More daily stuff, this time based off of "To murmur name upon name". I kinda wanted to do something along the lines of Issun practicing brush strokes in secret from Ammy, so here we are.
Name upon Name
Sitting in front of the fire, Issun stared across it to the wolf lying down on the other side. The wind in Taka Pass had calmed down to almost nothing, but the faraway churns of the windmill of the Gale Shrine gave constant, comforting ambiance to the night. Normally they would not stop for the night, as the god wolf was too determined to rest. Usually then Issun would bury himself in her fur and go to sleep there. Now, though, she needed to regain her strength after the long battle with Orochi. They were heading to the capital, and that was a busy place after all. Even the goddess Amaterasu would have trouble keeping up in that place.
She was asleep now. Every now and then a flower would bloom around her body, signifying her godliness and a rejuvenation of her strength. Issun was interested, but he wasn't paying attention. In his mind he was going over the names of the brush techniques, rolling them over in his head, memorizing the essence of the brush strokes and how they worked in real life. He began to murmur them quietly to himself, all nine that they had restored so far. They were still missing four strokes. Thinking back to his lessons with his grandfather, he tried to recall the remaining brush techniques.
He desired to see and learn them greatly, but he could not progress until he had mastered what he had seen first. Drawing out Denkomaru, he detached the pommel to create a separate paint brush. Dipping it lightly in ink, he tentatively brought the brush to eye level.
Very carefully he drew a small circle around a blade of grass. The blade wiggled and glowed for a second, but it quickly lost its light and remained nothing but a dark stem in the valley. Grumbling lowly, he tried again. The grass glowed longer this time, and he thought he saw it grow a little, but nothing more. Frustrated that he could make a small flower from air but not have a blade of grass bloom, he drew the circle again, angry and impatient this time, the stroke thick and messy.
The blade of grass did not twitch. Sighing harshly, Issun slumped down into a sulky slouch. From across the fire Ammy shifted in her sleep. Issun kept quiet for a while after that, not wanting to rouse her. Then he dipped Denkomaru's pommel into the ink again, and gazed up at the sky.
The night was dark, the only light coming from the full moon and the small stars twinkling billions of ages away. Raising his paint brush, Issun dotted at an empty spot in the sky, not expecting anything to happen.
To his shock, a single golden star shone out from the simple inky dot. Twinkling momentarily at him, it raced across the sky in a great leap of joy, happy to be alive for the short moments it had.
Issun stood up, jaw open wide. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he struggled to believe that what he had just seen was real and not a dream. Indeed, that star was a fresh, true product of his own brush. Ammy was still fast asleep; it couldn't have been anyone else but him. Sitting back down, he stared at his brush in awe. How could he create a shooting star when he couldn't make a blade of grass bloom? Creating something out of nothing was much more difficult than building off of something that was already there. Then again, he did know the basics of the rejuvenation technique, and he had been practicing. Creating stars was simply a shoot-off of Yomigami's power. He shouldn't be that surprised.
But still, it intrigued him. Gazing into the heart of the fire before him, he dipped his brush in the ink pot, and drew a line from the fire straight up. Just a little one.
A blast of heat and flame shot up, washing their corner of Taka Pass in orange and yellow. Barely able to contain his yelp, Issun fell backwards, dropping the brush in the grass. The fire crept back down to its normal state within seconds. Still, Issun felt overwhelmed by the heat and power that had flowed from his own brush. Righting himself, he put the pommel back onto Denkomaru and quietly sheathed his sword. Lying down on the grass, the wandering poncle could hardly contain his excitement. He was learning faster now than he ever had with his grandfather.
Dreaming of the great, powerful, and beautiful things each brush stroke possessed, Issun eagerly lusted for the day he could see and perform them all. There was such beauty to the brush that he wanted to know and learn, from the first to last stroke. The poncle fell asleep, a giddy smile on his face.
The wolf god stared at her glowing friend. Little did he know that she had observed him with one eye open the entire time, watching as he had successfully progressed in the art. Opening her other eye and raising her head, she watched as Issun's glow faded to a dim flicker in his sleep. Smiling slightly down at him, she curled back up with a happy and decisive sniff, tail brushing up in front of her nose to hide it.
She knew that he was not who he said he was, but she also knew that he was going to become so much more than he pretended to be.