Disclaimer: The Arcan Blades do not own Samurai 7. If we did, Mike can go be friends with everybody, Alexia would keep Heihachi and Shichiroji, Jade would have Kyuzo, and Patrick can learn how to slice a whole battleship's bridge with a single swish.

Ohayou, minna! Here is part two of the fic! Please read and review as always!

Elusive

A Samurai 7 fanfic

In Kohaku Village, there was not very much rice. A patch of fertile land in the middle of the desert way to many other villages, the rice cultivated there was precious. And this rice was still surrendered to Nobuseri every year, like every village does, all to save themselves from the wrath of the fearsome metal samurai. The people there were quiet people, like many farming villages, squeamish at the thought of battle and losing crops.

They did not yet have samurai like the other villages, as there had been no samurai to come their way as of yet, but they were not particularly afraid of the Nobuseri. As long as everybody knew who was in charge, they were all right. They had other crops, and food was somehow always enough even if the Nobuseri came to take the rice. So life in the village continued quietly.

She did not really think that the young man at the edge of the forest was a complete threat—no, not in that condition anyway. He was sand-ridden and dirty, and certainly wounded. Blood of his wounds had dried around him, though not so obvious through his red clothes. He must've tried to administer some medication of himself, and it was not done badly as in some travelers. He seemed to know what he was doing and his wounds were doing rather well.

It was not her intention to pull anyone out of the desert that afternoon—she had only come to the stream, like she did every day to get some water for the shop's needs. Still, she approached the young man in silent reverence. He had swords; she saw two of them. So he was a samurai. For a moment, she stopped several feet away, just looking at him. It was common knowledge that good samurai could tell when someone was coming close, and she did not want to seem like a threat. When he did not move from where he was standing by the glade, she dared to come closer.

He didn't seem like he was thinking very straight—judging by the way his eyes looked so glazed. She walked towards him slowly—and she realized now that there was a sword point aimed to her face. Her heart leapt to her throat. She should've know that it wasn't a good idea.

The young man looked exhausted, drained, but still rather fearsome in spite of it. She was rooted to where she stood, her heart hammering in her ribcage as he continued to keep the sword point to her face.

"Mi…yako…" he muttered as he aimed the sword at her.

She blinked, confused and still rather terrified. The capital? What about it? He said nothing else though, and the glazed look in his eyes returned. His energy was all but whittled away, but he was still standing. This only made him seem, to her, all the more dangerous. Someone that stubborn could be extremely deadly.

She was just considering backing away from him and leaving him to himself, when his arm dropped. The sword fell into the grass-littered earth, and he fell onto his knees, before falling facefirst into the earth.

For a full five minutes, she refused to move, too stunned by what just happened. And if she came any closer, he might try and slash her again. But the young man obviously needed some help, whether he liked it or not. So she decided, at least, that while he was unconscious—she'd do something about him, and then just leave him alone before he got around the mood to slashing her again. Hopefully, he would've been so tired that he would not remember seeing her either when he awakens.

The effort it would take for one young woman by herself to take a young man like Kyuzo all the way to the nearest stream in an attempt to resuscitate him from that condition was preposterous and very difficult no matter how heroic anyone would think it. So, being realistic about it, she brought a fast turtle and, once certain that he wasn't going to wake suddenly and slash her, brought him to the water's side.

Night was falling when they reached the creek. She looked at him for a moment, and decided although sleep was all fine and well for him—he looked very tired indeed—he looked severely dehydrated and he had to get some liquids or he'd be lost. Setting him on the grass by the water, she scooped up some of the clear water with her dipper and brought it to his lips, carefully letting the water trickle into his mouth.

It was with no great surprise to her when, after a few moments, his whole body tensed and his eyes began to open a fraction. She only watched him try to move his hand to one of his swords. She paused for a moment, holding the dipper of water still as well as holding her breath. His hand shook even as he gripped the handle of the sword, and she slowly began to ready herself to fly off at the first lift of the blade. But then another drop of water touched his lips, and his hand relaxed slightly from the sword. She let him drink in the rest of the water, and he slipped back into unconsciousness. She let out her breath. That was close.

Deciding to finish with tending to him quickly before he got even more suspicious, she made sure that his bandages were all right. They were done well, and she was certain that he was a man of the battlefield. He knew how to treat his own injuries well. After making sure that his wounds would heal well, she cleaned his face with a damp cloth, placed a container of water next to him and some food, and let him sleep. As night had settled, she made a fire. To move him to the village now was pointless—he would most likely want to leave as soon as he was awake.

She patted the past turtle nearby, letting it eat some grass. And then she turned and watched the samurai for a while as he slept. He was not the trusting type at all. He remained rigid, as though he was expecting to be pounced on by killers even as he was in deep slumber. Her eyes wavered to the swords. The scabbards were still sandy from where they lay near their master. She had removed them from him so that he would lie down comfortably. She took a long moment of consideration before she decided to take them into her hands.

He didn't seem to wake when she took the swords near him. Rising to her feet, she drew one of the blades out, and looked at them. The sword gleamed in the moonlight and she turned it in her hands. It was well-worn, but still in good condition. It just needed a sharpening. She glanced to the samurai who continued to sleep. He must've slain many before arriving here. She sighed and looked back at the sword. It won't do him much good to have such dulled swords. They would not stand in battle for so long.

Her father (may Kami rest his soul), had been a swordsmith. Once, when they lived in the city, her father made and sharpened the swords of the many samurai there. There was a lot of work there, especially when the war came. But when the war ended, the family decided to go back to their old farm in Kohaku village. The only sharpening her father ever did then was to sharpen the scythes of the farmers.

Her father had passed away now, but she had seen him sharpening swords of samurai countless times. She had followed after him, and was now the one who sharpened the scythes of the farmers. Perhaps now, she would mend this samurai's blades.

She raised the blade to the moonlight, and it gleamed brightly. She had better begin, then. So she went to the fast turtle, took the pack from its back, took out the sharpening stone, and knelt by the stream. She had work to do.

Author's note: Thus ends this installment. I know I haven't mentioned her name yet, but I'll get to it soon. Chapter three provides a midnight skirmish. Reviews, please!