Blood upon the snow

Osamu's paws carried him with a will of their own. Often he would simply face a direction and start walking, caring little where it would take him; he enjoyed (a very strong word, especially for him) charting out the face of this vast new landscape, already creating a mental map of points of interest and the general lay of the land.

Except for the portal incident.

That remained very much unresolved, and it didn't help that they had seemingly disappeared over night. He might have thought the whole thing a dream if he hadn't gotten such a vivid encounter with the bloated corpse he had surfaced next to after he'd been thrown into the sea. He could still taste the brine on his tongue, acrid and salty; not that he minded. Osamu had grown up near the ocean and had distant memories of playing in its gentle waves as a child, cold and dark, its depths a limitless void. His parents didn't like him wading out too deep, fearing the riptide might take him - but he had been impossible to deter, and learned how to swim almost completely on his own.

He had learned many things alone.

The warrior stood at the edge of a peculiar new place, one he had not yet seen. A vast stretch of land, harboring an abundance of moss-coated stones that dotted the gentle rolling hills. The ground was densely packed with thorny shrubs, making a quick run through the heart of the land an ill-conceived notion - any creature would quickly be tangled within the vines and obstacles that remained hidden beyond a first glance.

The greatest point of fascination, however, was the crimson moon that hung low overhead.

Osamu clicked his tongue in wonderment. He had seen one before, in his previous life - and the event had brought with it misfortune immeasurable.

He wasn't a superstitious man, but he wasn't completely closed-minded to such things.

A light dusting of flurries had recently covered the land in patchy swaths of white that had already begun to melt, with the snow that remained glowing blood-red beneath the moon's ominous gaze - it was beautiful, in its own way.

He wondered what it might bring this time.

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The blood moon aside, Anemone went walking around. It was just a hop and skip away from Bluewater Lake — where she had been residing out of familiarity. She woke up there. It felt safe to her even if it was not truly safe alone. But her lack of awareness or downright oblivious nature caused her to believe everything would be fine. That's part of why she wandered outside of her 'safety net'.

The blood moon, however. She personally found it romantic. All the talk of doom and gloom with some folks regarding it? She ignored it. Red was the color of blood, of life. It pumped into veins and went through the heart. It distributed breath and action. She was thankful for such an action. Without it, she couldn't run and jump. She could not sing or dance. Simply placing something to the side because it was unsightly? Strange! At least to her.

Hypocrite. She often judged others on their features. She also took great stock in her own vanity.

So, take her words with a grain of salt.

"Hello, sir" she chirped, her voice hushed against the stillness of the night. Anemone stopped walking. She paused a few steps away from the greyscale man. An easy smile graced her lips "enjoying the view?" she asked him, brows lifting to the sky above them "I've never seen a red moon before. It's almost... magical." If she was the type to believe in the spiritual outside of songs and poems...

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He was a foreboding figure at a distance, tall and heavy-shouldered against the dimly light sky. His posture was perfect, ears at attention, tail curled tidily around his haunches and paws to minimize his footprint. At the sound of her voice, Osamu merely twisted a single ear back, waiting for several long, thoughtful moments before turning the rest of his head around to meet her eyes with his own icy stare.

Not unkind - but cold. Observant.

He had never been very adept with social cues, but the social nature of the wolf had urged him to improve his skills in that area, and to her greeting he simply grunted by way of response upon his initial acknowledgement.

She was most unusual.

Appearance-wise, she reminded him of a tortoiseshell cat his former master had once possessed. Speckled with a variety of browns and blacks, accented by soft creams and russet-tans, she blended in well with the dark, patchy ground of the landscape surrounding them. Her eyes were vibrant green, standing out like sparkling emeralds in a shadowed cave, and he perhaps held their gaze for just a moment longer than usual - she reminded him of someone else.

Osamu remembered his manners.

“I have been told the red moon signifies danger,” he said after a time, returning his silver stare to the moon overhead. “It brought great tragedy - the last one I witnessed.”

But again - he was not superstitious. He merely regurgitated information he had previously glean, and made a statement surrounding the last time such a phenomenon had made its appearance.

He looked to her curiously, wondering her thoughts on the matter.

“What of you? You seem... pleased, almost.”

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"That is unfortunate," she comments. Anemone is stupid sometimes. The man does not reek of danger, so she draws closer to him. A forlorn-looking smile as she looks back at the open sky "I'm sorry you had to deal with that" She breathes, closing her eyes briefly "perhaps I just like to look on the bright side of things. One person's trash, another person's treasure — have you heard of that? What is bad for you, might be pleasant for someone else." Though she didn't want to make light of his grief.

