the lake glared up at him like a mirror with too many memories, surface still but never at peace—just like him. ryūjirō stood at its edge, arms heavy at his sides, jaw clenched against the heat and the way the southern air clung to his coat like sweat-slick regret. he hated the softness of it all, the bloom of green, the birdsong too close to laughter. behind him, @Kaede walked like a shadow that had learned to smile, the little fox—@Clover—tucked close to her side, a stubborn thing. @Suyin trailed behind, all eyes and venom in velvet skin, her every breath threaded with secrets he didn’t want to learn. he didn’t speak. he rarely did. instead, he dropped the battered bundle of gear by a rock, shoulders rolling like he might shed the road itself, and let out a low grunt that wasn’t quite relief. they’d stop here. @Shinjou had been long welcome to join them. any member of his brother's band had. it was long enough to drink, to rest, to let the ache fade from tired limbs before the next stretch of road carved something else out of them. south was where they were going—because masa wasn’t north anymore—and ryūjirō, for all his pride and poison, would see them through it. even if it killed him. especially if it did.
only speaks japanese.
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