The Betrayed Marionette

~.~.~

Kazuomi was not to be found on this isle, that much was for sure. Musashi had spoken to Ikuto and Utau in the privacy of his personal hut long into the night as he recounted that fateful day the pirate Captain had seen fit to soil their blissful shores with the staining of blood and the acrid smoke of cannon fire. With them the mountain men had brought to this isle a hoard of jade antiquities - sacred and blessed artefacts kept guarded within a shrine at the height of the mountain peak. A pretty little incentive to earn the attention of pirates, it was, and Ikuto had spent most of his first night in his shared hut staring up at the shafts of moonlight as they crept in through the rafters, silently seething, full of loathing and contempt for the man whom he had been forced to address as 'father' for the past ten years.

Daylight brought with it a brief respite. There was work to be done on their ship and Musashi's men were as good as their word, marching down to the beach like troops to battle, burdened with wood and spare line and all manner of helpful things that were greatly appreciated on the crew's behalf. Their day passed in this manner. In fact, Musashi's guards and fellow villagers were so willing to band together, that Ikuto found himself almost redundant as the captain of Musashi's guard quite naturally found himself in charge of the repairments. He had ended up drifting away, his mind wholly occupied with other immediate thoughts. Yet, though the day passed quickly and productively, Ikuto's attempts to pursue Amu had remained completely fruitless.

He had tried, first and foremost, to determine which of the many sleeping huts was her new sleeping quarters. It had not been an easy feat. The domestic huts in which the people of this island dwelt lay further into the forest, nestled within a massive natural clearing in the northwest where the ground rose steeply, the path to which was marked by a clear path through the trees lined with stone lanterns and small pagoda-topped lodestones, but by the time Ikuto had reached their temporary shelters, he had quickly found out that Temari and a throng of the other village women had taken Amu, along with Utau and their mother, up into the forest where he later found out there lay a chain of hot springs - a place of peace and reflection; the soil, as the story went, hallowed by the fiery goddess that once brought these isles to life; who lived beyond the horizon, east of the sun, atop an unreachable isle shrouded by mist. There were many upon this isle (or so Ikuto had been told), but he could not set foot there, for customs here were strict and it was forbidden that any man should venture into the sacred groves where the spirit of the island bubbled up to the surface and there the women were allowed to scrub clean their weary souls with the deity's blessing. This was quite convenient for these fair ladies and particularly for Amu who it seemed had been taking every plausible opportunity to avoid coming face-to-face with him and, for the life of him, Ikuto could not figure out why.

Her little outburst still weighed heavily on his mind and he quickly grew to loathe himself. Perhaps he shouldn't have raised his voice at her, but, in his greatest defence, she had disobeyed his direct order and, honestly, he didn't know what to make about the whole situation, for whenever he caught a glimpse of her face he was sure that there was more building beneath the surface that he had no idea of.

With an almighty sigh, Ikuto had returned to the Shining Black and tried desperately to distract himself in work.

These mountain men were gracious people. Nigh on a hundred turned up to assist the crew in making whatever repairs were required for the Shining Black, though some at first had cowered beneath the shadow of the trees and gazed in a mix of awe and horror at the sight of her flag. And so together Ikuto had found welcome relief in directing the reparation of his ship; in scaling her masts and wrangling with her sails and stopping more than once in the space of the crow's nest and looking out to sea where the last of the gloom had faded from the horizon and where the gradual setting of the golden sun hissed upon the water's edge, melting into the ocean until it appeared that they were bobbing upon a spectacular sea of fiery molten bronze.

It had not gone unnoticed to him that Musashi, though outwardly and overwhelmingly accommodating, had not quite lost that cautious, reserved sort of look in his eye whenever any of the pirates were near. A heaviness seemed to overcome him whenever he caught sight of their sails fluttering in the breeze. Ikuto had said nothing. He couldn't blame the man, really. He was still thinking about how best to make peace with these men - how to effectively and finally prove to them in person that their business on this isle was not to be a threat to this small civilisation so that they might be willing to at least lay down their arms whenever a member of Ikuto's party passed by. It would take some convincing to appear completely harmless, Ikuto thought, but so far it seemed that their hosts were willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Certainly nothing had been said towards any of the pirates. On the contrary, some of them were warming up to their new guests far quicker than others. But that night as the moon rose - a mere white smudge in the sky as the sheet of cloud that encircled the mountain smothered it from the sky - Ikuto found that their hosts were altogether far more gracious than he had ever expected.

