The Kurohara estate is not the largest property in the region, and nor is it of any particular interest amongst the lords of Cizok. It is made up of a moderately sized manor with a small, detached armory, and a large, meticulously crafted garden that sees regular upkeep and visitation. Beyond those details, the only other thing of note is the large, roofed gate that all visitors must travel through in order to reach the manor: The gate is one rife with intricate decorations, and is even guarded by a small retinue of men; it should also have never been built for such a small, uninteresting clan. It had been built, however, and with special permission from the Emperor, no less. The gate was a reward for service done in the name of the Imperial house and for the Kurohara’s sacrifices during the war.

Outside the manor’s walls, due in part to the current clan head’s relaxed nature, and also because of the natural displacement seen in war, the small beginnings of a town can be seen forming not far from the estate, on land partly owned by the Kurohara. This fledgling town still mostly consists of shacks and small, poorly constructed buildings, but larger ones, of better quality and owned by enterprising merchants, have also sprung up in recent years.

Finally, beyond both the estate and the growing settlement, is a dense, game-rich forest that, if followed through to its end, will take a traveler to the base of a large mountain.

A majority of the day had been spent getting ready for the arrival of one of Miyuki’s oldest surviving friends. It had been some time since Masachi had graced the Kurohara Estate with his presence, but he had promised to come. At seventy years old, Miyuki was no longer attempting to make the food or help deep clean the house. She sat on a stool and directed her youngest daughter and a few women hired to help with the duties. The family wasn’t rich per-se, but Miyuki had little enough disposable income to hire a few working women when they were necessary.

“Make certain the table is clean and dusted. While you’re at it put a few fresh flowers on the table.” Miyuki gestured with one wrinkled hand as if she were the monarch of a small kingdom. With regards to the home and its upkeep, she was Queen. At her age no one really wanted to argue with her either. One of the girls hurried outside with a knife to cut some flowers later blooming flowers from the garden.

Usually Miyuki was more relaxed, but with Masachi’s visit came memories. They had met when she was a younger girl, merely Miyuki Tsukino. The memories were difficult to stomach, even twenty years after the loss of her husband and eldest son. Without her friend she would never have met or married Masao Kurohara, the love of her long life. It was a cruel fate to have him taken from her so long ago, even worse was that his youngest daughter did not get to spend much time with her father.

Miyuki watched her youngest daughter Mizuke as she calmly walked around the room setting the table for a meal and putting out the best china for tea. It was never spoken between her and her surviving children, but Miyuki was proud of every single one of them. Of the five children that she had given birth to, Mizuke looked most like her when she was younger. Her hair was longer, and her eyes were the same shade of blue, and she lacked the tan skin of her father – which all of her other children had inherited. She was also the only one that stayed to do her mother’s bidding. Self-sacrafice she called it, but Miyuki knew better. Miyuki herself had been as headstrong and wilful as this child proved to be.

“He will be here any moment now. Make sure the food is ready, and don’t forget the tea.” Miyuki got to her feet, feeling her bones creak as she straightened up. She walked toward the front of the house and out onto the front porch where she could take in the sun as she waited, listening to Mizuke giving orders in her stead.

The very last thing that Kurohara Yuudai had expected on his way in from the garden was to have to dodge some bright eyed, coltish young girl with a knife; and it had been done with so little fuss that it took the girl a few seconds to figure out what had happened, before she could continue on to complete her task.

Yuudai craned his neck until it cracked with a series of satisfying pops, and then he set both his hands at the small of his back until it gave a series of cracking sounds as well. He would never admit it out loud, but he was getting a tad bit too old to be playing his games.

“Did you see that?” He asked, amused. “She wanted my blood; you could see it in her eyes. A dozen more like her in the war and we’d have had them running two years sooner.”

