----------
beneath the flow
of water passing,
beautiful pebbles,
resembling
memories.
-----------
It is a good morning.
The day is cool and the clouds are heavy, the sky dark and growling. A crane soars in the grey heavens, and I smile a little. It is a brilliant white, a stark contrast to it's grim background, and it cries as it soars above the land.
Tokugawa land.
I do not remember much of my childhood, but of what I do a memory stark are the dark shadows on my father's face as he received messengers from emissaries of the Imagawa. Wrath and suspicion was in his heart, but his face wore a mask carved of granite. Tokugawa Hirotada was never a lazy man, the shadows of his mind and the shadows of his Imagawa overlords casting his spirit into a dread aspect.
A good thing, I suppose. Though he sent me into shuddering fright then, his hardened and unrelenting spirit allowed us to become one of the great clans of Japan through blade and arrow, and not a few coins in the dark. It was he who appointed the dread Matsudaira Hidenaga as Commissioner of Warfare and set him against the Oda as they came to our lands, and as they were thrown back it was he who turned their own men against them with coin, silver and gold.
Tokugawa Hirotada, as of 1557.
I am interrupted from my flow of thought as my guard walks in, armoured in scarlet and bearing a long spear. He is a good man descended from a long line of samurai, his name Miyamae Asaka. He bows, and speaks.
"Mine lord, it is your father, the Daimyo, who summons you to him. With urgency are you expected to meet him."
I stand, and nod. Meetings between my father and I are uncommon, and this must be of great importance. With Asaka I walk to my father's quarters and enter. He stands, his face and eyes bearing a quiet happiness, and next to him is an attendant bearing a sword on a silk cloth. I raise my eyebrow, and as I do he greets me.
"I have waited long for this day, son of mine. After long years, many spent on training, thou art a man now, and thus thou shalt ride to battle. Lord Matsudara Hidenaga has mustered his forces near our Mikawa, and I expect thee to join him as he marches against the warrior-monks of the North. Of course, a warrior shalt not ride without a sword and thou art no exception."
He steps forward, and takes the blade from the silk cloth. He walks towards me, a dignified figure, and presents the blade to me.
"This is an old blade of our clan, the Bimyonariba, and has taken the life force of many a man. Bear it well, my son."
It is not a little sense of wonder that fills me as I accept this blade, ancient and honoured, and I smile.
It is a good morning.