3.

Awaking late in the morning, Hiko sniffed, running his hand up his chest, and laid there a moment, listening to the birds. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, realizing he had lain where he dropped, clothes and all. With a yawn, he rolled over to sit up and reached down to grab the sash tying his hakama on.

About to undo the knot, he stifled a yawn, and glanced towards his storage room.

Sitting there, blinking like a fledgling owl, hair puffed out like a black dandelion, was the girl.

He'd die before he'd admit he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of her sitting there on her billet, watching him. He barely had time to stop the yelp of surprise that threatened to escape and instead his jaw clicked audibly shut. He dropped his hand to the floor, pushing himself further upright and scowled.

"What are you looking at?" He growled, reaching up to jerk the tie in his hair out.

Her head dropped, avoiding his gaze, shoulders dropping. "Forgive me, shishou," that soft little whisper reached his ears. "I have to go..."

"What...?" he started.

Oh.

He groaned, slapping his hand over his eyes and running it down his face. Oh gods... this was going to be the end of him. He got up, moving to the little room and held out a hand. "C'mon," he said gruffly, beckoning her impatiently with his fingers. She tried to get up on her own, but her foot was now too swollen and unable to take any weight.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of remorse. He just beckoned again, lips curling down in disapproval. Finally she reached up and timidly took his hand in hers. He pulled her upright, then scooped her up.

Reflexively she grabbed his arm, gasping as pain shot through her foot.

His toire was a simple pit affair, rustic in the extreme, the basic squat style, no door necessary. Setting her down on the wooden floor, he stood up straight and folded his arms. The girl just looked up at him, one hand against the wall and all her weight on her left foot.

"Well?" he growled.

Not saying a word she simply pointed a finger down and twirled it, looking at him inquisitively. The meaning came through loud and clear. Looking upwards and heaving a sigh, Hiko turned around.

Someone had, at least, taught this child modesty, thank the gods for that. However, it still galled him that she had raided his home and tried to erase any presence that she had been there. Not to mention the fact she was staying in the hut with him. If it hadn't of been for that splinter in her foot, he would never have been able to trace where she had hid herself. There was that too. She was good at hiding, from most every one.

Except a master swordsman with an acute sense of tracking chi. Hiko smirked. He glanced at the furo, refilled from last night's use, noting the wet clothes she had been wearing still sitting there, and came to a decision.

"Done?" he asked.

Her barely there whisper reached his ear. "Yes, shishou."

Turning, he picked her back up, and as she settled on his hip she whispered, "Thank you, shishou."

With a scowl, he snorted in reply, walking back around to the front of the hut and set her down on the engawa.

"Sit," he said. She did so instantly and looked up at him with her large dark eyes. Fear, trepidation and bit of curiosity greeted his stern glare.

"Ground rules," he said. "I don't tolerate thieves, even little ones who are taking food because they're hungry. Understand?"

Her head dropped and she nodded, reaching down to toy with the edge of Kenshin's old robes.

"Ah ah!" he snapped, "Look up here!"

She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, "Yes, shishou."

"You're gonna work that theft off," he said. "Starting with the dishes." Then he added, "And I don't let anyone freeload here. Even children. You're gonna do chores, until you're well enough to go to the police station in the village. Got that?"

She dropped her gaze, staring at her feet, shoulders sagging. "Yes, shishou."

"What did I just say for you to do?" he asked again.

She looked back up at him again.

"That's better..." he grumbled.

Within moments he had her sitting on an upended bucket, elbows deep in water, washing up dishes. She didn't make a single bit of fuss about doing it as he looked around the hut for something else she could do that didn't require standing. Laundry was a definite yes, sweeping out the hut a no.

As his mind ticked off a do-to list, he stoked the irori fire, then refilled the pot with water. A lot of the basic chores required being able to walk, like fetching water, chopping wood. She might be able to make kindling, if she could handle the ax. He glanced at the irori again.

The firepit needed emptying as well, something he'd also have to do. He looked at the shelves of various pots he was working on in different stages of completion. Some needed carving, some needed glazing, others were completed.

