Blackfeather Woods the assassin's road

That he longed to disobey, that he dreamed of the old samurai reaching for him, of their white blades meeting in a clash of steel. But his lord had spoken. Frustration flickered through him; he ran his tongue along his lips, then lowered his head and stepped back, resigning himself to a mere sidelong glance at the one he served.

Masa-dono. He greeted, his arrogance suddenly subdued, before yielding his place, his gaze once more drawn into the boundless crimson depths of the scarred elder’s eyes.