Kaoru runs directly to the well, studiously keeping her back to the house as she dips her hands into a bucket and splashes water over her hot cheeks. Sufficiently cooled, she cups a second handful of water and drinks deeply, hoping the cold water will still her racing heart. Then she scolds herself for fleeing. The samurai had needed healing, and she had done nothing improper by helping him as Dr. Gensai had instructed. She is samurai, she is a Kamiya, and no man should be able to chase her from her own guest room! She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and resolutely walks back to the house. She settles into a meditative pose on the porch outside the young samurai's room, determined that when he exits she will greet him with the calmness and grace expected of an adjunct master of the sword.

She has been in Kyoto for almost an entire season now; the early summer rains have begun to recede into hazy, humid late summer days, but she is no more used to its customs then when she first arrived. In Edo, thanks to her father's influence, she had been free to go where she pleased, wearing hakama and a hastily-tied ponytail, free to train and roughhouse along with the boys at her father's dojo. It had not mattered that she was a little wild, because her father allowed it, the reputation of her family enough to keep her safe.

Kyoto is different. Here, amongst so many strangers and commoners in the Emperor's city, the expectations of a samurai daughter are more traditional. She is expected to wear a furisode, arrange flowers and pour tea. She blushes to remember her first audiences with ladies here, and their gentle lamenting of her father's neglect of her education. She had been hard pressed to check her temper, to maintain an elegant façade, when she had wanted to shout that she was a swordsman, and her father had never, ever neglected her.

She had wept, when he had asked her if she'd made new friends. Wept and begged him to confine her to the manor, where at least she could practice the sword in peace. He had stroked her hair and promised her they would not be in Kyoto for long.

"If all goes well, Daughter-mine, we will be back in Edo before the rains return. But for now, you must try your best to fit in. There are many opportunities here for us both to better ourselves, yes?"

Her father has been understanding. She may wear hakama within their manor's compound while she practices her kata. He arranges for her to brush up on her more traditional lessons, tea service and floral arranging and fan dancing, useless things that she had neglected in favour of learning to run a samurai household and practicing her father's sword style. When her mother died, Kaoru had become her father's entire world, and he, hers; every step she has taken has been for him. Now, here in Kyoto, he needs her to be a proper samurai daughter, so she tries her best for him.

Karou had returned from her tea lesson yesterday afternoon and dismissed her guards at the gate. She had been hoping to meet her father there, and as soon as the clansmen were inside the manor she had indulged in a short walk. Kaoru had just rounded the corner when she noticed a slumped figure against the west wall: a young man, surely no older than herself, dressed in a blue kimono and grey hakama, with two heavy swords at his hip. The swords had given her pause, but when she saw his sunburnt skin and badly chapped lips, compassion had overridden all reservations. She'd had a nearly impossible time getting him to the bathhouse, her furisode allowing only the smallest of steps. She'd hiked it up around her knees to run to the well, bared her wrists in a wanton display of impropriety, even forced him to strip down to the waist in front of her. Whatever good will her tea lessons may have earned her will surely be erased when he tells his lord about the strange doctoring of Kamiya Koshijiro's daughter.

She blushes, remembering the way he'd gaped at her, blinking at her suggestion. Propriety had been the furthest from her mind; he was ill and needed her help. She'd pulled his arm around her shoulders without a second thought, brushed his hair out of his face as though he were her brother or husband. She sighs. Living in Kyoto is like walking the edge of a knife; one false step and a black reputation will be yours forever.

By the time Dr. Gensai had calmed her hysterics over the unconscious man in the bathhouse, two clansmen had carried him to the guestroom and dressed him in her father's old yukata. The kindly doctor had allowed her into the room to assist him. Together they'd prepared the balm to heal the samurai's skin, and while she waited for Dr. Gensai's instructions, she had stolen glances at the sleeping young man. Kaoru has spent her entire life in the company of men who came from all over Japan to learn her father's sword style, but she has never seen a man who looks like this young samurai.

"He is an unusual looking man, is he not, Kaoru-chan?" Dr. Gensai had mused.

"I wonder where he is from?" she'd asked softly.

"Somewhere cold I should think, otherwise he would not walk about in this heat with no hat."

Kaoru smiles to herself, remembering Dr. Gensai's joke. It is true that the samurai looks as if he is from another world. His colouring is uncommonly strange, his hair the colour of fire, his skin almost as pale as hers. He is small and slight, only a half hand taller than her, but handsome, even with his face sunburnt the colour of cooked crab. She'd noted his strange, beautiful, violet coloured eyes when they'd dazedly met her own. She remembers the weight of his arm around her shoulders, the way he had fallen against her as she'd led him to the bathhouse, and water streaming down the planes of his strong chest and shoulders.

Kaoru huffs softly and gives herself a shake, fixing her eyes on the porch where she waits for the young samurai. Her father had been none too pleased when he had discovered what she'd done. Propriety aside, she had adopted another stray, another un-lady-like habit she must now abandon. The Kamiya dojo had always been open to any creature who required its shelter, but these are different times, and there are many in Kyoto who cannot be trusted. Her father had reiterated, as she pressed her forehead into the tatami, that she is not to feed ragged children or invite old ladies in for tea, and she is absolutely forbidden from stowing strange samurai in their bathhouse. Kaoru had begged his forgiveness, and he had sighed remorsefully, gently lifted her chin.

"What is done is done, Kaoru. I will interview this boy tomorrow."

He had patted her head then, and tucked his sword into his belt. Her father does not tell her where he goes in the evenings, and Kaoru does not ask. As she does every evening, she had merely pulled the indigo ribbon from her hair and handed it to him. Their special promise, kept since she was a small child. So long as her father has her ribbon, he will have to come home to return it to her. Kaoru had woken that morning to find it folded neatly atop her training clothes.

The shoji opens softly, and Kaoru snaps her attention back to the task at hand. The young samurai exits the guestroom, casts his eyes about and finds her kneeling on the porch.

"Ah, Kamiya-sama," he says, flowing into a bow so gracefully it doesn't seem fair. Before she can scramble to her feet he raises his face humbly. "I am very grateful to you for your assistance," he tells her, "I shall always remember your kindness and the hospitality of your home."

He keeps his eyes respectfully downcast, and Karou is glad for it; she is sure her face is just as red as his. "O-osamurai-san!" she stammers, "It is nothing! Please!"

"I will take my leave. Again, I thank you." Before he can gather his sword and get to his feet, Karou lunges forward, blocking his path.

"Forgive me Osamurai-san, but my Honoured Father wishes to have an audience with you before you leave. I must humbly ask that you remain with us awhile longer."

He pauses, and takes a moment to stare out over the courtyard. It seems to Kaoru that he is tracing the path of the sun, weighing his options. "Forgiv-" she begins, but he is already speaking.

"I would be honoured to meet Kamiya Koshijiro-sama."