The swordsman looked straight up and let the silence that followed
Amore’s question hang in the air for a short while.
Where would I start, he asked himself? Should he just travel to every village, every city until he stumbled across each member of his family?
“I was the youngest of four brothers, but was the only one to leave the village. I loved watching my mother carve statues from blocks of wood. While the other boys in the village went outside to play, I stayed inside to watch my mother create her beautiful sculptures. She taught me...”
Kishou’s voice trailed off. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt the desire to sink to the bottom of the spring. “But I was a poor learner. I had many sleepless nights during the war, and at those times what my mother taught me was the only thing to bring me comfort.”
Kishou recalled one year he carved a crane for his mother. It was a gift. He had spent several hours carefully shaving away at the wood, and even then it had turned out to be an ugly thing.
He would never forget how his mother wept when she received it.
I can see how much care you put into making this.
And she took his hands into her own.
What gentle hands my son has.
“I believe that my brothers are alive. That... is enough for me.”
