Hello everyone. It's been a while since I posted anything Kenshin, so here we are. This takes place when Kenshin is about twelve or thirteen. No idea where this came from, just a nice little piece between shishou and deshi.

Kenshin isn't mine and Hiko scares me too much.

Softness and Swordsmen

The sound of sharpened steel meeting wood rang throughout the small hallow, echoing off the walls of the cottage and oven house. Seijuro Hiko sighed as he pulled the last batch of bowls from the hearth, moving them to a small counter where they could rest. As he replaced them with cups yet to be fired, he winced as the sounds became more dull than piercing. Ears prickling as he focused on the happenings outside, he gave a gruff shout.

"More speed, less brute force! You're not beating tatami!"

Adding more wood to the fire, he gave a slight nod at the light patter of feet on dirt, the whir of disturbed air and the 'ting' of steel meeting wood. Much better, maybe now his deshi wouldn't collapse from exhaustion after his katas. Standing, Hiko moved the other side of the oven house, pulling down a bag of fine clay powder and tearing open the top. The emphasis of Hiten Mitsurugi was speed, not force. What was the point of these elaborate moves if you didn't have the energy to perform them? Kenshin had to understand that if he wanted to master it.

And he has to master it. It was necessary for the boy to grow strong, both spiritually and physically. It was a rotten world, and it took the soft as easy prey. Kenshin was far too often soft. He daydreamed and babbled on about useless ideals that simply couldn't come to be with Japan in its pitiful state. He needed to be grounded. He needed harsh discipline and instruction. He needed the brutal training of a swordsman. It ensured his survival.

As Hiko worked he could hear the boy begin to slow, relapsing back onto slamming the katana into the wood. That boy had to have it drilled into his head, didn't he? Slapping a ball of clay down onto the wheel, Hiko growled over his shoulder.

"Faster, dammit!"

Once again the patter of feet on dirt sounded, this time mixing with grunts as his deshi pushed himself to new limits. Hiko pressed his hands to the clay, watching as it immediately began to mould to the shape his fingers directed it to. He had to guide it into something that could be considered useful. He smirked at the idea.

Just like Kenshin.

Why else would he have taken the boy in? 'Shinta' had been a scared, lost boy without a hope when he'd found him. Now, with a new name and a sword in his hand, he had a chance to become something human, if not a bit damaged. A shishou had to be harsh on his deshi, for his own protection and good. How could he leave a child, and yes he still was a child, to salvage for himself in this day of age? No, he would make him a swordsman if it killed him. Because if he didn't, the filth of the world would.

Hiko is snapped out of his thoughts at the silence that fills the hallow. He stops peddling the wheel, snarling. Rest was for the weak, Kenshin would work until his hands bled or he said stop! Slipping out of the oven house into the sunlight, he opened his mouth to snarl a smart remark when what he saw made him stop.

Kenshin was standing before the tree he had been practicing against, his katana held in front of him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as he stood stalk still. At first Hiko didn't understand. What could possibly have caused him to stop training and just stand there? Kenshin knew taking breaks without permission meant no dinner that night. But as Hiko blinked, he saw something that made his jaw drop.

There, at the very ha of the kissaki, fluttering its wings was a white butterfly. Kenshin stared at the tiny creature with wide eyes, slowly moving the blade towards him to take a closer look. The butterfly didn't seem to mind, but rather turned to face the boy. The two seemed to stare at each other, sizing each other up for what felt like an eternity. Hiko could hardly believe the boldness of the tiny creature as he watched what it did next.

The little butterfly began a steady trek down the mune, every so often flapping its wings as it moved closer to the boy. Kenshin and Hiko followed it with their eyes, fixed on its movements. Ever so slowly as to not startle the creature, Kenshin raised his right index finger and pressed it to the mune a few inches from the butterfly, staring in amazement as it climbed along his finger and rested on his hand, contently allowing its wings to droop.

As Hiko looked back at his deshi, he saw that the smiling focused expression upon his face was not of Kenshin the swordsman in training, but rather Shinta the curious child. As he watched the boy drop the katana and reach up with the pinky finger of his left hand and gently stroke the body of the butterfly, he sighed. Perhaps, just this once, he would let the boy be soft.

Aw. Kenshin and butterflies. Here's some quick translation.

deshi- Apprentice

shishou- Master

katas- Swords routines

ha- The very edge of the sharpened side of the blade

kissaki- The point of the blade

mune- The blunt side of the blade