Memories of Better Days

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It had been a pleasant day, the first one of the year. Snow had finally melted. Soon the blistering dry heat of summer would invade the lands, but for the moment the weather was perfect. Green grass and ancient cherry trees formed the backdrop of the festival terrain just outside a small keep overlooking one of the few fertile valleys and its important road below. Cherry blossoms painted the area pink in addition to the light green of the first spring leaves and the greys, blacks and dark blues of the many Crab attending the festival.

It had been quiet at the Wall for weeks and nothing was stirring yet. It would not last. Leaving no moment for relaxation unused the local bushi had all gathered together to celebrate the festival in the typical Crab way: loud, boisterous and which sake flowing freely. The large Hida samurai and his young son, already showing signs of taking after his father, were very much part of the crowd. The boy was one of several kids, a birthday gift and goodbye before he would join the Hida dojo far from home.

The man was treated with a mix of awe, respect and camaraderie. The boy was treated as one of their own, basking in the attention as any young child would. He cared not that his sake cup contained fresh water and did not note that the festivities around them took a somewhat more subdued tone out of respect to his father and his young son. Of course, the Crab’s behavior would still have shocked most samurai of the other clans had any of them been around. It was a happy day, a father-son moment rare amongst the Crab.

The religious part of the festival that morning had been somewhat boring to the child. The afternoon impromptu sumai wrestling tournament on the other hand was proving to be great entertainment. The boy and his father had a great view, the man standing amongst his fellows but towering above them and the kid sitting on his shoulders. The dohyo was a simple makeshift affair, the gyoji a local monk and the rules much simpler with much less ritual. What little ritual that there was had impressed the boy, the fighting even more.

The boy might not have understood most of what his father said about each bout and the skill of those in the dohyo, but it was not often that his dad was in a good mood and willing to answer his many questions. The kid even got to award the prize to the champion of the tournament. The winner had reacted as if he had been given the prize by the clan champion himself.

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These bittersweet memories came rather unbidden to Hida Tanaro for he had been that child now more than a decade ago. It was one of the few happy memories that were not clouded by pain and disappointment. Barely suppressing a sigh, Tanaro looked down upon the barely conscious monk at his feet. He was glad the memory had come after the match. Short as the flash had been, the match had been difficult enough as it was. Any distraction would most assuredly have cost him the victory.

The Kaimetsu-Uo monk observers were a different type of crowd then the Crab. There were no loud cheers, no shouts to encourage the contestants, no bets on the sideline and no curses by the losers. Instead there was a silent acknowledgment by the monks for his hard-fought victory. He was unsure what he preferred. There was a place for both he supposed. The courtyard of the monastery and the tropical warmth of the Islands of Silk and Spice were a starker contrast with that simple festival terrain in the Wall Above the Ocean Mountains still.

The fight had been exhilarating, just him and his opponent, no time for any other thought, not unlike meditation. Only rarely could he use the combat techniques in an unarmed bout and even rarer were the opponents who recognized the true combat maneuvers of Sumai. He knew it was a sin, but deep down he hoped that it would at least appease his disappointed ancestors, and above all his father. The scars on his soul had made it impossible for him to become a bushi. He had not been able to finish his training at the Hida dojo. Still, he had at least this love for Sumai in common with his old man and his ancestors and he had a knack for it.

With one final inward sigh, he bowed to his opponent before stepping out of the circle. If he had learned one thing from the fight it was that he still had much to learn. Had it not been for his size he would most likely have lost. It steeled him in his resolve to petition his clan to join the Stone Tower Dojo. They could teach him much, both in the art of Sumai and the court. It would also earn him more respect from his family, although he would not likely admit this as a reason for the application except maybe to himself.

With one last smile he walked out of the courtyard. He had won today. Tomorrow he would be better, probably hurting as well. Perhaps it was time to go, visit the bathhouse and perhaps a skilled masseuse. Limping during winter court might not make the right kind of impression