They'd been invited to a feast. A feast of all things! Ikuto was no less surprised now than he had been when Musashi had first beckoned him to sit at the head table within the communal hut - a long, low building with a pagoda roof that overhung until the last remnants of rainfall brought over by the squall trickled faintly from its corners like little water features. And, even though the night was jovial and the hearth warm, Ikuto was so taken aback that he nearly missed the entire string of conversation;

"You sailed through the typhoon?" One young warrior exclaimed, the picture of disbelief. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He scratched at his head and began to fumble over his own words. "B-But-But that squall..!" He began. "It swept our fishing lines out to sea - flooded the windward springs! It took the roof off the mountain temple!"

Presently, Ikuto and the crew had been ushered into this long, low hall that lay a little way off the forest path towards the main compound where the islanders were busily scuttling to and fro, their arms laden with baskets and trays and all manner of other things as they prepared for what was to be a feast for their arrival. Or so Musashi said, anyway as they entered to find the hut flooded with glowing lantern lights and the welcome aroma of freshly-cooked food. After a hard day's graft aboard the Shining Black, her crew were to be treated to a grand meal. And a grand meal it was, for from the moment they set foot in the feasting hall their senses were overwhelmed by the most glorious aroma of fine, rich food. Needless to say, the crew had been helpless to resist the temptation of such a meal. They were all seated on little cushioned seats (if you could call them seats, for they were still required to sit cross-legged on the floor), merrily drinking and laughing and digging in to their hearts' content.

Ikuto was chewing his way through some sort of smoked fish when the warrior made his incredulous outburst. At various intervals about the table, members of Musashi's clan were staring back at these strange newcomers with equally amazed expressions, whispering eagerly amongst themselves, but their leader just looked unimpressed.

"Rhythm."

The youth's eyes widened. He nodded in what might have been a quick, half-hearted bow. "But, My Lord!" He said. "It is nigh-on impossible! Never have I heard of so reckless a feat with such fortunate endings! Captain, sir, your voyage is blessed by the sea itself!"

Musashi rubbed his temples. "Please forgive my companion." He said distastefully, ignoring the young man and turning to the nearest crew member his eyes fell upon, which happened to be Ikuto. "He is not quite so… Disciplined as the rest of us, despite his mastery in combat."

But Rhythm, or so he had been called when he was introduced as the captain of the guard, didn't look at all discouraged. He was regarding each and every pirate now with a renewed sense of awe, his food laying forgotten in front of him. His chopsticks were slipping from his fingertips. "But that is unbelievable…" He said at last. "That is foolhardy! Captain, sir, had I not seen her in anchor beside our beloved shores I would not have believed your ship still sailed. It is remarkable."

Ikuto nodded graciously, but did not say anything much. Musashi, however, was growing tired of his guard's behaviour. "Remarkable, perhaps," he said; "but foolhardy almost certainly. Your former Captain is not here. Had you not come by this hidden isle through such means, I might have thought you'd followed a fool's errand."

Loathe as he was to admit it, Ikuto had to agree. He thought back briefly to the events of the day. He had, quite reluctantly, found himself obliged to divulge just where and when he and his crew had come by the map that had led them to this place. Musashi had been unreadable, as ever, but now it was evident that the man was torn between considering their endeavour to be either brave or utterly reckless.

"It came to us through… Sound means." Ikuto repeated, though he wasn't quite sure why. There was just something about this wild man that made one feel as though there was little point in bottling up/concealing whatever thoughts one had, for Musashi gave the distinct impression that, silent or not, he would be able to worm his way into your thoughts and browse through them at leisure whether given permission or not. There was nothing to hide from this man. And Ikuto wasn't sure whether that was a positive trait or not. Useful, yes… But also forbidding.

"'Sound'?" Musashi looked doubtful. "From a former associate? From the man's own relative? Captain, with little caution, I daresay you might find yourself sailing headfirst into a trap."

But Ikuto's attention was wandering. Absently he kept glancing about the hall, taking his gaze from the food before him and watching near-desperately for a familiar face about the crowd. His heart sank. She was nowhere to be found. In her absence, Ikuto forced himself to try and make conversation if only to distract himself from the gnawing guilt that was manifesting in the pit of his stomach.

"It wouldn't be the first time." Ikuto muttered drily. He thought back with a grim remembrance back to the night his stepfather had so callously deserted them in the dead of night, leaving them to cruise leisurely into the hands of the navy of Seiyo. He shook his head. "My one consolation is the venom with which our former captain's grandson spoke of him. I believe his help to be sound."