She lifts her muzzle to the sky. The woman almost recites to it, raising her upper body almost to reach. In reality, she merely shifts her weight to appear like that. A gentle lift from the ground with her right front paw, her left firmly placed down on the earth. "I think it's lovely" Anemone said honestly "if you keep seeing nice things all the time, the reality of it wears out. The moon reminds me beauty is fleeting. Who knows when I'll see this red color on the moon again?" She plants both paws on the ground, shrugging as she tosses him a look over her shoulder.

"If you didn't attribute the red moon to your tragedy... What would you think of it?" She was curious to see if he could forget grief in his past, and move on. Was he a superstitious sort of man?

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Naivete, perhaps, was as much a gift as it was a curse. The woman drew closer, unknowing of the potential danger he may present - but he was no feral beast. He regarded her carefully, observing the fluid way with which she moved, gliding like silk upon the hard, stony ground and coming to a rest close beside him. He could not decide if he thought her simply brave or foolish, but it did not matter; she was quite calm in her demeanor, seemingly unruffled by his presence and taking no heed of his attitude.

It was refreshing.

Osamu was more accustomed to those who might regard him fearfully or with caution, whether he intended it or not - he just wasn't a very welcoming individual by nature.

One person's trash, another's treasure.

The phrase was new to him, and he turned it over several times in his mind, digesting the phrase. It was crude, and perhaps a bit too blunt to be sage-worthy, but it held merit for what it was.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“I have not - but it is a good phrase,” he affirmed, averting his eyes from the overwhelming presence of the moon to cast her a sidelong glance. She was not wrong - one man's grief was often another's pleasure, grim as it sounded, though he did not believe she intended the meaning to be as dark as he inferred. He supposed it was meant to be a comforting statement, though the wording could use a few tweaks to make it more... palatable. “I hope this moon is pleasant for both of us this time, then.”

The she-wolf was a flighty creature, spouting off her little romanticisms and glib sayings as easily as one might toss a coin into a wishing-well. Osamu wondered at her energy; had she ever known hardship? In his experience, it seemed those with the greatest predisposition toward self-made happiness tended to thwart misery at its every approach.

He was not one to indulge a happy-go-lucky nature, but she caught him in an unusual mood.

“Beauty is indeed fleeting,” he said by way of agreement, thinking of the many courtesans he had known - though not necessarily in the Biblical definition of the word - in his time. “Though the stain of blood is rarely seen as something to be celebrated. What significance does this particular moon hold for you? Merely passing beauty, or something of more substance?”

The warrior did not mean it cruelly - but he had a tendency to drive straight through to the core of his meaning, and had little need for wordy embellishments.

“This moon signifies a turning point in my life,” he said after several moments, wondering if it was even worth uttering to a stranger. She was kind, however, and regarded him with the wide-eyed innocence of a child, something he knew he had lost along the way - so he continued. “I would think less of it, had it no association with pain in my life. In this way, for me, I think it is... better. Otherwise it would simply be a red moon, and nothing more.”

Osamu glanced at her again, then, a knowing sort of look creeping into his expression. Her lighthearted nature amused him.

“Is this the first time you have seen one?”

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She tilts her head, a hum. Eyes roll to the sky, frowning. Thinking a bit for once. Or the façade of thinking, when she didn't know what to say. Eventually, she does speak after listening to the man go on. "Blood is life," she finally commented. Her limb raised a bit, chin tucked to examine what she knew to be veins below the skin and fur "I think red just reminds us that we're alive" She lowered her inspected limb and placed it back the way it was "and a stain can be washed out. Treated, even. Like a wound." She truly was a simple beast.

Anemone shook her head. "Oh, I really didn't notice the moon and stars before this world" She admitted with a shrug "some wolves use them to map their course but I always had others more skilled to do that for me" Why should she struggle over something that didn't come to her naturally? "we traveled in a group, so each person had their respective roles to play" For her? "I was the star of our caravan" She smiles fondly at the memory "in my world, I had been an infamous bard. Maybe I like red 'cause I was dressed in fine red and gold silks..." Alas, she could not anymore.

In a way, red reminded her of the past as it did for him. But happier. One person's treasure, indeed. "That's what I remember about my world and old life, anyway" Anemone tittered a bit, frowning "another body. Another species even. Able to wear fine silks and furs — if we could afford them. My friends and I worked pay to pay. Having a hefty coin purse on the road brought bandits" She broke out of her stupor, smiling and beaming all the while. Even her tail swayed to the side and back. "I'd ask where you came from, but I don't want to cause any more pain."

