They stayed in the stable a while longer while Mahiro gave Suzumekage a much needed grooming, instructing Kazuchiyo all the while. It was all but impossible for him to waste concern on the altercation in the training hall with four immense hooves and over two thousand pounds needing his attention. He devoted himself to his tasks, and it wasn’t until they were leading Suzumekage out of her stall that Mahiro found a way to broach the subject.

As much as she could, anyway. “Kazu,” she said clumsily. “Maybe you should...just stay out of Hidemune’s way for a while.”

“I’ll try,” Kazuchiyo said with a weary smile. “Thank you for your help today.”

He walked with them as far as the gate, and watched with a bit of envy as Mahiro took the to saddle and raced out into the town. He could well imagine the people and their carts leaping away from the road to avoid her exuberant gallop. The thought that he would be alongside her sometime soon came to him late, and was quickly drowned out by other concerns.

Kazuchiyo moved to the slatted window, peering through at first as if he were still watching Mahiro’s descent through the town. When there didn’t seem to be any guards watching, he nudged the proper slat and reached into the alcove. He was certain that Hidemune had been delivering some message of his own, but there was nothing inside. Were the Sakka shinobi always so swift, or had he been mistaken? For some reason it left him boiling, and he hurried to deliver his note before hurrying back to the castle.

The rest of the day he spent at ease, recuperating after the morning training. He studied in his room and played a bit of his flute when it suited him. By the evening meal he was summoned to join his father, and worried that he would be forced into another confrontation with members of his family he was not yet prepared for. However, Lord Aritaka was alone that evening, and the two of them ate in privacy while discussing the road to Castle Ninari.

Much like his daughter, it was not until they had all but finished that Aritaka sought to comment on that morning’s events.

“I heard that you and Hidemune had an exchange while training earlier,” he said stiffly. “I wish that you would not quarrel.”

“It was not my intention to quarrel with anyone,” Kazuchiyo replied. “But I must have done something to offend him, and for that I am sorry.”

Aritaka was too aware of his son’s nature to press further than that. “I have put you both in an unenviable position,” he continued, and Kazuchiyo was startled by the unexpected frankness. “I know the burden it is to you. But I hope you are aware of the burden it is to me, too, that I might have to choose between you.”

Kazuchiyo had practiced too well for too long to let his frustration show in his face. “I am aware,” he said. “And I will abide by your decision, whatever it is.”

“And I promise there will be a decision, in due time. If there can be no reconciliation between you….” Aritaka took in a deep breath. “I will not abandon you to fight amongst yourselves after I am gone. The future ruler of Gyoe will be decided long before then.”

Kazuchiyo’s heart thumped and fluttered. He wondered at how low he would have to sink to be the kind of man that could so easily discuss abandoning one of his sons. “If there is anything I can do to help ease your burden, I will gladly do it.”

“You do it now,” said Aritaka, and they finished their meal without another word on the topic.

Kazuchiyo’s sleep that night was restless, and he awoke to the disappointment of finding no return message in his room. Perhaps the mysterious shinobi was offended by his accusations, or else had tired of entertaining him. More likely was that no one had returned to the alcove a second time after accepting Hidemune’s message, and part of him was curious enough to want to check. His better sense convinced him that to do so might draw too much suspicion to himself, and he resolved against it, despite the temptation. He would have to depend on Mahiro’s tutelage to occupy his mind.

Fortunately, Mahiro’s tutelage was unceasingly engaging. With boundless energy she instructed Kazuchiyo in the horse’s anatomy and manners, how best to greet and read its body language. She named each piece of equipment and proudly displayed which she had procured for him to use. By the time they were saddled and ready to begin riding, Kazuchiyo was eager to put all her advice into practice. Mahiro boosted him into the saddle and helped him to situate before taking to Suzumekage, and she led the way out onto the street.

“Keep your back straight,” Mahiro instructed as they started at a slow pace toward the gate. “And stay calm. He’s better at this than you are and he knows it. He’ll take care of you.”