"That's all very well," Rhythm piped up again; "but your quest falls into folly. That is, in my own humble opinion at least."

Musashi, up until now, had said little more on the matter, but now he laid down his goblet and exhaled deeply, his gaze clouded, yet no less dimmed, as though in the grip of some trance, full of wisdom and deep in sagely thought. At last he came back to life (or so it seemed) and his tone was steady;

"Whether folly or no, the mark of a true man born into leadership is the ability to trust their own intuition." He said. His eyes were on Ikuto now and the glowing embers drifting about the lantern lights danced like fireflies in his pupils until it seemed that the light of his own iron will was manifested there and then before them. "Your intuition is strong, Captain," he continued; "and you have shown to me so far to be a man of great strength."

Ikuto had to stop himself from double taking there and then. He nodded his head in what was to be a vague impersonation of the lowly bow he had seen these men exchange with one another whether in greeting or in thanks.

"I'm flattered." he said, trying to keep his voice as steady and commanding as his most gracious host. "And it is an honour to be invited to dine with you tonight."

There was a pleasant lull as the Captain took a long drink, idly picking at his plate. "So," he began, if only to keep the conversation from becoming quiet and awkward; "you are a monastery?" He asked. "Only I hear that the springs here are sacred."

"Sacred? Yes." Musashi answered. "A monastery? Well, perhaps once, Captain, but many moons have passed since first we sailed to these peaceful shores."

"I must admit, I didn't expect this island to be inhabited." Ikuto added in. At this Musashi looked almost… Proud? Relieved? Ikuto could not tell, but his voice had softened and he gazed thoughtfully into his goblet, gently swirling the dark liquid about the rim.

"Ah, yes." He said. "That is something of a comfort to me, for, you see, those that seek this isle seek it not for jade nor land nor gold as perhaps your captain once did… No, that seek it come in search of… Well, I believe you call it 'nirvana'? A respite - a haven free of their birthlands' atrocities. This island calls to us - calls to me in particular." And he laid down his goblet, his expression gentle, yet far-off. "It is the least I may do to defend it."

"Well, in that case I applaud you." Ikuto went on. "This isle is not even on our charts. Had we not come upon my stepfather's map-"

Musashi cut in then and to Ikuto's surprise, it seemed he was sporting something of a smile. "Indeed, it is truly a tranquil place to live - as stunning as the sunrise of the goddess herself - she who lives beneath the mountain - and I daresay I would not trade it for anything that this world has to offer."

Ikuto couldn't help but to allow a brief grin to spread across his face. Something soft and warm was radiating within his chest. He raised his goblet in toast and the mountaineers and buccans all around him duly followed. The night drew on. There was singing and laughing and music merrily playing in the background. Wine and water and some sort of fiery spirits were freely flowing so much so that, as the hours went by, Ikuto nearly almost forgot about his earlier plight to pursue Her Highness. That was until the night had fully fallen and, right on cue, a throng of village women entered the hut, bearing with them ever more baskets full of food.

And, behind them, Ikuto caught sight of powder pink.

Ikuto's breath hitched in his throat. Like the steady wash against the shore something faint and furiously passionate overcame him. He could feel distantly the constant 'thus-thud!' of his heart in his chest; could feel something full of want and longing stirring in the pit of his stomach. There was a pull - a fierce tugging at the fabric of his heartstrings as, graciously, she swept across the tatami floor of the hut, until it appeared then and there that she was gliding soundly as mist upon the water or as the last lingering light of the setting sun skirts fleetingly over the edge of the sea.

Amu, alongside the other females that made up Ikuto's closer social circle, was guided by a woman with bright indigo hair that rivalled Rhythm's and a smile that made her gentle face light up as the fresh fleeting light of a brand new dawn. But Ikuto was not looking at any of the village women. And it was not merely her expression that had his heart skip. No, Ikuto was looking at her. He prayed a silent thanks to whatever obscure deity might have looked over this isle, for over the course of the afternoon it appeared that she'd been transformed. Welcomed into their customs, it appeared that each of the women had been polished and perfected by their afternoon at the mountain springs. Amu's skin was radiant; her cheeks pink and glowing; she'd been presented with an example of the islanders' traditional dress and Ikuto recognised the distinctive shape and simplicity of the traditional, kimono-like silhouette. Somehow, Amu seemed to wear it better than any of the island women. It's embroidery shone through gold and silver in the dim light; black and crimson pagodas stood stark against scarlet down the sides of her skirts; the fabric was punctuated by the bright, vibrant presence of leaves and petals and bright white cranes with long stitched beaks…