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"Blood is life."

It seemed so simple coming from her inky-black lips, pronounced with such certainty that it seemed foolish to say otherwise. She held fast to her belief that blood was a symbol of the living, a reminder that all beneath the crimson moon's gaze that could bleed were still among the blessed collective of consciousness - yet Osamu felt otherwise.

Corpses, too, bled. Mortal wounds inflicted by unspeakable acts of violence were often untreatable. Blood flowed freely from many unhealing hurts, and the warrior knew that better than anyone. He regarded her with a somber eye, and thought for a moment to correct her - but she was so determined.

It seemed cruel.

Instead, he held his tongue and let her continue, content to sit and allow her melodic babbling fill the air between them. The woman spoke quite a bit, going on in far greater detail than he had cared for, but he did not mind; she was pleasant company, and it took his mind off of darker, less foreboding subjects (such as exhibit A: the moon and its ugly significance). The edges of his eyes crinkled just a fraction of an inch as the moment took him back to a distant memory of someone with whom he had shared a closeness, similar evenings conducted in which his companion would speak endlessly of everything under the sun, whilst he listened with his usual stoicism.

"I was the star of our caravan," she said, smiling fondly at the memory, "in my world, I had been an infamous bard. Maybe I like red 'cause I was dressed in fine red and gold silks..."

Infamous.

Osamu looked at her with kinder eyes, then, realizing she too was one who had lost her former physical body - and all of the titles and status that had gone along with it.

“It seems we share something in common,” he interjected politely. “I may not have been part of a caravan, as you call it, nor was I a bard - but I too offered my services, and was regarded with some respect by the public.”

The grizzled wolf made no further commentary on the matter, and continued to let her resume speaking.

Well - he would have liked to leave it alone, but now she was looking at him with curiously wide, emerald-green eyes, piercing through the thick armor beneath which he hid, and he felt pressured to finish his own story.

Him - succumbing to pressure from a mere stranger.

How the mighty had fallen.

“I was a samurai,” he said after a time, unable to meet her eyes. A distant feeling of sorrow colored the edge of his tone, but his words remained steady and calm as ever. “I had no red and gold silks, but armor instead, and I wielded a blade - it had a special name - but my memory grows hazy. I traveled the land as you did, but in place of song, I killed - and was eventually felled by an Oni, after ascending a great mountain to its lair.”

He inhaled sharply.

“I failed.”

Osamu looked toward the mottled woman again, his brow darkening.

“And then I awoke here - perhaps a punishment, perhaps redemption. I do not yet know which.”

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He said lots of things.

He didn't say many things.

The man was selective but broody and handsome. Perhaps her favorite customer in the latter words. Fortunately, he held her interest with his own tale. One he didn't have to tell, but he did anyway. He seemed to fondly remember a more bipedal way of life. He mentions he plied his trade as a... mercenary? Maybe? Was that the right word — she felt was quite rude to ask directly? She let it go. "Just because you had different attire doesn't make you any lesser than I" she remarks, humming "I wasn't required to wear armor. I had no use for it." She shrugged.

A rare moment of sanity and intelligence, Anemone had.

She'd look rather silly, dancing and singing in armor. She withheld a giggle at the image. The man seemed to become even more broody. "We all have our roles to play," she comments "born or forced into it" She didn't know if he killed for coin or glory or just survival. She frowned, grasping at the right words to say to the greyscale man "something clearly said live again. You're alive, in a different form yes, but... well, at least you know you died. I can't recall anything after a night of fireside drinking and merriment on the road with my caravan." 

The memory just stopped.

Small mercies. Death gave everyone an absolute answer; how and why. Living didn't give much in the way of answers. You fought, crawled, and clawed through life. For what, in the end? Each story was different. Every ending was different. "It seems sad you came back to life, only to have to struggle through it once again" She shook her head as if dismissing a fly "I should hope it isn't a punishment. Feels cruel to do such a thing to someone. But cruel people exist, so it isn't... unheard of, maybe?" She tilts her head, pondering.

She didn't want to dispute good and evil.

"My mother once told me; failure means having the chance to try again. I don't know what that means for you though. I fear I'm rambling with sayings that you haven't heard of." Anemone smiles uneasily.

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Her brows knitted together during his admission, and remained so for a span longer as she struggled to piece together his occupation - although he had plainly stated it mere moments before. The woman seemed to go a mile a minute, her mind working in great leaps and bounds as she became so easily caught up in the moment that she failed to hear the obvious.

