The foreigner did lead, unaware of exactly where the stone trail would take him.
No, he did know, it would lead to the garden's center where small streams of water cascaded from a quaint fountain, but around every turn of the path was a new flower that he had not seen before. It was much like the life he had led after leaving his own garden.
"Is that so?"
Kishou pleasantly responded, still holding a small smile, "Where to start? I was born to farmers. My village rested in the lowlands- marshes- where we grew rice. It was flat land for leagues, and all the
villages in that area were like ours. From where we lived, we could see the mountains to the north."
The corners of his mouth dropped.
"My homeland was ruled by a single emperor, though the true rulers were the military leaders under him. As you can imagine, their interest conflicted on several occasions. Shortly after I was born, the leadership split into two factions: those supporting the emperor, and those that rebelled. The beautiful lowlands once saturated from the rivers that ran down from the north soon became bloodied."
Blood that Kishou, like all young men, spilled.
"It's colorful land. When spring comes, beautiful trees bloom. Pink petals, the size of a fingertip, cover everything like snow. The rivers run clear and blue, the grass is like an ocean of green. My people are spiritual, but instead of a singular figure, it is as if nature itself was worshiped. Organic or inorganic, the living and dead. Thunderstorms, monsoons, rainfall during a drought, blizzards in the winter... All is worshiped as if there were a direct connection between my people and the land they inhabit. It's as if the material and spiritual worlds are more permeable there than anywhere else. Though, that's my interpretation."
He, too, prayed in his youth. Though, his connection to the countless deities that resided in his country was severed long ago.
"It is a land vastly different from here. Though, I'm sure many things have changed since I have left."