He needed to make more ash glaze. A decidedly wicked smirk quirked the corner of his mouth. Now there was a nasty job someone could do sitting down. He finally put away his shikibuton and comforter, making room in the cramped hut. By the time he had finished the immediate chores, the little girl had completed the dishes.

She had just set the last item aside when Hiko appeared, glancing at her progress while he reached over to where he kept the rice stored. He scooped out a larger than normal amount. Getting ready to move, the girl looked up at him and held up her hands.

"Shishou?"

Glancing at her, he growled, "What?"

She just blinked, still holding her hands up and then looked pointedly at the rice.

"We'll eat as soon as this gets made and not a minute sooner," he said.

She looked at him, not unlike looking at an idiot, and in an exaggerated gesture of slumping her shoulders, pointed at the bowl and held her hands back up.

His eyes narrowed, his mouth curling down in a scowl. "What?" he demanded, handing her the bowl.

What happened next caused him to blink in surprise.

She suddenly beamed at him, her eyes nearly shutting, nose crinkling, as she gave him an infectious little grin. Then she turned towards the bucket of clean water. Scooping a goodly amount over the rice, she quickly swished it around, raising up a milky cloudy water and drained it off carefully into the other bucket. Then she repeated it several more times until the washed rice water ran clear.

Still grinning at him, she turned and held the bowl up.

Hiko's expression never changed as he took it back.

"Don't think for a minute that grin is getting you out of chores," he growled, turning towards the irori.

She had the temerity to actually giggle at him.

He shot a glare her way as he started the rice to boil. She had risen from where she sat and looked his way as she grabbed hold of a shelf to steady herself.

"See those two small kegs there, by the rice?" Hiko said. "There's katsuobushi and kombu in them. Get out enough for both of us and I'll make miso for breakfast."

She nodded her head, giving him a smile and turned around doing what he asked. Moments later, she held up clean bowl with the stock ingredients. He held out a hand, letting her grab on while she used him to hop closer to the fire pit.

"Can you chop up negi?" he gruffly asked.

She grinned and bobbed her head, whispering, "Yes, shishou!" She looked up at him as he set up the little pot for their miso. With a nod from him, she added what was in the bowl to the water, then sat and picked up the small bamboo ladle to stir it.

He let out a huff, shaking his head, then ducked outside a moment to retrieve the new spring onions from his garden. He shouldn't have be too surprised. Girls generally were trained earlier to cook food for the family. Grabbing a couple of the onions he also added a daikon; one ingredient to float, the other to sink in the miso, and headed back into the hut.

Hiko cleaned off the vegetables, then set a small chopping board and knife by her. She set to the cutting up of the radish and onions with enthusiasm. So she really could help cook meals. Hiko shook his head. This little creature, though she still had a deep fear of him, seemed perfectly happy to well, make him happy.

Much to his chagrin, Hiko found himself recalling when Kenshin had first come to the mountain to stay. Though very similar in size, the marked difference—gender aside-was quite obvious. Kenshin had been a traumatized orphan, losing his family, then his freedom to slavers followed by the raid that removed the only three people who had done anything to protect the boy. Kenshin had to be gradually coaxed out of his sub-serviant, almost grovelling shell, overcome survivor's guilt, and his initial fears. Of which there were many.

He knew why the girl had settled down, instinctively. He'd set down rules, made her understand the need to repay what she had taken and what she had to do to 'earn her keep.' A child needed discipline, it gave them boundaries and security. All this he had learned from his own master towards himself and again when raising his idiot of an apprentice.

Once Kenshin had overcome his issues, he'd literally bloomed under Hiko's severe, but fair, guidance. He'd given the boy what some would have seen as a brutal upbringing but at the same time, the boy had a Master to guide him, not only in swordsmanship but a figure of authority to help raise the boy up. He'd given Kenshin structure and a solid, stable, secure home. Besides, he was raising a swordsman, not a son.

He scowled, turning away. He was not going to do this again. Especially with a girl! What the hell was he even thinking? Definitely not happy that she was even on his mountain, much less his home. He determined that at the appropriate time he'd get her back into whatever authority it would be to take over her care and feeding.

Hiko glanced at her as she carefully added the vegetables to the now simmering dashi stock, setting the knife and board to one side. Picking the ladle back up to stir, he saw her flinch, and one hand went to grind a palm above her right eye. That was the side of her head with injury.

