Permafrost Hollows 弱い人

the silence is broken by an incredulous snort. the closest the samurai would get to a bellowing laugh, as he simply could not believe this boy was anything but. no muscle, no grit. just a softness that the cruelty of the world somehow had not crushed. a softness that in his village would've been met with death. "you not man." words not meant to insult, but factual. "man do not fear."

the boy moves closer. the samurai tenses, though he remains stalwart. the boy speaks of his people. the need for teeth and muscle. Isao had long quit selling his sword for other men to wield; life was simpler when he wasn't at the mercy of a lord or a contract. but perhaps if this darukaal allowed a boy to roam free, they truly needed a disciplined warrior. he mulls on the thought, brows pinched, scarred features thoughtful. "i am no log. samurai." he grunts, the tease taken all too literal. he looks away with a rough sigh. "do not like contracts. why darukaal looking for sword?"

laughter. gentle, bubbling. unsettling. the samurai's lip curls for just a moment in distaste. "duty. i cannot let a weakling wither. you need meat on bones. eh...muscle." he points out with a raised brow. leaning closer, he prods at a bird-like chest, unimpressed with the give. "small. boy," he repeats himself. then, he asks, "what is boy's name?"