There was much more to comment on, had Ikuto had the time, but for now, he sat back in awe and watched as she, alongside Utau and Yaya (where their mother had gone, Ikuto did not know, but he could not fault her for avoiding such a communal gathering) were invited to join at Musashi's main table. Amu's hair had been fashioned into an updo, nourished in soft, sweet-smelling oils so that her silken curls fell free about her cheeks, fastened by a fashionable clip that spread outright as the wings of a crane, that might have sat perfectly had the evening breeze not carried such humidity up from the south in the wake of the hurricane. She was constantly tucking stray locks behind her ear, but Ikuto didn't care much for her state of disarray. In fact, as he looked upon her, his keen gaze following as Musashi stood and beckoned her over to the spare seat at his side, Ikuto altogether failed to find but one aspect of her dress that he didn't consider perfection.

"Evening."

Amu's eyes darted up towards him once she'd settled (albeit with difficulty), kneeling upon a cushioned seat opposite the Captain. That mere glance was just about all she had to offer him besides a strained, edgy sort of smile which, in actual fact, appeared more to be a curl of the lip than the proper, sun-shiny beam Ikuto was used to. He felt the warmth of her gaze turn to ice as she regarded him silently. Ikuto cursed to himself. So she was still frosty with him.

Knowing that this was not exactly the time to push the subject, he busied himself with his meal, feeling somewhat disheartened. Off on the other side of the hut, they could hear what appeared to be Kukai's rambunctious, but playful tone as he and a group of pirates tried to teach some of the stony-faced warriors a string of sea shanties. Amu giggled lightly, reaching for a sample of what looked like seasoned kelp and counted herself rather remarkably lucky, for not every sailor caught up in such a storm could say they'd lived to tell the tale - much less that they'd been swept straight off-course and found themselves welcomed by a five-course banquet with such generous hosts and warm firelight, roaring strong, besides to keep the chill off their backs. Amu watched, her chest filling with gratitude, as the rest of the ragged crew of the Shining Black took their fill of fine food and finer drink. At least ten long tables creaked beneath the weight of bowls and leaf fronds laden with food. The open fire at the centre of the hut radiated a homely, blessed warmth. Big, gleaming pitchers of polished black ceramic that shone in the dull firelight were filled to the brim with sweet, fresh water carried down from a sacred spring. Undoubtedly, it was pure relief after weeks on naught but spirits and dry wine and the spirit - the soul - that these merry islanders presented to their guests was perhaps the most courteous, most valuable welcome they could have ever hoped to receive.

No, it was not often a vagabond crew of buccaneers could find themselves in such a cushy spot between voyages. Over on the far side of the hut, music was playing on instruments Amu had never seen before. She watched and listened with great enthusiasm, carried away by the vitality and mirth of the band. But back at the head table, Amu had barely noticed that Musashi's gaze had fallen upon her. He was silent for a while, chewing slowly, his brows narrowed as though trying in desperation to recall something long forgotten. His façade was cool, yet calculating as he regarded every fleeting moment in her company with careful consideration. Finally, he spoke;

"Your face is familiar to me." Musashi mused quietly to himself. In fact, over the background noise, the pirates barely heard it. Amu looked up to find him regarding her curiously from his seat at the head of the table. He went on; "I recall something in your countenance, but it has been years since any men of the west have ventured here. Nigh on decades it has been, it must be said, but still… It is curious."

Amu's cheerful expression almost faltered. Something not unlike exasperation almost overwhelmed her. It was true that, for obvious reasons, Amu was not unused to being recognised, but all at once she remembered… There was every chance that this isolated island community did not recognise her face from friezes or paintings or public appearances. In fact, it was nigh on impossible. Still, she cast him a particularly withered look.

"Ah, well, once perhaps…" She began almost bashfully. "Nowadays I'm afraid any recognition of my character is quite controversial."

There was little more that Amu thought - or wanted - to say, but, on the opposite side of the table, Ikuto could not help but smile. "Come now, Amu," he began with such a smooth and silky tone that she instinctively felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, not unpleasantly, but in something akin to a strange delight. "Don't be so modest. This," Ikuto said, gesturing towards her with an outstretched palm; "is the official heir to the throne of Seiyo."