Kurohara Yuudai was dressed very much like any other who shared his status and station, but there was a key difference: It all looked wrong on him, unnatural and ill-fitting. He had terrible posture, and even the way he carried himself was odd, somehow anxious, like a caged tiger pacing back and forth, remembering its time in the jungle, the freedom, and the thrill of the hunt.

When he was younger, Yuudai had imagined a military career for himself, and, for a while, at least, it had looked like that was exactly where he was going to end up. He had fought in the rebellion and had even made a considerable number of people happy, and it had seen him quite a few promotions, along with influence, renown, and respect.

And now? He was Head of the Family, and he hated it.

Yuudai was just about to settle agura-style atop a cushion, which would have been terribly informal, admittedly, but he stopped as he noticed his mother, Miyuki, was not present.

He sighed, loudly. He could forgive her excitement, but she really could have done with some rest instead. Where was she, even?

Deciding his mother had lived seventy years and could survive another five minutes, Yuudai finally sat down, and then looked toward Mizuki: “Tea.” He said in a way that could not be confused for a request.

Being Head of the Family did have its benefits.

Mizuki was there with the tea pot in hand moments after her brother demanded it. She poured him a small cup with delicate and unobtrusive movements. She wore the robes of a woman of her station in a deep shade of blue that mirrored the pale blue of her eyes. Mizuki had their mother’s eyes.

Yuudai’s youngest sister settled herself on a cushion nearby but behind him. She left the tea pot on a table near to her so that she could pick it up and refill glasses as required. Mizuki folded her hands in her lap, casting her eyes downward, though her demure stature spoke nothing of the fights she had been in with her brother in the past. Yuudai only bridged the conversation of marriage with great care in the presence of his youngest sister. She had other ideas about how to spend her time, taking care of their aging mother. Their other siblings were making a fine living on their own, and Mizuki was no trouble to her mother.

There was no good way to start a conversation with her oldest surviving brother. So when the girls rushed back into the house with the flowers, Mizuki rose slowly and gracefully and murmured softly to them to make sure that the food was prepared and kept warm. She turned to the table that her brother was sitting at and began arranging the fresh cut flowers in a white glass vase on the table. Her long silver hair spilled like silk over her shoulder as she bent to her task, concentrating on the fresh blooms and making certain they were arranged in a becoming manner.

Mizuki glanced at her brother with her pale blue eyes to seek his approval of her work, and still she said nothing because nothing had been asked.

Yuudai accepted the tea with a grateful sigh and allowed the warmth of it to permeate through his hands and on into the rest of his body. He took a careful, cautious sip and sighed again. He was happy that some aspects of womanhood had managed to take with his sister. Home keeping was an important thing, and she was doing well; he dipped his head in approval just slightly.

“Mm...” He broke the silence. “I’ve been writing to the Kumamoto patriarch,” he said, paused, and the continued: “He would be willing to overlook your . . . advanced age . . . For the right size dowry, of course. His son is well favored, too.”

Their brother-sister relationship was a complicated one, but Yuudai did not hate or dislike his sister, really. He enjoyed her presence and thought well of her, but he also wanted well for her. She was nearing thirty and still had not settled down, and soon it would be hard to find any man of worth willing to even consider marriage with her. Still, just as she had probably guessed what he had been working on another arrangement, he, too, already knew her answer: She was not going to even consider it. And he was not going to make her.

In the end, he had to do his part, regardless of whether or not he already knew the outcome of his endeavors.

Mizuki froze as Yuudai spoke. She trained her eyes on the flowers in front of her as he finished his sentence. What her brother didn’t say was that son he was offering her was less than well-endowed with looks. She wasn’t a vain woman, in truth, but when you had to be married to a man for the rest of your life shouldn’t he at least look decent? Besides, Mizuki wasn’t entirely sure he had all of his mental wits about him. At least he hadn’t when they were all younger.