He sighed, picking the cutting implements up and she flashed a little smile at him, dropping her hand. She looked a little flushed and he kicked himself for not remembering it wasn't just the foot injury the girl was dealing with. He'd have to let her get some kind of rest between the work he had planned for her.

Letting her tend to the rice and miso, he stepped back out and over to his workshop, opening the fusuma and letting light flood into the space. It would be a good day to work on getting a new batch of ceramics made. He could have her prepare the wood ash for making his glazes. He stepped inside and inspected the pots he had made and confirmed he was low on his basic glaze base.

He itched to try out a few new ingredients to see if he could come up with a particular shade of green and of a soft cherry blossom pink. Those needed test pieces of pre-fired tiles and he smirked. There would be another little thing she could work on for him. Who knows... he mused, she might even like painting the little clay chips and thus keep herself out of his hair while he threw a new batch of saucers.

Mind made up, he returned to the hut.

By the time they had cleaned up from their breakfast and she had washed the second batch of dishes, the girl had definitely worn herself out. He refrained from saying anything about having no stamina to carry on, knowing it was the head injury causing her pain and fatigue. He'd have been relentless with Kenshin. He tried prodding gently, into getting any more information out of her about her past, but again ran into the roadblock called amnesia.

Leaving her sitting on the hut's tiny porch, he decided now was as good a time as any to go through his kenjutsu forms. Though no longer seeking any security commissions, he still kept up his own training. He wasn't a master of his sword style for no reason. Ducking into the hut he took off his two outer robes, leaving just the white juban and his hakama's. Even though the spring day was a bit chilly, he'd work up a proper sweat in no time.

He dropped to the floor, tying on his waraji's. The little girl, seeing his o-katana, shrunk away, looking at him and the overlong sword warily. He gave her a slight smirk. Just you keep remembering who's boss here, he mused.

"Nothing to worry about, on'nonoko," he said picking the sword up and rising. "Just sit there, don't move, and watch a Master Swordsman at work..."

As was his somewhat boastful nature, and because he actually had an audience, Hiko began talking his way through his exercises. Explaining the name of the moves and working up into the more complicated sequences. It took him a forty five minutes to get through the basic moves before he moved onto the complex ones.

He'd broken a good sweat, feeling pleased with himself for a very good work out and turned to see what his little audience thought of it all. He stopped dead in his track, jaw dropping, mouth slightly open. The girl had leaned over to her right, cushioning her head with one arm and was dead to the world.

"Really?" he grumbled, dropping his shoulders and sighing. "That was a fine workout if I say so myself..." He lifted the now sheathed o-katana. "Well at least you appreciate a master at work." He said to the sword and with a moue of disgust he entered the genken, untied his waraji's and went in to change clothes while he had a chance.

Coming back out he slipped into a pair of zori. Besides a clean pair of hakama, he'd also put on clean robes. The outer nagajuban having drawstrings at the wrists. There were also drawstrings at the cuffs of his hakama. He'd pushed the sleeves up past his elbows and cinched them down, exposing his muscular forearms.

He also had a blanket draped over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he lifted the girl's legs up onto the porch then draped the blanket over her. She never stirred. As an afterthought he laid a hand on her forehead and frowned. Still warm.

He heaved a sigh and stood up. Nothing for it for the time being. He'd get more of that tea into her at lunch and clean that foot again. For now though, he glanced at his workshop and a smile drifted across his lips. He had clay to work with.

Over an hour later, Hiko caught a glimpse of movement as he ran his cutting wire under another saucer, separating it from the bat on his wheel. He shook the wooden handle of the cutter loose from the fingers of one hand, and watched as the little girl sat bolt upright. Somehow he wasn't surprised that there were nightmares involved here.

Not moving, he set the wire cutter aside and shifted the saucer over to a drying shelf. Over a dozen other saucers sat there. He intently watched as the girl sat up, blinking, looking confused and flushed. He could see the colour in her cheeks from where he sat.