It was almost endearing. A memory lingered hazily at the edge of his sight, taking a brief shape that he could nearly recognize before quickly dissipating again.

“A samurai,” he stated again; gently, however. She seemed a touch more fragile than many of the strangers he had encountered. Her claim that she had no use for armor was flippant - innocent. Of course she hadn't; women, in his experience, were not typically suited for battle.

Perhaps as wolves - but not before.

He did not think himself sexist, but his scope and memories had been... limited, at best, in his previous life centered upon the traditional Japanese way.

"We all have our roles to play - born or forced into it."

Her casual statement struck a chord within him, and he felt himself freeze in place momentarily. That was a belief Osamu had always held - that you were born, and you had no choice but to perform the task that was set upon you by fate. He had only ever known the way of the warrior, cutting through his obstacles and problem-solving with steel and might over diplomacy and pretty words; she, in turn, used her song and charisma.

She reminded him a little of Suzune - perhaps before she had been crushed beneath the heel of self-proclaimed failure.

The woman frowned briefly.

"Something clearly said live again. You're alive, in a different form yes, but... well, at least you know you died. I can't recall anything after a night of fireside drinking and merriment on the road with my caravan."

Live, indeed - though he had sorely wished it had been in a form he recognized.

“Perhaps it is best that you do not know,” he said quietly, so low she had to strain to hear him. “I remember well how it felt as my foe thrust his steel into my chest. It was cold - colder than you could ever imagine. His laughter - ringing in my ears, always, the cries of a helpless maiden knowing her only chance of hope lay dying.”

Osamu flashed her a look. She was young, still, and full of the vigor and naivete that came with it - he did not feel anger, but he experienced something like pity. He hoped she would never see the things that he had.

She went on after that, enjoying a brief detour into theorizing their purpose and whether or not it was mired in cruelty - or simply negligence.

He did not have the answers either.

“A glib saying,” he responded at last to her final statement. “In my field of expertise, failure is death.”

Osamu looked down at his paws, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

“But I suppose that is why I am here, as you said. And you truly remember nothing, then?” he paused. “I realize I do not even know your name. I am Osamu.”

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"Samurai."

She repeats the strange word, the foreign word. She had heard of mercenaries, vagabonds... Heck, she had been a vagabond — just with a 'home' to go back to. The road, her friends, coin and fame. They held her like a warm embrace. Now it was ripped away from her, and she was forced to start all over. "So, is an oni some sort of... dragon?" She frowned, furrowing her brow as she worked over what the man said "I've done danced and sang, performed tales about knights rescuing princesses from the clutches of their dragon kidnappers."

The man utters a sentence so faint, she physically bends to him in order to hear. "Not knowing is worse for me" she comments "I like to know how a story ends, even if it's my own. Should I do anything differently, knowing my life ended? Or should I continue on flippantly, doing the same things day in and day out... Only to suffer an unknown death at the hands of another? Nature, accident, or person... I should pick myself back up again. Have some sort of motive for changing myself." She chuckled, closing her eyes with an unreadable smile. Forlorn, perhaps.

"I just think I'm spoiled sometimes. Stubborn, bratty, selfish... Not wishing to change unless it betters me, myself, and I."

Not the smartest bulb in the bunch either. 

He introduces himself, freeing her of deeper thought. Her eyes open once more as if she previously recited a pretty lyric to him by heart. Emeralds focused on Osamu again."Anemone" She extends a limb to him if he chose to touch it and 'shake'. The gesture is a show of faith and trust in her circles. If he looked at her leg blankly, she lowered it back down. No sweat off her back! Sweat was unsightly anyway. Gross. "it means daughter of the wind" She liked name meanings "what does your name mean, Osamu?"

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Anemone took a few seconds to turn the new phrases over in her head, the cogs whirring as she filed them away in her mind, presumably to mull over them at a later time.

She then tested the words on her tongue - samurai. Oni. She looked pensive, perplexed. Her brows knitted together, trying to hold them against relevant tales and definitions she had previously held.

The woman hesitated before speaking again, and ventured a guess.

Osamu shook his head firmly. Dragons kidnapping maidens? Unheard of. From his land, at least, dragons were wise sages, gods of the sea and the wind, benevolent beings that the people would pray to for good harvests and thriving villages - never creatures of ill will. He couldn't imagine a time or a place where they could be anything else.

