Once again, Chihaya came to the dojo.
She wasn't drunk, not as much as she wanted to be, nor was she sober.
Nor was she happy.
The day had been a tempest of short-sided foolishness, mixed with prideful arrogance, youthful brashness, and the slowly impending sense of doom that the oncoming hoard brought.
She missed her husband, even if she secretly feared he did not miss her.
She wondered if her children would recognize or welcome her, after all this time.
She wondered if she even had a home anymore.
Moving to the center of the quiet dojo, she knelt in seiza on the fresh tatami mats, where the old ones had been removed and discarded after the violence of that morning.
Taking her flute in her hands, she closed her eyes and
began to play, pouring out all of the pain and sorrow that seemed to spring up from within. Maybe the wind could take this away, and give her peace before the coming storm. Maybe the fortunes or the kami might, for once, give her some sign that there was hope yet to come.
Tears sprang unbidden, running down her right cheek, and she played through them, invisible save the reflection of distant torchlight in the water that wet her face, her body and soul caught up in the tune that flowed out from her core. It was a raw performance, meant for none save the wind and the stars, and whatever kami cared to watch over her. Perhaps it was only in her mind that she could hear the drums of war, pounding in her ears, carrying her tune along like a hurricane roaring over the Suzume hills, or maybe it was simply the pounding of her heart in her chest - who could say.
The music flowed from her flute, raw, emotional, and unpolished.For just a moment, all her guard was gone, and she was simply a woman, alone and far from home, with a war hanging just moments away - a battle coming she knew she might yet be asked to fight.