Amu could have leapt across the table and throttled him, such was her displeasure in being reminded of all that had come between her and her royal title (though, in truth, she wouldn't have changed anything that had befallen her for the world), for she was in reality a humble woman with little interest in the grandiose prestige and entitlement that the elite enjoyed upon a simple name-drop, but before she could scold him, the pin seemed to drop. Musashi's deep, sea-green eyes lit up immediately in recollection.

"Young Lady Midori?" He uttered at last, astonished. "The King's betrothed?"

It was perhaps the most expressive any of the newcomers had ever seen him - so much so, in fact, that it was a good moment or so before Amu remembered that he was expecting an answer or indeed realised the name by which he had called her. Startled, her thoughts had slowed, but now something seemed to click. She almost laughed.

"Oh! Oh, no, not quite, Mr Lord! My name is Amu." And, when the warrior's face remained blank; "Amu Hinamori." She elaborated, smiling kindly at his mistake. "Midori is my mother."

For a moment, Musashi couldn't seem to find the words. It was almost amusing, certainly for Ikuto who had first been introduced to this brave, stoic man of steel at the end of a sword and was now trying to hide his mirth behind a goblet of wine.

"Hinamori?" Musashi repeated. Amu nodded politely. "Your mother is the current queen of Seiyo?" Again, Amu nodded. Musashi took a long, thoughtful draught from his golden goblet and cast his eyes back upon the table, but his thoughts were far away and distant, his demeanour placid. All at once, Amu and Ikuto and any other pirates present truly understood there and then the nature of these faraway island folk, for despite their strength; their royally decorated dwellings; despite their organised nature and the rich tapestry that encapsulated their very culture, these people were all alone. Isolated. Cut off from civilisation until time itself for them stood still. Whatever comings and goings beyond their mountain - beyond their forests and the shores of the sea - was of little thought to them. And so Musashi seemed almost jaded as he mused quietly to himself;

"So the young prince married her after all…" And then, as quickly as it had overcome him, the expression faded: "My apologies, Amu," he said, testing the name upon his tongue; "but I have been at home here on this isle for quite longer than I care to admit."

Amu at once perked up. Ikuto watched with fondness as that telltale spark of curiosity flashed across her face. "Come now!" She exclaimed, her eyes wide and glittering. She at once abandoned her meal in favour of what was to be an intriguing conversation. "But I am only just twenty! And my parents were childless for, oh, maybe four years before me - courted another five! You cannot have been oblivious for so long, surely? How long have you been here at all?"

Musashi thought for a moment. "Well," he began; "I first came from the far east just some few months after Emperor Shuraiya had invaded his western neighbours." And his lips twisted into something of a disgusted sort of grimace. It was perhaps the most expressive any of them had seen him all evening. "A true tyrant if ever I've seen one. What became of him?" And he fell into something of a lamentful mourning; "What ill became of the lord of golden halls? Of whispering sands and blissful oases? How did such malice befall the once-kind king? We do not tend to ingratiate ourselves with the world quite as we once did, so I confess I do not know, but the injustice of his dominion over our peaceful cousins still aches like a wound newly inflicted to this very day."

Amu seemed to second this notion. Ikuto observed as her lips curled. She laughed bitterly to herself without mirth. "I'm afraid to say as much, my Lord, but he is still going strong… My father's post-wedding grace was interrupted trying to come to peace with the emperor's army. By invading your cousins of the western kingdom, he thwarted Seiyo's aim to come to peaceful negotiations with their Khan who had offered the rights to a rare jade mine as a goodwill gesture upon my parents' wedding. I was to be wed to His Unholiness this summer just passed until…" A pause. Amu hesitated, growing almost sheepish. Amu grew almost sheepish. Her golden eyes darted briefly towards Ikuto before falling back again to her leftover meal. She lowered her head, picking at the remnants of food slowly, desperate for distraction. There was a tinge of pink upon her cheeks. "Well…"

Musashi's eyes followed her gaze. Ikuto found himself staring back into the warrior's blank façade.

"No matter." Musashi said quietly. "I think I understand."

If Amu had been blushing before, she was positively red in the face now. Musashi started up a new conversation, much to her relief, but it appeared to Ikuto that for the rest of the night Amu remained somewhat subdued. In light and laughter and merry drinking she graciously partook amongst her fellow crew mates and saviour alike, but it was always short-lived and with every pause - every lull in conversation - Ikuto found her self-conscious and quiet, avoiding his every attempt to silently pique her curious attention...

Eventually, as the firepit dimmed and the dishes and plates and many goblets were emptied, Amu stood and made to excuse herself. As she slipped from the hut, Ikuto rose.

She wouldn't be getting away from him tonight.

