The dewdrop falls, slowly as the wind creases thorugh the boughs of the branches. We are far up now, and the slope of the mountain is beneath us. High in the sky on a slight outthrust of rock, we breathe. In and out as we feel our core. It is now. Life has passed and now the time of our death has arrived. This is our karma. We look to the south, our soul lies to the south beneath the cherry blossoms that are just now beginning to fall as winter approaches. As they fall here. Swirling on each gust of wind. They appear almost to float upwards, but ultimately they will fall, as is life.

A silent man kneeled in the snow on the precipice. He held two swords, one long and one short. They were placed in front of him, as if in a place of honor. The dewdrop fell and landed on the hilt.

Past the silent figure the mountains seemed to grow upon the horizon. Cold and deadly, but reaching and yearning upwards towards the full moon. It was a quiet scene, that bare mountain top. No sound was heard beyond the wind through the branches, and the soft sounds of the man's breath.

"So you have come" the man stated without opening his eyes. "My death has witness." It was as if he spoke to the air, none were present. But another male stepped out of the shadows.

"I have come" he answered in a strong voice, as if he was daring the kneeling figure to dispute his words.

The kneeling man did not answer. Then he spoke, but not to the newcomer, rather as if to himself.

"Someone once told me of a wish. It was a death wish, but not yet this person's time. A kind of foreseeing. This person told me of a wish to die beneath the cherry blossoms under a full moon." He paused for a moment and seemed to smile. "It is a good wish."

The other man did not answer, appearing to wait for the kneeling one to continue.

The wind whistled through the blossoms of the trees, sighing forlonrnly.

"Do it" he said.

A sudden glimpse of silver, a blurring downwards movement, the falling blossoms disturbed in their descent. And then, silence. A new soul will make the journey to the mountains. The mist is dense.

I woke slowly, remembering the dream of last night. It had been a long time since I dreamed of such things. A long time since I dreamed of him and my years as a soldier for the Minamoto. Why had I forgotten him, that strange man in the mountain. Although, not really that strange since his name was known throughout Japan. Perhaps it meant something, perhaps his journey had come to an end, and he had reached the sky he sought.

But I cannot dwell on such things. The animals must be fed and my grandchildren awakened. I am old now, and it has been many years since I first met that man. Many years and many sorrows.

"Grandpapa, grandpapa! Wake up!" a young voice calls. The old man at the window starts up as if he had been dreaming. A young girl is at his knees, pulling at his pantlegs. She is small, with cheeks still chubby with baby fat and hair just long enough for a perky pony tail. The small figure in the orange dress looks up at the old man demandingly.

"You told Sora-kun that you would tell her a story if she got up really early. You told Sora-kun." The old man smiled down at her.

"That I did Sora, but wouldn't you rather wait until all your siblings are up and have finished their chores, so you won't have to worry about them?" She pouted. It was a leading question and she knew it.

She scampered away to awaken her brothers, most lilely in a disturbingly abrupt way that she would pay for later. Shouts could be heard from the other room, and the old man sighed. She had jumped on them in her hurry.

She rushed back in with two boys following her at a slower pace while rubbing their eyes and protesting her energy.

The chores were done at a record speed, but he had them go back over them to ensure they were done well. All were eager for his stories, even some of the older children crowded into his tiny hut as he arranged himself on the tatami mats.

"Well you all seem to have been good children today. Such a rare treat" he paused at their sudden protests.

"Oh what's this? You all wish to speak?" he stopped for effect. Sora immediately poked the two sitting next to her and commanded silence. Then she looked at him with wide adoring eyes, and he winked at her.

"Hmm now, which story should I tell today?"

There was an immediate commotion as everyone began to shout out their favorites.

"The Peach Boy"

"No the White Dog"

"I want the Moon Princess"

The little orange-clothed girl glared darkly at their outbursts. But before it could come to blows, the old man spoke.

"Today, I am going to tell you a story you have not heard before. It is a story of a princess," the boys groaned, "a samurai who was once a poor herd boy with his magic sword" the girls groaned this time as the boys cheered, "an evil king and an impassable bridge. I am going to tell you the story of the Weaving Princess and the Herd Boy."

There was dead silence as the crowd of young listeners gazed at the old man intently, almost leaning towards him in an effort to better hear the story.

"Mukashi mukashi" he started, and then stopped. "But perhaps some of you are to young to hear this story?" There were immediate protests, and he laughed, "All right, all right." He repositioned himself, cleared his throat a few times, and when he was completely sure that his audience was completely focused on him, he began again.

