*****
Flower Child
*****
Kyuzo never ate with the other samurai—indeed, going by observed evidence it was somewhat doubtful that he ate at all—so dinner was an excellent time to discuss him.
Unfortunately, being the only time the other six samurai were together in the same space all day, dinner was also an excellent time to discuss many other things, like how Heihachi's ballista project was coming along and if Shichiroji saw any hope at all of constructing a functioning defense against swarms of Mimizuku. Katsushiro first tried to wait the other conversations out, since Kambei tended to get testy when he was interrupted in the middle of important things, but when he saw the bottom of his rice bowl and the debate of falling rocks vs falling logs as Nobuseri deterrent continued with no end in sight, he spoke up.
"Has anybody noticed Kyuzo-dono acting, er, unusual lately?"
Silence fell over the room.
"Unusual in what way?" Gorobei asked. He looked almost ready to crack a joke, but a glance at Kambei, who had been interrupted just as he made a closing flourish in favor of logs, made him fall silent.
"Well, he seems…happy."
The blood drained from Gorobei's face. Even Kambei's eyes widened. Over their bowls of rice, Shichiroji and Heihachi exchanged glances, and Katsushiro imagined one or the other of them must be thinking as he would have in their places and making a mental note to make a head-count of all the farmers.
"I saw him in the meadow overlooking the canyon. He was…" Katsushiro couldn't quite bring himself to say 'picking flowers', even though it was true, so he said instead, "Whistling."
"Whistling, hmm." Kambei stroked his beard. "What tune?"
"I-I didn't recognize it, sensei." He wasn't certain what the older samurai was getting at—something brilliant, surely. It was good to have the mystery being worked on by other, more capable minds.
Kikuchiyo tilted his head in a whining of gears. "Well? You think something's' wrong with him?"
"Or maybe something's right," Heihachi mused. "Being that serious all the time can't be healthy."
Shichiroji nodded, but he still looked concerned for the farmers.
Kambei's beard-stroking continued. "Just whistling? Is that all?"
Katsushiro didn't have the courage to contradict him.
The older samurai nodded, mostly to himself. "It's likely unimportant. It stands to reason Kyuzo-dono has depths we haven't seen yet. If that incident with Manzo has taught us anything, it's that we all do."
#
Katsushiro escaped Rikichi's house after dinner and wandered pensively into the forest. He had hoped speaking to the other samurai might clear things up, but he was no less confused than before and now he also felt vaguely that he had been made a fool of. And thiking about it didn't help either of those things.
He wondered if he had hidden depths no one else had seen yet. Gorobei had once told him, in the somewhat stilted tone Gorobei used when he was trying to be diplomatic, that 'he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve.' So perhaps not.
Oh, well. It wasn't as if he wanted hidden depths, anyway, if they were as strange as Kyuzo's. Or as dark as Kambei's or Heihachi's, or as shameful as Kikuchiyo's, or…no, he couldn't say he wanted them.
Not at all. Not one bit.
All right, maybe a little.
He had the feeling Kirara would like it if he did.
Even so, it was unlikely he would suddenly develop dark and compelling secrets while walking in the woods. He could, however make his way to the flower meadow and continue his sword progress. If the tastes of the other peasant girls were good examples (which they were, he was certain, for peasant girls, though he wasn't so sure they were good examples of what worked on Mikumari), flashy moves with a katana went a long way to winning a girl's heart.
And even if that wasn't true, at least he wouldn't leave the meadow any more confused than he already was. The past few weeks had taught him to count his blessings. And to lower his expectations.
As he neared the meadow, he spotted a flash of red between the trees. His first emotion, rather than the expected fear, was irritation—damn it! He had wanted to use the meadow this evening, and now it was occupied! And Kyuzo had already had his chance to walk around and whistle and pick flowers and whatever else!
Then wisdom struck, and on the heels of frustration came caution.
Katsushiro peered around a thick trunk and caught the glint of dying sunlight on steel. Caution was indeed good, then. It was not a prudent idea to startle or annoy Kyuzo when he had his swords in hand.
The red-coated samurai stood still as a rusted Mimizuku, although with a good deal more grace. One sword's blade was extended before his eyes.
An orange-and-gold butterfly fluttered over his wrist, down the length of the sword's hilt, to rest on the edge of the blade's razor-fine edge.
For a moment, Kyuzo was still.
Then the blades flashed, both of them in rapid succession, and down among the meadow flowers fell four quarters of golden butterfly wing.
Katsushiro started back to the village.