He huffed, reaching for a scraper to clean the bat off, contemplating whether or not he should continue. Saucers and small, lidded, pots were the bread and butter of his trade. Quick, fast, easy to make and guaranteed to sell. On his porch, the girl looked around in confusion, grinding the heel of her palm into her right eye. Now there was a similarity with Kenshin he could recall. Confusion and disorientation when waking up in strange places.

"Over here, on'nanoko," he said out loud. Through a fringe on longer black hair that had escaped from where he'd tied it back, he watched as she looked his way. She reached down and grabbed her foot, looking pained. Her other hand stole up to rub at her throat.

He could see she wasn't fully awake. Keeping an eye on things, he reached over to his clay scrap pile, unwinding long, pliable, strips he'd cut off from earlier. Using a bamboo cutter, he quickly reduced the strips into a series of tiles to use for testing his glazes, before shifting them to a drying shelf.

Satisfied he'd have enough, he dunked his hands into the water bucket, washing off the majority of slurry from the clay. Snatching up a nearby towel Hiko rose from his onggi wheel, stripping off the canvas apron before dropping it on its peg. One feature of his workshop was the ability to remove a fusuma section to let in even more light and air. He'd done that earlier, and set up certain items just outside the shop for what he planned to have the girl do.

First though, he needed to inspect and clean her foot. A quick trip around back of his hut to wash his hands and arms off properly and he returned to the front. The girl sat there, looking up at him, holding her ankle.

"That," he said gruffly, "needs to be cleaned." He pointed at her foot.

She looked owlishly at him and he shook his head, muttering under his breath about having another little idiot on his hands. Disappearing inside the hut for a moment, he returned with water, towels, fresh bandages and the little pot of ointment the doctor had left. Setting the water down, he handed everything else to her then sat.

"Put your foot up here," he ordered, patting his knee, and draping a towel over it. At first she didn't move until he shot a glare her way. He could easily read that she knew what was coming. Those big dark eyes, so brown they were nearly black, looked like they were going to start leaking tears.

"On'nanoko..." he growled.

She hung her head, barely whispered, "Yes, shishou," and she reluctantly lifted her foot. She flinched several times as he stripped away the bandages. Still swollen and still hot. He frowned, gazing at the angry red wound in the sunlight as she whimpered. He couldn't see any darkening of skin or red streaks. That was a good sign.

"Stop," he growled, "and quit squirming or its going to hurt a lot worse." He glared down at her, his hand gripping her ankle firmly. She gave him an obedient reply, her lower lip trembling. "No crying either. This has to be done," he added.

For the most part, she remained as still as could be, only involuntarily flinching when he had to probe deeper to apply the balm. She grabbed hold of his bicep again, clenching it hard. She whimpered, biting her lip whenever he shot a look of admonition her way. Still, large tears welled in her eyes, slowly rolling down her face. She trembled involuntarily by the time he'd finished.

"Hand me the bandages," he murmured to her when he set her foot down on his leg. As she handed them over, he handed her the pot of ointment, fixing the lid back on it.

She shivered, and looked at the pot curiously, as she reached up and smeared the tears off her face.

Wrapping her foot, he felt a tug on his sleeve. "What?" he grumbled, glancing at her.

She looked at him and lifted the pot up. "You?" she whispered, stifling back a cough, trying to clear her voice.

"Me what?" he asked, neatly tying off the bandage. He looked at her just as she sighed. Was that a look of annoyance on her face?

His scowl reasserted itself on his features. Getting ready to retort, she tapped the pot, then reached over and laid a hand on his. She turned his hand over, running a small finger along some rather deeply ingrained clay in skin on the back of his hand. She looked up at him as he set her foot down.

"Did I make that?" he asked.

She gave him a shy smile and nodded her head.

"Yes," he said, looking at her. "I made that. That's what I do." He nodded at the workshop. "That is where I make those."

She peered past him, looking towards the shop, her eyes alive with curiosity. She held the pot back up, questions clearly being asked in her expressive dark eyes.

"Do you want to watch?" He asked.

She glanced at him and nodded.

"That can be arranged. You can watch a master at work while you do more to earn your keep."

He did a double take as she crinkled her nose and grinned at him. He heaved a sigh, bracing his hands on his thighs and standing up. Cleaning up, he came back out as she was trying to stand back up. Holding out his hand, she instantly grasped it, knowing this routine now and he picked her up.