"Mukashi mukashi there was a young princess. But she was not an ordinary young woman of royalty. No. She was a sky princess. And she spent her days, not playing amongst the stars and gamboling through the heavens as one would think, but rather hard at work weaving. For that was her job. She wove the gossamer clouds that were spread throughout the sky in a delicate quilt. This made her father, the sky king, very happy. For it meant that he could focus all of his attention on his kingdom's politics. He was a good king, and he did not mean to make his daughter unhappy, but her work was so helpful that he soon forgot that it meant she was holed inside all day. Fortunately, the princess was sweet of temper and innocent at heart, and she did not mind the long days inside for it meant that her father was happy, and he never demanded more than she gave.

However, dark times soon fell on this happy family. His evil brother was jealous of his sibling's power and covetous of his kingdom. He was constantly smoldering and boiling over himself with plots and schemes. He convinced himself that he deserved what his brother held. That is why, one day, full of blue skies and balmy air, he snuck into the castle of the sky, and placed a small amount of fine powder in his brother's drinking cup. Just enough, for it was the strongest and most deadly of poisons. Made from acathia pollen, it sped through the blood stream and stopped the heart between one breath and the next."

"He doesn't die does he" one of the younger girls asks. Horrified.

Before the old man could find a suitably censored answer, the boy next to her says, "Well of course he does baka. What do you expect, that he drinks the poison and magically continues living. Even though his heart has stopped?"

The girl scowls at him, but settles down.

"Now, as I was saying, it was the strongest and most deadly of poisons, and when the good king drank from it, he fell straight to the floor, dead. But because it was not yet the time that the gods had ordained for him to die, his spirit did not make the journey to the mountains. It stayed, and it watched as his brother took control and brought thunder and dark skies to his once happy kingdom. But the most unhappy of all, was the poor weaving princess. Not only had she lost her father, but now she was commanded to stay in her small chamber working from dawn to long past the sun had set and creating more and more clouds. And yet the new king was never happy. It was always,

"You're so slow!" or "Why isn't there more" and even "this is poor quality! Are you telling me your father put up with this laziness!"

So the princess wept as she worked, and she suffered through his tirades. But as time wore on, she began to shrivel away. Her body became thinner and thinner as her hair began to lose its luster and her eyes its sparkle. Finally she fell sick and could not work at all. The king was exasperated, but he realized she needed a break. So he gave her a holiday.

She used that day to gambole and frolic among the water lilies found only on the small stream of the Milky Way. It was at the edge of the king's territories and close to the land of the star king, but she did not care. Her troubles were gone for a time, and her tired hands could rest.

As she sat on the banks combing her hair, she was startled by a voice behind her.

"Pardon me, but could I rest beside you as my sheep graze along the banks?"

"It's the herd boy!" the girls in the old man's audience suddenly shrieked.

"And do you know what this means?" the old man asked them. They shook their heads. "This means it is time for our mid-day meal. And I am hungry" he told them as he began to get up. The children begged him to go on. Just a little further, lunch could wait a few minutes more, they pleaded.

"But stories are always better on a full stomach" he told them as he began to shuffle towards the main house. "Come along. I hear there are noodles today."

I laughed as I looked at their delighted faces. So easily pleased at the promise of their favorite edible. I suppose I was looking forward to it as well. It was still too easy to remember a time when there was not enough time to eat. When we were all rushing forward into battle, even on an empty stomach. I do not think I will ever forget the feeling. I will not ever forget the feeling of purging one's stomach at the sight of a battlefield, even with nothing in one's stomach at the time. It was not a pretty sight. It was not a good time. So much death and destruction, so many angry calls and despairing cries. Horses screaming as swords clanged together. There are some who relish battle. Who love the sight of armies marching against each other and banners flying as declarations of rank are shouted out between the two. These are usually the first to die, and if they live, rarely do they keep their feelings of love.

As soon as the children had finished cramming as much as they could into their stomachs without choking. They were at the old man's side again, young Sora at the lead.

"Grandpapa, what happens next?" she demanded, hands on her tiny hips and face scrunched up in a scowl. The image of her mother, he thought fondly.

"Now where was I? Ah yes, she saw the young herd boy behind her. But instead of being afraid, for she had never seen a young man so handsome and yet so ragged, she let him stay. And they struck up conversation about various things, and soon found that they had much in common. So much that they found they liked each other's company to want to continue to be together."

"Yuck" whispered a young boy at the back of the crowd.

"Yes, well" the old man shrugged. "Anyways, the princess decided that she did not want to go back to the castle where her evil uncle made her slave the days away. But this was not to be, for as soon as the last glimmerings of sunlight left the sky, the evil king and forcibly dragged her away to the castle, despite the protests of the herd boy.

Now this herd boyt was a very brave young man, and he knew what he had to do. He had to storm the castle and rescue his lady love. And for that he needed a sword.