Mugen shook his head to clear it, opening his eyes and gazing in puzzlement at the ground. It wasn't usually so far away and he became aware that he was tightly bound and hanging from a rope, his entire body aching. Several middle-aged men stood in front of him, regarding him with disapproval, and he looked around. The samurai hung next to him, his clothing disheveled and sooty but his expression calm. If he felt as bad as Mugen did he wasn't showing it. The Ryukyuan cleared his throat and spoke with bravado. "What the hell is going on here?"
The samurai rolled his eyes. "Don't you remember?"
"I remember a dream where there was fire all around me."
"It wasn't a dream."
A fat man in a white kimono stepped forward. "It's too bad for you it wasn't a dream." He paused for a moment, then went on in a voice in which hate and grief were equally mingled. "My son burned to death in that fire and you're both going to pay for it. You'll be executed in the morning." He turned away. "See that they're not bored tonight."
Several guards came up behind Mugen and the samurai, cut them down, and dragged them away.