“No - our dragons did not commit such... atrocities,” he said after a pause. “Oni were demons; corrupted, twisted fiends, they came in every size and shape imaginable, some winged, some bearing claws with great fangs and terrible eyes. Some could wield the elements or carried magical instruments of destruction. It was my duty to eradicate them, to protect the surrounding towns and villages from their needless wrath.”

The samurai realized he probably sounded mentally unwell right now to an outsider, and cleared his throat awkwardly as he finished. She might not believe him anyway - honestly, lately he had trouble believing himself.

Had all of it really happened?

Anemone looked sullen. She made a reasonable point with her justification for wishing to know how she had ended - the pressing desire not to repeat the same mistakes was one of the main driving forces in Osamu's (new) life, and he could not fault her for that. Inwardly, he hoped that her death had been swift - painless. She did not deserve to suffer, and however she had come to be here, he prayed it was not unkind.

“I see your point,” he mused after her explanation.

"I just think I'm spoiled sometimes. Stubborn, bratty, selfish... Not wishing to change unless it betters me, myself, and I."

Osamu grunted disapprovingly.

“Self-awareness is typically the first sign to indicate one is not spoiled, as you say,” he replied curtly. He had seen spoiled; it was ugly. “You ask questions of others, and you care. You have changed for the better, however it was you were before.”

If he were more socially intuitive, he might have placed a paw on her shoulder for comfort, but he instead remained at his safe, calculated distance - though his eyes had grown kinder, at least.

She was the one to initiate touch, however, and introduced herself by awkwardly extending her paw in a crude imitation of what may have once been a handshake - it tickled him, and he actually found it quite amusing. His expression remained stoic as he extended his own limb to touch paws together, moving them up and down several times to fully execute the greeting.

“Anemone. A unique name,” the warrior replied. “Osamu means discipline. My father was a samurai - he wished for the same when it came to me. I have found we tend to manifest our name-sakes, daughter of the wind.”

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Demons. Anemone frowned, wondering. Osamu's name and the Oni word sounded like those rare foreigners from her land, having come from the west. Beyond the mountains and continents, she was used to roaming. "Maybe the dragons in your world were different," she finally surmised "ours were infamous for kidnapping virgins and were slain in the end by a noble knight. The knight and maiden were typically wed afterward, and the riches the dragon hoarded - gold, gems, jewels - were divved up among townspeople." She did not seem proud of her reciting, knowing Osamu probably had a great deal of respect for his native-scaled beasts from his tone.

She paused, tilting her head. "Elements, though... Our dragons always had one — fire" And "they used it to raze towns and cities to the ground. A bounty was often placed on their head after they sought to steal riches and maidens. Both they were drawn to, though I do not know what they did with the maidens that left unsaved." It seemed a cruel fate, to be a lonely piece of property among a dragon's horde. Not able to see family and friends again, kept on a tight lease. Anemone felt death was probably easier than giving up one's freedom. That was probably a naive way of thinking though. So absolute and final. Death should be a last resort. As for demons...

"Demons are not so different than your oni" she tells Osamu "there's plenty of names for them. Imp. Succubus. They seem to target holy men and try to lead them astray. Many tales are told about a priest vanquishing their demons and becoming more holy... Though we don't perform such theatre, in my caravan. It's considered a sensitive topic in any town we go to." She shrugged, not understanding. Surely triumphant victories should be spread and celebrated? The holy seemed to grasp many topics as undesirable and blasphemous though. Anemone did not get religion. It was often a tool of the upper class and a way to control the masses below them. Her caravan was free of belief, even if they kept their personal ones to themselves.

The woman tittered softly at his assessment of her, giggling with a slight blush. "Well, you are kinder than you seem to think so as well" she points out to Osamu "even if you try to keep others away, they may be drawn to your sympathy and compassion" He even 'shook hands' with her, delighting the bard. "your name suits you, Sir Osamu. Ah. We always call our knights and soldiers sir or ser. Do you have an appropriate honorific in your language?"

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Osamu felt his ears twitch back reflexively as she spun her tale of the great serpents from her home. They did not sound like dragons at all - they more closely resembled the Oni he fought and feared, selfish, slavering creatures that wrought only destruction and despair in their wake. To say he was disgusted would be an understatement - he was appalled.

He struggled most to wrap his head around their tendency to kidnap virgins in particular. It was so incredibly... filthy... and wrong. He could not imagine what use a dragon would possibly have with an innocent maiden other then for general servitude, but even that still seemed excessive given their chosen prey. A scullery maid would be much better suited to such work.

Inwardly, he shuddered.