“Thank you, brother. It is kind of you to think of me in my advanced age. I could not think of marrying a man that would ask for more money just to be burdened with me.” Mizuki knew that her brother wouldn’t push the issue, that he would take her answer for what she wanted, because he knew the son in question as well. It was his way of pointing out that she wouldn’t get more prospects soon. However, Mizuki was of the mindset that she would eventually find a man that would be willing to marry her for more than her looks, so similar to the looks of her mother’s family, and she would be happy.

“More tea?” Mizuki picked up the pot of tea and refilled Yuudai’s cup carefully. She had the tradition of pouring tea ingrained into her soul because their mother was a stickler for tradition. Any man that she married, or eventually would be forced to marry, would be pleased with her training. Miyuki was nothing if not a good and strict teacher.

Mizuki stood at her brother’s side with her hands resting comfortably clasped over her belly, waiting on him as needed.

And that went just about as well as Yuudai had expected it would. He could hardly fault the girl, really. Gods know that he would never have accepted a marriage proposal from the Kumamoto. They were all giant, oni-like people with the strength of an ox and the disposition to match.

They were also honored friends and allies.

“Yes,” he said, “I thought as much. Still, if the son sends you a gift, please, return it tactfully. I’d rather not have a hoard of them running through our lands because of some perceived offense...”

Yuudai calmly drink more of his tea and allowed the calm silence to comfortably envelop them again. Given how they used to act as children, it was sometimes a pleasant experience to reflect on how things once were. He and his sister both had matured in their--he laughed inwardly--advanced age.

Seiichi had followed his brother as they walked past the guards and following his elder brother’s lead he did not even so much as look back at Daisuke. He did however indicate for one of the younger guards to follow them. As they walked he took his sword from his belt and handed it to him. No words were needed. They were not supposed to have left the grounds and these set of guards did not like to anger Komei. The young guard, Seiichi knew, would take his sword back to his quarters without as much as a word. If anyone saw it would not have been too hard; perhaps Seiichi had ordered it to be checked out by the blacksmith.

In truth he doubted anyone would notice. He also had doubted that they would notice the absence, for a brief little bit at least, of Komei and Seiichi. The entire household was busy getting ready for the arrival of the great Taira Masachi. Seiichi had met the elder man a few times and had heard many stories about him from his father, grandmother, and even from his tutors. He knew him best as a friend of his father’s from the war. Seiichi recalled that during the war he had been the Imperial general and chief strategist that oversaw the hosts of the daimyos and had been a key figure in several major battles that saw the rebellion quelled. Seiichi had been recently reading an observation on Taira Masachi’s strategies. Other than that he had been a key figure in the Imperial government for years and though retired was still afforded much honor and status. As such he had quite the retinue coming with him. Therefore there had been a lot to prepare.

Seiichi had been worried that Komei would get them in terrible trouble by making them late for the great man’s arrival. That would have been quite the insult, Seiichi knew, and as ever he never wanted to disappoint their father. As they walked he thought it might have been a good thing they had ran into the trespassing Daisuke. No matter how much it had irked and annoyed him.

Coming upon the house Seiichi caught sight of his grandmother sitting in front of the house. No doubt waiting so she could be one of the first to see the procession of Taira Masachi approaching. They had been good friends from his grandmother’s days in Jinseiten with her family, the powerful Tsukino clan. Both the Taira and Tsukino were of the sekke caste of the kuge nobility he recalled. Both families often gave up their daughters to be the wives of Emperors. He had never heard the story of how his grandparents had been able to come together. In fact he had never really thought about it until recently when he had been required to learn a lot of about the various clans and their functions. Of course he had been aware of the noble classes since a very young age but he did not being to understand and care about the idiosyncrasies until just recently.

As they neared he smiled, he often enjoyed Miyuki’s company, and gave her a light bow. After rising he acknowledged her, “Grandmother, how are you feeling this fine day?” He looked into her blue eyes, a trait he shared. He even bore a bit of her boning however it was completely possible that his mother was partially responsible for his finer features as well. Other than that however he did have the Kurohara coloring; the dark hair and tanner shade of skin.