A biting fog wrapped
itself around the swordsman,
blurring his vision,
making him go by his feet's
memory of summers passed.
Lightly they touched ground –
cat paws in the snow, leaving
minimal traces,
just careful, clean impressions
on the fragile skin of the Earth.
Wanderer and foe
danced till water, sweat and blood
blended into one.
The fog, cunningly
cast by his opponent, cleared –
he hadn't dared trust
his errable mind, but feet
had held him safely on track.
As the fog lifted,
the Sun illuminated
glimmering droplets
in silver, diamond and gold,
studding loose hair and torn clothes.