“It sounds so much like a fable,” he said absently, gaze trailing off toward the horizon. Barbaric, even primitive, he wanted to say; but then again, it was just a reflavoring of his own world long lost.

Dragons, it seemed, stopped at kidnapping and pillaging - but the atrocities committed by the Oni that plagued the countryside were far worse.

He did not wish to speak of them.

Anemone seemed to have tales of demons from her land, though they were more vague in their description and sounded amorphous and metaphorical by comparison. He wondered how a mere priest was meant to slay a rampaging demon - he thought they were only able to ward them off and cast binding charms, typically - but he seemed impressed regardless.

“It seems the world is inherently cruel - no matter which one we find ourselves in,” he said ruefully. “Perhaps it is the natural cycle. A never-ending chase of the good vanquishing the evil, and the revenge they inflict upon us for justice.”

The subject shifted to a lighter tone, and she giggled, then, girlish in her manner; he might have seen her blush were a thick coat of chocolate fur not in the way. He wondered what tickled her so about his errant words (missing every single social cue, as per the norm), but he was pleased by the change of topic.

"Well, you are kinder than you seem to think so as well - even if you try to keep others away, they may be drawn to your sympathy and compassion."

It was Osamu's turn to look startled, and he regarded her with a curious look - the samurai had been called many things, but sympathetic and compassionate were new. He could be solemn - stoic - grave when the occasion called for it, but the wolf had never known himself to be soft or gentle.

“I do not know what to say,” he started, clearing his throat abruptly, awkwardly. “I - thank you. I have been accused of a variety of dispassionate emotions in my time, yet those are... a first.”

She asked him for a suitable honorific.

He hesitated.

He was not... worthy, anymore, of the -sama honorific. That was from another life, one he had yet to earn back.

“Osamu-san is fine,” he replied. “Do you only wander these lands?”

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She smiled almost sadly.

"Though I wish I could say they were fables, they are not. I've been to villages razed to the ground by fire. Thankfully, the knights seemed to have slain most of the more dangerous ones" Anemone began again, shaking her head. She almost felt bad for the dragons. Almost "true, we had fewer dragons around in my world now than before" Alas "but the people there still believe they'll resurface. The ones that are still around, perhaps, like to hide. They aren't as bold." Nowadays, bandits and forest creatures were more pressing for travelers.

Osamu-san lightened at the chance of subject. While she liked to recite tales and stories, he was obviously put off by the culture change. Dragons in his world meant divinity, wherein her own was close to demonic. He seemed even shocked at her assessment of him. "Hehe, they probably think you're a grumpy gut — standoffish and mean" Anemone tittered, unable to stop her giggles "believe me, I've met worse men than you. You're rather tame compared to some brutes." Though she did not elaborate on such a thing, moving forward. Perhaps she cared not to think about it, or she just had no thought of them.

To be oblivious or to avoid? Hard to say.

Sadly, even some brutes were handsome she had a fleeting thought but pushed it to the side. That's how they got you, taking unsuspecting folks in with their good looks and charm. If she was a human again, she would have tapped a finger against her cheek, pondering. "You're just disciplined" she ventured "old fashioned, some would say. I like it." She beams at him.

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It was still difficult to wrap his mind around the concept. She spoke of razed villages wrought by the very beings he and his people once worshiped and hailed as deities, and it was nigh-impossible to reconcile the stark contrast of their respective reptilian beasts. Instead of fear, he felt sorrow when he thought of the benevolent beings from his land - they grew fewer and fewer in number every year, and no one could explain why. It wasn't as if they were being hunted - no one dared lift their swords against such divine creatures - but every passing season, they dwindled away. Were they all simply going into hiding as well, or were they living shorter lives as the magic went out of the world?

For Anemone, it was a blessing.

“I... pray that yours do not return,” he said awkwardly, still feeling as if he was committing kind of blasphemy as he uttered the words. “Ours bring the rain. Without them, our crops suffer, but... I suppose for myself that is no longer a problem.”

Osamu had long given up on the idea of returning home. The portals which had surfaced here many moons ago had only sent him upon a similar loop, revisiting familiar places and different regions of this mysterious land - but never a way out.

“Hehe, they probably think you're a grumpy gut — standoffish and mean.”

He might have looked affronted if she hadn't spoken so flippantly, her tone light and teasing as she giggled. Nevertheless, he felt his ears twitch back momentarily, wondering how on earth he could ever come across as mean*. Why, this was the liveliest conversation he'd had in months. The samurai was downright playful today.