He barely remembered to throw back an excuse to Musashi as he sidled out of the hut and into the cool night air. He looked around. He could just see the break in the forest where the path took him back to the main gathering of dwelling huts, its edges marked by stone lanterns wherein little yellow flames danced as wisps within the night. He followed it instinctively, drawn by the 'tug-tug-tug!'-ing of his own heart as he sought her out amidst the darkness. But even the night could not conceal her. Not with eyes so bright nor hair so vivid.

Amu was just halfway down the path when Ikuto's voice piped up behind her;

"Need someone to walk you back, Your Highness?"

Even in the dark, Ikuto could see her shoulders tense. There was a pause. A breath of wind loosened some of the locks that were slowly starting to slide from her elaborate updo. Amu turned, tucking a few strands of pink behind her ear. Her voice was icy;

"I can walk myself just fine, thank you."

Ikuto could barely contain himself for a moment, for in the mild breeze he caught a hint of her perfume - a fragrance he did not recognise, but it enchanted him all the same so that he found himself following her, bound in some sort of waking dream, dazed and drawn by wandering feet towards her.

"Come now, Amu-"

Amu sighed, her whole body almost physically deflating. "What do you want, Ikuto?"

"Well, for a start, I'd like to know why you're so intent on avoiding me." He said, though, deep down, he suspected he already knew. The echo of his own raised words from the day before in his ears was drowning out all else and with it he felt his chest grow heavy and heated with guilt. Ikuto knew deep down that, in that moment, he had let his anger get the better of him. And, truly, he was ashamed, for she had done nothing wrong. Indeed, she had even proven herself a worthy opponent in battle! But, for some reason, Ikuto just couldn't bring himself to admit it there and then - not when his first instinct was to fall back into defence.

Meanwhile, Amu seemed almost flippant. "Don't pin this on me, Ikuto." She said, her tone deathly. Her expression was absolutely wrought with what Ikuto could only suppose was some long-bottled turmoil. "You know full well what this is about! Why shouldn't I be angry? You could've gotten yourself killed!"

Ikuto sighed, massaging his weary temples, but Amu wasn't finished.

"Why are you always running headfirst into the line of fire? Why must I wait behind for you - every time! What gives you the right?" There were tears glistening at the corners of her eyes now, her face illuminated as the gentle air picked up for a moment, sending one of the lantern lights into a frenzy so that the firelight fell perfectly golden upon her face. The sight set Ikuto aback. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. She continued; "Why can't you just trust me?"

"Amu..." Ikuto began, at a loss for words, barely managing any sort of coherent thought; "Amu, please, understand-"

"Understand what?" Amu snapped, fully facing him now. The cool of the midnight air was no match for the chill in her voice. "What is it? You think I can't fight? You think I don't deserve to fight? Listen to me, Ikuto; I have as much reason as you to set off on this voyage! What use am I if you relegate me to the Shining Black at every isle?" Ikuto shook his head silently, but this only seemed to anger her more. "Well what is it? You think that I'm useless? That I'm too 'weak' to fight as the rest of you? I can't abide either of those notions! How little faith do you have in me? How little care?" And, desperate, her voice broke; " After everything we've been through… After all this time-!"

She was crying now - her cheeks blotchy and her eyes wet - and the sight was enough to make Ikuto want to just rush over there and encompass her entirely in his arms - to kiss her sweetly and bury his face in her perfumed hair and beg for forgiveness, for he had not wholly realised up 'til now just how much she had bottled throughout their voyage together…

"Amu…"

But she wouldn't have any of it.

"Goodnight, Ikuto."

Before he could even cry after her, she had buried her face in the sleeve of her kimono and vanished into the night.

Stood solitary amidst the trees, Ikuto buried his face in his hands and wondered how on earth he would make it up to her.

~.~.~

A/N: I love Musashi. That is all.

I'm no good at characters arguing or having conflict, so…idk, I hope the amuto wasn't rusty in this chapter.

Anyway, it's been a while as I've been preparing for an exam. Updates may take a little longer. I'm studying full-time (help me), plus everything from about chapter 10 has been completely new territory for me. It's all things I've never written before, unlike the first fic where I already had the chapters all drafted out to improve on. Quite excited for some stuff in the next chapter though. I hope you'll wait for it!

Sidenote: I'd also like to thank the anon who left me the most amazing review on the last chapter (as I can't PM anons privately!). Thank you so much! I might have teared up a little bit lmao, you're wayyy too kind to me.

Til next time~