A/N: This is my own little contribution to the wandering years saga. If the character seems a little off to you, it's because Kenshin is more Battousai than Rurouni at this point. The story will be about him making the transition. Expect more chapters.
Making Peace
A soft breeze wafted through the trees, making a whistling sound as it blew through the branches and carried down pockets of autumn leaves. The forest canopy was filled with the twittering of birds. A small brook trickled not far away. Amidst this serenity, at the base of a large pine tree, sat a man of apparent youth, his eyes closed in deep meditation. A beam of sunlight shone off his bright red hair and lightly tanned skin. Then there was a sharp crack, as several of the leaves snapped suddenly in mid-air. The nearby birds panicked and flew off in all directions.
The air calmed, and the youth let out a sigh of deep sadness and frustration. "Tomoe…" In the chaos of war, meditation had focused his mind and allowed him to continue on despite his sorrow, but now it only made him focus on old memories, as he contemplated the path his life would now take.
A high-pitched scream sounded in the distance, and without further thought Kenshin grabbed his sword and began running towards the commotion. The situation took only seconds to analyze: Three women and several children huddled atop a wagon, cowering behind two men armed with only farm implements to fend off the approaching band of robbers.
"Tatsumi! Stay back!" One of the farmers yelled.
Kenshin felt anger course through him, filling his eyes with molten fire.
"To think, after we fought so hard…after all the men I've killed…so little has changed…"
With a fierce cry, he charged, and was again Battousai, felling the marauders right and left like paper dolls.
With a final, aerial stroke, the last man fell, and he turned stiffly towards the family he had saved. The farmers trembled, but did not lower their implements, nor did the women come out of hiding. In the back of the wagon a baby began crying. He regarded them with a blank expression for a few moments, only then realizing that he hadn't sheathed his sword. He did so, the ironic thought crossing his mind that he was no less dangerous with it out, and waited for the men to realize he hadn't come to kill them.
The two farmers, one elderly with salt and pepper hair, the otherskinny and youthful, stared at him blankly, their mouths open in fearful awe.
"Well…" he finally asked, "Are you alright? Do you need assistance?"
"Y-you killed them."The younger man stammered. "You killed them all."
Kenshin unsheathed his sword several inches in response, and the older man fell to the ground in a deep bow. "Please Samurai-sama, spare my son. He meant no insult."
Kenshin sighed and angledthe sword so that the reversed-edge caught the light. "It is a sakabatou. You and your family should leave before these men wake up." Looking sadly at their fearful posturing, Kenshin gave up on any hope of a thank you and turned back into the forest in the direction from which he had come.
"How is a hitokiri to help people, or even survive in this era?" He thought miserably. His experiences thus far had only served to reinforce the knowledge of how little he belonged among ordinary people. He had served as a weapon of terror and intimidation—it was not easy to change.