Blackfeather Woods 負けるが勝ち

the skittish boy is never far. either lingering with shifty, clumsy footsteps behind masa or shinjou. as timid as ever, and perhaps feeling even more useless compared to the two samurai who reluctantly let him follow in their shadows. 

it wasn't a choice, and it wasn't as if he didn't wish to better himself. but he wasn't carved out of steel like they were. he was not meant for that life, no matter how badly he craved it. strength had never been his strong-suit; there was no use in pretending that it was. 

what he provided in return, though, was subservience. perhaps the budding knowledge of healing, though he hardly had the skills to consider himself such. and so, when masa brought the woman into the mix, he would bow to her, too. 

a lady. one of importance. he does not know more than her name; but it does not matter. he bows regardless, a friendly but nervous twitch to his tail. "lady kaede," he parrots. he doesn't meet her gaze, but he smiles regardless. "a pleasure."