Depositing her on a stool mere feet from his throwing wheel, he moved a large crate he had filled with his wood ashes over by her. Then he put a tray-like box with a fine mesh sieve for a bottom on top of another large empty crate. It had a cloth sack lining it. On the opposite of her he set an empty bucket.

"Now I'm only going to show you this once," he announced. She looked at him curiously as he reached in, grabbing a large bamboo scoop in the fireplace ash and dumped some into the tray. "You take the ash here and put it in the tray, then you take this..." he handed her a bamboo tool that looked suspiciously like a used tea whisk, "and you strain the ash through the tray like so." He showed her how to work the whisk through the ash. The results of which gathered as a fine, talc-like, grey powder in the sack under the tray.

What was left when all the ash was worked through the sieve was the detritus and larger pieces of charcoal from the pit.

"When you're done here," he pointed at the tray. "You dumped the bits in here." He tapped the empty bucket on her left with his foot. "This can get worked into the compost behind the garden. Everything around here gets used." He handed her the whisk. "Now show me you can do something so simple even an idiot can do it."

She took the whisk, gave him an aggrieved look, then turned to the task at hand. With a grin, she set to work.

His basic ash glaze consisted of the talc-like powder that could be mixed with other materials and water to form glaze. Once fired, the glaze melted into the standard glassy coating of pottery. Add a variety of ingredients to the glaze and different colours could be made. Hence little tiles of clay were used as test pieces to see what colour he could come up with.

Standing just behind her to make sure she got it right, he found himself smiling slightly with approval. When he realized it he scowled, shaking his head. She was going to work off her theft and upkeep until he could get her off the mountain, that was it! Sniffing in disdain, he snagged the canvas apron off its peg and slipped it back on. As he tied it, she glanced over at him. Already she had managed to get a smear of charcoal over her nose as she grinned at him, happily attacking the chore at hand.

He shook his head. Sifting ash was a dirty job, especially if there was a breeze. "Little idiot," he muttered, grabbing his stool, setting himself set up to begin throwing more clay.

He had to hand it to her though, she set about the refining of the ash with gusto, completing the job fairly quickly. She then watched him with fascination as he began making a series of small, nearly perfectly round pots, with matching lids. He had an audience again, and he explained what it was he was doing, noting that-kenjutsu exercises aside-she was clearly interested in what was happening.

Finishing off the little pot and lid he was working on, he took a quick break, swapping out the ash working crates, for just a single wooden box. He picked up the plank of wood that his earlier tile pieces were drying on, setting it on the box. Reaching inside the shop, he plucked a tool out of a stubby bamboo container and turned to her.

"These are test tiles, for my glazes," he explained. "I want you to make threading holes in them, like this." He picked up a tile and poked the tool he had in his hand near the 'top'. It was a stout, hollow piece of bamboo, perfect for punching holes with. "See?" he asked. "After I fire them, they can be threaded on a string."

She grinned, nodding her head. Her eyes alight with understanding and excitement. He frowned slightly, studying her eager face as he handed her the tool. "Just set each tile back where you picked it from. Don't stack them," he said gruffly. "I'll be making more. And these..." he picked up the little bit of clay that he'd poked out. "Go into here." He indicated his cast off clay bucket which was pretty much the only thing between his wheel and her.

Flashing that little grin at him, she picked up a tile and carefully poked a hole through it. She set it back in place, snatched up the clay bit and dropped it into the bucket. Hiko huffed and shook his head before using his foot to kick the onggi wheel back to life.

Hiko thoroughly enjoyed making a wide variety of items, from basic pots and saucers to vases and jugs. His particular fondness was sakezuki and choko; the saucers and cups used to serve saké, his go-to drink of choice. Not only those, but he could make the jugs too. His customized sets were fetching good prices from fellow connoisseurs amongst the saké crowds in Kyoto.

Hiko smirked, better yet, hand him any lidless pot and he could also make custom fitted lids. A distinction that master potter's could accomplish. That particular skill is what had led him to learn Kintsukuroi. Folks having him make replacement lids for their pots eventually began asking if he could 'repair' valuable but broken treasures with gold infused lacquers.

