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The sound of weeping broke the rain’s monotony.

Takeshi considered this. Children have a way of cutting through the poetry of sorrow. “If you’re fallen,” he said, “you can stand up again.” ochimusha

Kenshin did not sleep. He sat awake, one hand on the boy’s shoulder, the other on his sword. Outside, the autumn rain began again, softer now. He listened to it wash the world clean. The sound of weeping broke the rain’s monotony

“No.”

He looked down at the sleeping boy. Takeshi , he thought. Strong bamboo. A thing that bends but does not break. “If you’re fallen,” he said, “you can stand up again

“Takeshi.”

Kenshin picked up his sword. The chipped edge caught the firelight. “I have not used this blade in anger since the day I shamed it. Tomorrow, before we go, we will find your village. We will find the bandits.” He turned the blade so the edge faced him, then turned it away. “A fallen warrior cannot reclaim his lord. But he can protect one child. That is not redemption. It is simply… what is left.”