Kazuchiyo leaned forward to give Hashikiri a pet before straightening up. “Has he been ridden much?”

“Oh, sure, by the stable hands.” Mahiro cast a smirk over her shoulder. “I took him out myself, yesterday. We’ll be taking it nice and easy today, so you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried,” said Kazuchiyo, trying to not be intimidated by the sway of the animal beneath him. They were coming close to the town, and he didn’t want any of the people there to see him less than composed. “I trust you, and him.”

They made their way down the central town street and attracted more attention than Kazuchiyo was eager for. Though every inhabitant of Gyoe was well acquainted with Aritaka’s youngest child, the sight of him on horseback was exceptionally rare, even more so as they were heading closer to the town’s border. He began to feel anxious as they approached and felt like a fool because of it. There was nothing to stop him now from passing through that barrier, and no one to scold him for it. Soon he would be expected to cross half the province, in fact. But his heart still pounded fiercely as they rode at an almost painfully slow pace through the gate.

There was no fanfare, of course. No gust of wind or breaking of clouds to signify the breach of five years of isolation. Kazuchiyo felt a chill as he passed onto the open road but no more than that. He followed Mahiro down the twisting path, taking in the smell of the hillsides, of new grass growing exuberantly in the wake of much rain. Travelers made way for them and birds sang unceasingly from the sparse trees. It was peaceful, much as he had found playing his flute from the rooftops. And at the same time infuriating, that his father had denied him a simple pleasure like this for so long.

Kazuchiyo’s hands tightened on the reigns, and for a brief moment he was overwhelmed by the fantasy of spurring young Hashikiri into a sprint, racing south through the sloping countryside, past the rivers and forests to the great Shimegahara field that separated his prison from his home. But it was only a brief moment.

They spent several hours beyond the walls, never going faster than a gentle walk. Mahiro chatted along the way, giving him pointers and telling stories—both instructional and humorous—about her many experiences riding with Suzumekage. By the time they returned the horses to the stables Kazuchiyo could feel the soreness really settling in, and she offered him advice for that as well. They tended to the horses and then separated to their respective chores.

Once completed, Kazuchiyo returned to his room, and his heart skipped: the piece of folded paper was pressed between the closed window panes.

Kazuchiyo rushed forward and tugged it free. The poem had been continued after all, and it read:

He avoids even his kin
leaving no trace behind him

“Avoids,” Kazuchiyo read aloud, glancing to the window and back. “No trace.” Was Amai asking him not to use the alcove again? Or to cease trying to contact him? If the latter were true, better that he not have responded at all—Kazuchiyo could only assume he was being cautioned against letting their correspondence be intercepted by Hidemune or others. Though it would have been wiser to let the renga conclude with such a definitive verse, he could not. By the time night fell, he was tucking his response into his window panes.

Where does he call home?
Where does he take shelter from
this unending rain?

Kazuchiyo turned his mattress to better face the window, determined that he would settle in and pretend to sleep until the crafty shinobi came to take the bait. He had every intention of vigilance, but when the sun rose he found himself rubbing sleep from his eyes, and the paper was gone.

Another day of study, and chores, and riding instruction followed. Kazuchiyo sped from the lords to his sister and even to Lady Satsumi for an afternoon of music and tea. He kept his mind full of present duties and allowed nothing to distract him. He managed even to avoid all gossip concerning Hidemune. Still, it disappointed him when he returned to his chamber that evening and found nothing waiting for him. How foolish he felt, to be letting a childish and dangerous game take such hold over his thoughts.

He awoke the next morning to the paper folded next to his pillow, nothing else in the room disturbed. It continued:

Closer than the hunter knows
Too close to ever be caught

“I’ll catch you yet,” Kazuchiyo whispered, his face hot and pulse aflutter when he thought of Amai delivering such a challenge directly to his bedside as he slept. “Just you wait.”