He finished up his work on the wheel, made up a bunch more tiles to dry from the strips of cast off clay and finally shucked off of the apron. While the girl continued making his test pieces for him, he cleaned up his hands and arms from the slurry. He turned and reached up to the top of nearest drying shelf, pulling down a sturdy wooden box.

Setting it on the work table, he nudged his stool closer and tugged the leather cord around his neck out from under his juban. There was a sturdy lock on the box. Unlocking it, he stuffed the key back and flipped the lid open. Inside lay a piece of soft cloth wrapped around a square piece of glass.

Laying it down before him, he took out several pieces of broken pottery arranging them on the cloth. He'd already figured out how the pieces went back together. Reaching into the box he pulled out the main body of the pot.

Working from the inside out, he'd already glued several pieces back together, using a particular plant lacquer mixed with rice flour. He added a tiny pot of the lacquer mix to the work area and sat back down. With extraordinary care, especially for a man as big as he was, he started to affix another piece into place on the broken pot, gluing it on with the lacquer mix.

Once the pieces were joined, he would carefully 'paint' gold dust painstakingly onto the laquer, allow them to dry then polish them to create gold seams, permanently affixing the pieces back together.

The results were stunningly beautiful.

Hiko took immense pride in it.

So absorbed was he in his work to attach another piece back together he didn't notice the girl getting up right away. She managed to hobble towards where he sat, holding onto the shop's posts and then the table to where he was working.

"Shishou?" she whispered, pausing and watching what it was he was doing.

"Hai?" he murmured, setting the piece he had in place and waiting a moment for the lacquer to set.

"I've finished..." she said softly.

"Eh?" he frowned slightly then glanced her way. She stood there, hanging onto the table for support and watched what he was doing. Meeting his gaze, she pointed at where she had been working. All the tiles were neatly set out. She reached over towards him and set the tool she'd been poking holes out with next to him. Then she looked at what it was he was working on.

Seeing her interest, he shot a warning look her way. "This..." he indicated what he was working on. "You don't touch. Understand?"

She nodded her head, looking gravely at him.

He tapped a finger on the little pot of resin. "This little pot, you especially don't touch. It's poisonous, you don't ever touch it. Got it?"

"Yes, shishou," she whispered.

Satisfied that she listened and understood, he went back to what he was doing.

Watching him a moment she finally asked, "Did you break it, shishou?"

"No, no, I didn't break it. I'm just piecing it back together." He said. Using a miniature, metal, spatula-like tool, he took a small amount of the lacquer mixture and carefully apply it to the edges of another piece. "This is a special kind of glue. It has gold in it. When I get this all back together, I'll let it all dry, then I'll polish it and the seams will all turn to gold."

He watched her a moment, she looked worn out again, flushed, and she flinched when he spoke.

"Gold?" she asked.

Hiko watched her. She looked a little puzzled, a frown appearing on her face, almost like she was trying to remember something. An effort that appeared to cause her physical pain.

"Do you know what gold is?" He asked, carefully setting the latest piece in place, then sitting back. Unsurprisingly she began to rub the heel of her hand into her eye.

"Like ryo?"

"Yes, gold is like ryo. Only this is powdered gold, that I mix with lacquer. That's what I use to put the pieces of this pot back together with."

"Gold?" she asked softly, her confused little frown increasing, she looked away from him, still grinding her palm into her eye.

"On'nanoko?" he asked, "What do you know about gold?"

"It's money?" she queried.

"Yes, and...?" he prompted.

She started to open her mouth to reply but stopped, the words unable to be expressed. She scrunched her shoulders and dropped her head.

Hiko reached over, catching her hand, and pulled it away from her eye. "Look at me," he ordered. When she complied he asked. "Is it hurting you to try and remember?"

"Yes, shishou," her shoulders slumped, dejected.

He studied her a moment longer, then heaved a sigh, before pushing back from the table and standing up. "Then don't try. Just let it come back on its own." He held his hand down to her. "Come on, you can help prepare lunch."

Carrying her back to the hut Hiko was lost in thought. What was it about gold that a six year old girl would try and remember?