-Chapter 2-
Intro - Part 2
The next clap of thunder snapped him out of his reverie; he straightened his now soaked suit and stretched his shoulders back, rolled them in their joints. Another flash of lightning reminded Soul of his quest. The place in his dreams he knew was out there. Clicking his tongue, the haggard war horse trotted gently towards him.
The constant running was having a visible effect; the burly rippling muscles were reduced and replaced with the sinews of stress and the once shining coat was now dull from lack of care. Soul mounted his horse tiredly, his leg only just making it over the large beast. A worn, light brown leather saddle caught him and held him in a familiar embrace.
The coarse woolen traveling coat hid Soul's suit as he wrapped it tight, knowing that neither of them would survive another chase as intense as the last. Government Ashigaru were turning up everywhere, not even the most rural taverns were as safe as they once were. He chuckled lightly, a rumble in his chest causing him to cough.
He never thought the state would spend this much money to find him, he didn't believe he was that large an affront to their dignity as he was deemed. Head hung low, hood pulled up and arms drawn close he gently taps the horse and they start lumbering forward. It seems as though time stood still, their mutual exhaustion sapping their strength and sense of time. Uniform stamping snapped them out of their daze, and they both tense, adrenaline began to surge through their veins.
Soul kept moving, hoping against hope that they were just farmers who'd pay them no heed. A cruel god smiles as the signature Ashigaru uniform emerges from the mist of the dark, abandoned road. Toride and Soul do their best to shrink themselves, both begging that they aren't asked for papers. Fortunately the Ashigaru seemed to be in a rush, as jogging past them the group of ten ignored them completely. Their grey cotton cloaks rippled in the blissful wind, the old road softening the clacks of the wooden sandals as the straw hats run over them.
Soul sighed in relief, murmuring to his horse, "That was close, if they had stopped us…" Neither of them needed, nor wanted Soul to finish that sentence. As the softened footsteps faded from hearing, they sunk back into their daze. The soft rocking of the horse lulled Soul deeper into his trance and his dreams returned to the field.
There is an open field, extending further than the eye can see. Golden grass grows tall, swaying softly under the gentle zephyrs moving amongst them. Surrounding the plains are tall, sleeping mountains. Cold rock and grimy snow are blurred by the haze of dust that lingers over everything. The musty scent of pollen fills the lungs, the glowing mist warming them from the inside as the bright but gentle sun throws soft beams of light through the cloudy ceiling, and the soft clouds laze back on the blue ocean above, wrapping themselves around noise and disturbance, calming the scene.
A quiet orchestra creaks under the grass, the crickets' ensemble untraceable. A piano sits in the centre, out of place yet belonging more than anything else. The dark mahogany hood is lifted as though it was recently played yet the shine is covered in dust. The keys still are covered by the heavy lid which was locked shut…
A loud neigh woke Soul up; they were reaching another small village. The road was visibly worn by the ages of use and the name of the village was long forgotten, the mossy sign clinging desperately to its rusty nail.
Perhaps this was where they could lose themselves, thought Soul hopefully, but he soon remembered that this was where the Ashigaru came through recently. As they wandered through the ancient village Soul noticed that the fresh wanted posters still held him in his old uniform: a white, charming smile that drew your eyes to his mouth whilst the deep red eyes pulled you back up; a strong, chiselled jaw held his mouth and then the beautiful scar that tore through it all.
A pang of jealousy rose through him as he saw who and what he used to be.
Soul hadn't realised quite how long he had been staring at the poster, nor had he noticed the slight sneer that he had developed, what he had noticed though was that the villagers had started to stare.
That was what shook him out of his jealous reverie and made him pull the cloak a little tighter. He asked the closest villager where the stable was but was met with only a blank stare as though the peasant hadn't realised he had been spoken too.
Asking again more sharply provoked a nervous, stuttered answer but an answer nonetheless. The stable was housed behind the inn, perhaps not the wisest choice, Soul mused, yet a stable was better than nothing and he slid delicately off his horse whilst keeping firm hold of his saddle. The fresh muck that coated the floor steamed in the cold evening air, Soul held his breath before breathing the musty scent of the familiar woollen cloak.