The fallen clansmen of the Takeda were strewn like rags across a field lathered in blood and gore. Takeda Shingen cradled the body of his father in his lap, whimpering "I'm sorry... I'm sorry", crying like a woman. This was not him. Takeda Shingen did not cry. And yet looking around, he could not see a single reason not to.
As he set down his father's corpse onto the wet ground, Shingen, with hatred and sorrow in his eyes, began walking. He did not know where, he didn't care anymore, all he wanted now was home. For the old days, when he and Nobushige would play at swords and Shingen would always get mad when he lost. He turned in search of his brother's corpse as well, but could not find any sight of him.
That's when Takeda Nobutora coughed.
Shingen bolted to his father, tripping over the body of a fallen samurai. He crouched down and cradled his father's head in his lap. He started bawling. Nobutora gave Shingen a quizzical look, and said, his voice rough, "Tigers... do not... cry." His eyes closed.
Takeda Shingen cried to the heavens, asking why, why the war, why the carnage, why the death, especially death, why did it have to exist?
And the heavens gave him their answer.
You... |