Black Morass sakoku

satsu swallows the taste as best she can. the limb is barely visible where she has dropped it. the brackish water does well to hide it, with the more bulbous end tapering deep in to the dark water.
the spirit asks a question and satsu is glad to have something else to focus on.

dochujin. her voice is soft, and she sighs over the pile of debris that has been gathered.

i hoped to make dochujin. they are shapes built of sticks and rocks, and things like that. however, satsu only knew a few of the shapes; she had stolen the lessons from her brothers as often as she could, sneaking around to listen to their tutor.

they are like... waypoints, on a journey.