Everything was a blur to Natsumi. Those who knew the young woman had called her many things before; kind, witty, focused, devoted. But as her brother lead her away from the fallen shape of their father and as she watched as their home burned against a blackened sky Natsumi felt only fear and a deepening loss that swelled within her. Her wit and sense of attentiveness had abandoned her, the sounds of battle clouded her thoughts and she felt as if she was looking through someone else’ eyes. Was this a terrible dream? A vision? No, far from it. The screams of dying Saitō and Ikari samurai were very real, as was the acrid smell of smoke, sulfur, and blood. The fires lit by the Oda were engulfing the walls of the castle and parts of Tatsuoki’s estate were aflame as well. The cheers and bloodthirsty war cries of the foul Oda sent waves of terror through Natsumi as her brother lead her by the wrist. First to collect fistfuls of koku and then to the edge of the walls where he saw them both down the hillside. Natsumi could hear her brother speak, she looked into his face as he gave her directive - all she could do was nod dumbly. Her mouth half open and her face unmoving like a statues’ visage.
Natsumi quickly knew that her brother could see that she was in a terrified stupor. A part of her would be fearful that her brother would be uncertain by his sisters’ current state of mind. While Ichiro was a capable young man and had always done his father and clan proud there was always an unspoken truth between the two siblings. Ichiro was strong, he was wise for his age, and he was calm more oft than not - Natsumi however always seemed to be the wittier of the two. Always a step even and at times a step ahead of her brother when facing uncertainty or even danger. Ichiro had come to accept with age that there was no shame in looking to his sister for guidance even if some might see it as a sign of weakness. Ichiro never seemed to care. And yet here was Natsumi now dangling like a doll from her brothers’ hand as he guided her through the dense forest that covered the face of the mountain on which Inabayama sat. Brush slapped at their faces and vines pulled at their arms and legs as they rushed to escape before the Oda finished their foul plundering of the Saitō clans’ home. The only things the pair had aside from what they wore was their fathers’ helmet and sword and a box of their mothers’ jewelry which Natsumi squeezed tightly under one arm.
The downward running seemed never to end. The forest continued to claw and grab at the two Ikari youth as they continued to descend, leaping together over brambles and sidestepping thick tree trunks. In the distance Natsumi could make out the blackened, ashy remains of Inoguchi - a town near Inabayama. Only the worst could be assumed as to what happened to the townsfolk and as she continued her forced run with Ichiro, Natsumi felt a wave of sorrow as she thought back to all the times her father had taken she and Ichiro into town with him, be it to deal with the merchants or meet with his clan’s retainers or other associates that lived in Inoguchi. The whole world she and her brother knew was burning and crumbling around them and all they could do was run like scared children. Perhaps that is all they were.
The sounds of battle wavered and grew distant as Ichiro and Natsumi finally reached the bottom of the mountain, the earth flattening beneath their tired legs as they both found themselves gasping for new breath. Natsumi turned and looked back up towards the castle, now far from them. The fires were dying but the black smoke had covered the sky above like a wicked, dark shroud of death that now hung over the fallen Saitō clan. The battle was over - there was no longer the ring of blades, explosions of black powder, and cries of men. The Oda had won the. Inabayama had fallen.
Natsumi faced her brother, her eyes still red from crying and even now fresh tears brimmed at the bottom of her lids as lament filled her beautiful face. She asked her brother a simple but jarring question. “What do we do, Ichiro?”
Natsumi quickly knew that her brother could see that she was in a terrified stupor. A part of her would be fearful that her brother would be uncertain by his sisters’ current state of mind. While Ichiro was a capable young man and had always done his father and clan proud there was always an unspoken truth between the two siblings. Ichiro was strong, he was wise for his age, and he was calm more oft than not - Natsumi however always seemed to be the wittier of the two. Always a step even and at times a step ahead of her brother when facing uncertainty or even danger. Ichiro had come to accept with age that there was no shame in looking to his sister for guidance even if some might see it as a sign of weakness. Ichiro never seemed to care. And yet here was Natsumi now dangling like a doll from her brothers’ hand as he guided her through the dense forest that covered the face of the mountain on which Inabayama sat. Brush slapped at their faces and vines pulled at their arms and legs as they rushed to escape before the Oda finished their foul plundering of the Saitō clans’ home. The only things the pair had aside from what they wore was their fathers’ helmet and sword and a box of their mothers’ jewelry which Natsumi squeezed tightly under one arm.
The downward running seemed never to end. The forest continued to claw and grab at the two Ikari youth as they continued to descend, leaping together over brambles and sidestepping thick tree trunks. In the distance Natsumi could make out the blackened, ashy remains of Inoguchi - a town near Inabayama. Only the worst could be assumed as to what happened to the townsfolk and as she continued her forced run with Ichiro, Natsumi felt a wave of sorrow as she thought back to all the times her father had taken she and Ichiro into town with him, be it to deal with the merchants or meet with his clan’s retainers or other associates that lived in Inoguchi. The whole world she and her brother knew was burning and crumbling around them and all they could do was run like scared children. Perhaps that is all they were.
The sounds of battle wavered and grew distant as Ichiro and Natsumi finally reached the bottom of the mountain, the earth flattening beneath their tired legs as they both found themselves gasping for new breath. Natsumi turned and looked back up towards the castle, now far from them. The fires were dying but the black smoke had covered the sky above like a wicked, dark shroud of death that now hung over the fallen Saitō clan. The battle was over - there was no longer the ring of blades, explosions of black powder, and cries of men. The Oda had won the. Inabayama had fallen.
Natsumi faced her brother, her eyes still red from crying and even now fresh tears brimmed at the bottom of her lids as lament filled her beautiful face. She asked her brother a simple but jarring question. “What do we do, Ichiro?”