Sweat beaded on his forehead as he bolted forward on his futon
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he bolted forward on his futon. His breathing came in great rents, and he did his best to get it under control, lest he wake his master and upset the man.
He had seen blood in his sleep. A lot of blood. It had coated his hands and stained his clothing, even splattered itself onto his face. He still felt the warmth of the crimson liquid all over his body, and it frightened him to no end.
'Why was there blood on my hands?' he wondered, his small and lithe form trembling. 'Why? What does it mean?'
A small sob escaped him at that moment, tears threatening to overwhelm him and spill down his cheeks, like his fear caused him to shake. He did not want to cry and be afraid. He was a grown boy, and grown boys did not cry because of fear and bad dreams.
As he sat there, trembling and fighting back his tears, strong and gentle arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a rare embrace. His mentor was awake.
However, his sensei spoke no words. The older man just held him, but it was enough. Slowly, the small child relaxed, and his tears abated. The dream receded into nothingness, and he fell back to sleep, safe and secure in the arms of a man who, he believed, would be the only family he would ever have.