His expression shifted when she spoke of 'worse men', and although he felt his brow darken at the mention, he did not pursue the topic further. She seemed skittish of the subject and quickly bounced away from it, pretending she had never spoken of it at all.

“You're just disciplined,” she said with emphasis. “Old fashioned, some would say. I like it.” She flashed him a radiant smile, all cheer and good humor, and he once again felt himself chafe against the words.

Old fashioned? Gods, to hear it all said out loud, he seemed like a curmudgeon. Sure, he'd been middle-aged in his past life, but here he wasn't quite that... old. Osamu's expression was utterly unreadable now, parsing through long-untouched emotions regarding his self perception.

Maybe it would be good for him to seek out more company such as herself in the future. It might liven him up a bit.

“It is the way of the samurai,” he said weakly, offering his only defense against her well-intentioned onslaught. “I admit, I have not indulged in any hobbies since my arrival here. Perhaps I should... engage in... I have heard it put as 'self-care'.”

He felt stupid saying it.
 

---

*Osamu is tone-deaf to social cues and his own reactions. This is perfectly within the realm of normal; he actually thinks he's really friendly and cordial, except that 'smiling on the inside' does not translate well.

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"I think I like your dragons better."

She responded in a cheerful manner, trying to make him feel better about the subject. She tries to grin easily, wondering what it'd be like to have benevolent almost divine folks other than common religious individuals looking after you. Anemone comes up with no image in her mind; it wasn't that simple. She was used to the horror, terror, and destruction a dragon brought. She had seen it first hand, played benefits in those towns and small villages. Trying to cheer others up with their song and dance. And while she wondered why there were such stark differences between Osamu's dragons and her own, she could not grasp the subject for long.

If she had human hands again, she would have clasped them together. A pondering expression caused her to tilt her head, humming. Self-care, self-care... Oh, she could introduce him to... No, he looked put together. Not enough to warrant a quick talk on grooming habits. Maybe singing and dancing? Ah, maybe not. He seemed too stiff for such a thing to come easily. "What sort of things do samurai do in their spare time?" she asked naively instead, looking at him wide and wondering of an eye "I don't know your culture at all — so I'm afraid I can only guess what hobbies you may have, locked away."

And they'd remain there, by the Heights, all day and night if that happened. Anemone was lucky to have her interests align with her 'job' of sorts. Though it didn't matter much in this world, having to learn how to dance again... Well, speaking of dancing again. "Do samurai dance?" She inspected him visually from her position, squinting "you're not too bulky, and you have an athletic body... I imagine you have good stamina to fight" She hummed "though I think you'd politely decline if I offered to show you some moves." She smirked playfully at Osamu.

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It must be nice, he thought distantly, observing the easy way with which she smiled. He had long been held to the samurai way, where emotion was strictly controlled, such a thing serving only to interfere in times of extreme duress. If he allowed himself to feel as others did, so free and bare with his thoughts, he would never be able to fulfill his duty. It was no good to find oneself in the heat of battle and see a much-beloved comrade stricken to the ground, helpless as the light faded from their eyes - one could not stop until the foe had been vanquished. If he allowed himself to weep, then that precious moment could be taken advantage of, and they might both be dead.

Mostly, he wondered what it was like to have a sense of humor. Jokes had a tendency to fly right over his head, although he did enjoy a good pun (for they were inherently deadpan in nature, much like his own monotone). The girl had a carefree way about her that he almost envied, but he pushed the thought aside for the time being.

She seemed particularly intrigued with his latest suggestion, her eyes catching a mischievous glint as she doubtless sifted through hundreds of possibilities - he wondered, then, if he had just made a huge mistake.

It was too late now.

“"What sort of things do samurai do in their spare time?"”

Oh, god. A horrible question.

Osamu pursed his lips, giving the ground in front of him a long, stern look, as if he might unearth a suitable answer from the dirt instead. He enjoyed wood-carving - but that was impossible now. He liked fishing - though he hadn't figured out how to do that yet without growing too frustrated. He liked cooking...

Now he was just making himself depressed.

“Training,” he grunted after a minute of soul-searching. That was something he could still enjoy. “Honing my skills in combat. Besting an opponent in a show of skill and strength, accomplishing greater heights than the day before.”

He looked at her, expecting a pleased expression, but she did not seem particularly keen on this answer - which, given her own hobbies and line of trade, made sense.

“Do samurai dance?”

Maybe all was not lost.

“All samurai dance,” he said matter-of-factly, a ghost of a smile tweaking his lips as he crafted the perfect solution. “Fighting itself is like a dance - calculated movements, intricate follow-through, complicated footwork.”

