Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. I'm just someone with an overactive imagination, so please don't sue. :)
Baiting
He awoke to silence.
The morning light, white and harsh, streamed through the thin windows. He peered through bleary eyes and sat up abruptly. Chilly air brushed across his body, chasing away remnants of sleep from the night before. For the first time that day, he noticed he could only hear and sense his own slow breathing and the ki rippling beneath his skin. Somewhere in the deep confines of his mind, he knew, and one glance at the unoccupied side of the futon confirmed his suspicions.
Drawing in a breath, Kenshin darted over to the door when the sound of crinkling paper reached his ears. A folded note had been carelessly shoved beneath the door, a corner of it bent from the force exerted upon it. He ripped it away from its place with more intensity than intended and slid the door open in one fluid motion. A gust of icy wind stalled him from running outside, but he was able to feel whomever had left the note nearby. The messenger's ki, small as it was, flared with determination and a hint of hostility. A boy, perhaps. Only a child. Fresh footprints in the soft snow leading to a pine tree betrayed the chosen hiding spot, but Kenshin closed the door then. There was no point in going after him.
He had read the note, convinced yet needing to be unconvinced of her absence. It gave him vague instructions, but it was frighteningly clear about one thing.
Battousai.
We have her.
He slid his katana and wakizashi, long unused for purposes such as the ones he had in mind, through his sash. His hands clenched and unclenched with anticipation. The note had been tossed on the floor close to the futon in a brief fit of frustration. There would be resistance, he imagined. But it did not matter, it never had.
That moment they shared by the fire, wrapped in blankets and in each other's embrace, was recent. But through the course of the morning, the finer details from the evening gradually grew hazy as if he were recalling them from a distant dream or a fragmented memory. Tiny slivers of it arose here and there: the brush of her dark hair against his face, the faint traces of her perfume, the watchful look in her pearl eyes—sometimes sorrowful, but mostly indecipherable. They all taunted him as he prepared to find her, to take her back. He had promised to protect and save her from any more suffering. And he intended to stay true to his word.
Kenshin reached down to grab the note before exiting the small, rural house. It was crumpled mercilessly in his hand as he moved forward into the blinding winter world.
I will protect my wife.
Author's Note:
This is just something I wrote to help me ease into creative writing. I don't have much experience writing, but I do it because I enjoy it. Thank you for reading, and please leave a review! I'd like to know what you think and how to improve my writing!