone then why was I here? What was the point of living?
Deep in thought as I was I had not noticed the approaching figure behind me until it knelt heavily by my side. I slowly looked over at it and was pained to see the austere visage of Isawa Gomaru, Master of the Void.
I shrank a little and felt that I had been reduced to the size of a cricket before the man who had guided me along my own path of knowledge. He was perfectly arranged and the very picture of a shugenja of the samurai caste. His clothing was dark and reserved and perfectly creased along its folds and smooth and clean everywhere else. His simple kesa sat on his shoulder and flowed down onto the ground around him, making him look like a temple statue. Even the hair on his head, or rather the lack thereof (her always kept the top of his head cleanly shaved) was perfect. His sideburns were all straight and groomed while his thin eyes also looked out upon the beautiful garden. Unlike myself, not only was he taking in every detail of the garden but I could feel through the Nothingness that he was pulling in the supernatural elements of the garden for his own appreciation.
How unlike this seemingly perfect statue I was. How different from the ordered appearance and serene manliness of this infinitely more experienced sage. I could never become like him. I could never attain the sheer heights of knowledge or skill or courage that he had surpassed years previous. Why was I even alive? What could I ever do to compare to this paragon of virtue?
Without moving to look at me his deep gravelly spoke to the room in general and to me in particular with all the accuracy of a Tsuruchi arrow.
"There is a kind of tree that is larger and stronger even than the pine. This tree can grow to over a hundred feet tall and wider than a man’s arm span. When it falls to the ground, as all trees must, new smaller trees will take from its strength and grow into not one, but many of these same kind of trees."
With this he turned while still kneeling and gave me a curt bow. He rose and exited the room, leaving me to ponder his words.
And they were all I needed.