Osamu flicked his ear. “I would not be adverse to mutually exchanging 'a few moves.' Perhaps we may each learn something from the other.”

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Ah! Again, she wished to clasp her hands together. Anemone let out a soft 'whoop!' of victory, wagging her tail. Though she still looked quite amused by his admission. "Silly" she scolded him lightly, in jest "there's quite a different way of dancing, now that we're both wolves" It was far more movement than turning and biting! It was more than moving one's legs and wiggling one's butt to seduce a crowd. It was more, say than holding a sword and slicing into a great beast. "but yes, dancing takes discipline and awareness. It isn't that farfetched to associate it with fighting." Just less red. Pleased Osamu wasn't averse to learning 'a few moves', she rose from her position.

The wolf-Anemone stretched out her body. Taking particular care in moving her canine toes to flex them, in order to grip the earth bare of feet in a successful way. "It'd be easier to place my hand on your shoulder and guide you, but alas" She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes and tossing her head "it's less touching and more working in tantum with another; a potential stranger that you have no knowledge of their body and their movements" She explained, giving one final stretch before righting herself "otherwise we just look like we've ingested some fermented berries and look like drunks." She scoffs first and then smirks. Positioning herself to the side, she quickly instructs the man to stand parallel to her.

"I'll start with an easy one!" She was taking her job as a tutor quite seriously "one, two... One, two" She recites her beat before taking a purposeful and lavish step forward "now step backward, please, Osamu-san" she added and then stepped back herself "when I do this, you step forward." Sort of like a waltz, but wolf-like.

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Osamu stared at her impassively after being called 'silly'.

He did not feel 'silly'.

Nevertheless, he indulged her antics, stifling a deep sigh of resignation as he realized what his admission was about to entail.

Anemone readied herself as best she could in her canine form, lengthening her body and gripping the earth with her claws for better stability. At least she spoke of discipline and awareness, two factors which ruled much of his day-to-day, so he made sure to watch carefully.

“It'd be easier to place my hand on your shoulder and guide you, but alas.”

He was grateful she could not. Osamu did not take particularly well to being touched.

The she-wolf explained in further detail with vibrant enthusiasm, offering a lighthearted joke about drunks - he would have snorted, being no stranger to drink himself, though he had never allowed himself to get sloppy. He had seen it in others, though, and knew well what she meant.

Anemone finished her stretch, sliding over toward the samurai with a mischievous expression as she began Lesson One.

“One, two... one, two”

He wondered what this led into.

“Now step backward, please, Osamu-san!”

Ah. A rhythm. Osamu performed as he was bid, stepping back with a surprising smoothness that spoke to the honed musculature of his warrior's form. Fighting, too, was an art, something practiced with graceful repetition until every side-step and swing became muscle memory itself, elevating what might have been a simple bloodbath into a performance.

“When I do this, you step forward.”

The samurai moved in perfect time, gliding up with the familiar ease of a sword-thrust. It felt as if she was his opponent, but their blades could never meet - pushing and pulling, like yin and yang, circling but never closing the distance between them.

“I do not hate this.”

The highest of praise.

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Perhaps she was both used to his silence and not. Osamu fell into his thoughts easily, wherein Anemone lived in the moment. The man, however, took too long to really give a verbal response. Not because he was just focusing on his footwork but on other things no doubt. She briefly thought she had insulted him in some way until he spoke again. The response made her laugh. "Well, good!" He had thought dancing akin to fighting, right? So he could not say he hated it in any sense if he had respect for his skills.

It would continue on, back and forth. Osamu kept his fancy feet on par with her practiced and honed skills. She was almost impressed, but would egotistically believe she could sing better than him. No, no, she was not jealous of how fast he picked this up. She only wanted to do more to help the man relax, but dancing was all she could think about. Singing took too long to master in one night anyway. The extent of the dance done, she hop-skipped to one side and back. Clearly enjoying displaying her skills, and even teaching another. But he didn't seem to need one in the end.

She was almost sad about that. Anemone had tried to one-up him. "That's enough, I think" she slowed her pace until she dipped into a low bow. Akin to one she displayed to the crowd; or a dance partner. She could feel the ghost of her flowing skirt begging to be held and curtsied with. She lifted both brows as she assessed him. "A good thing you did not fall into the lake; I am not a great swimmer" She joked "you have the talent of being a great performer if you wished" She nods "though I would not quit your job of being a fighter. I don't think you'd enjoy performing long term."

If it was just dancing, then yes. But there was so much more, she barely scratched the surface.

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