"Thank you papa. Shall I start another song?" queried the little girl behind the cherry blossom-patterned screen.

"No, let us instead have a toast to your brother! Kurenai, please pour us some sake."

"Of course, Rokuni-san." The small, delicately beautiful woman moved over to the sake and began to pour. "Shall I pour some for Suku, as well?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eyes. The big man sitting at the burnished cherry-wood table laughed, and shook his head.

"No, only for the adults." he said with pride, looking at his young son, now a man. The resemblance between the two was striking. Both were large for their people, with broad shoulders and a fearsome strength. Yet they also shared a clear, calm gaze and refined features that belied their brutish size and added to their reputation as samurai. The woman, Kurenai, barely reached her husband's shoulders when he was standing. Even when seated, she stood only a few inches above his head. She had delicate, porcelain features and long, almost reddish hair that won her many a lingering look in court, when they were forced to go.

Their daughter, only seven, combined the look of them both. She seemed to share her mother's size, though she still had time to grow, and her hair also had reddish highlights, but she had her father's clear hazel eyes, and the penetrating gaze that went with them. The boy, Tarrou, had reached his gempukku and received his daisho just the day before. It was a day of celebration for this Mirumoto family. A day of great joy. And a day of reckoning.

As Kurenai began to set out the cups of sake, a shadow crossed the threshold, and a deep, rough voice called out.

"What? No sake for me? Heh heh. Too bad. Now I've been offended."

Rokuni and Tarrou sprang up in a blur of acton, knocking down one of the cups in the process, hands on their swords, as a samurai walked into their house. He was tall, for a Rokugani, but not as tall as Kurenai. Yet he was still imposing, with an air of command, and of cruelty, about him. He strode forward, hand on his blade, and crushed the little sake glass, grinding it into the floor with his heavily booted foot.

"You!" shouted Rokuni. "What are you doing here, in the lands of the Dragon?"

"Why, it's quite simple, Rokuni-san, I've come to challenge you to a duel. Your actions towards me, and my clan, the last time you were at court were simply too much for us to bear. So, I came to rid my clan of the thorn in their side: you."

"What actions? I only spoke my mind, as any true samurai should. If it offended your delicate sensibilities, well, that's just too bad. A bushi should learn to deal with his faults and surpass them, not simply eliminate all that exacerbates them. But, if you must have a duel, then so be it. I am confident enough in my own abilities that I am not worried by the likes of you."

"Indeed, Rokuni-san, your duelling prowess has spread all throughout the court. It is said that you are one of the best duelists for the Dragon since Mirumoto himself. Heh. Know you this: I am not worried either."

Tarrou narrowed his eyes at that, and turned to his father.

"Father, let me duel him. Do not bother to dirty your blade with the likes of him." The young samurai turned back to the intruder and spat towards his feet.

"No, Tarrou. You are not yet ready for a true duel. Your heart is in the right place, but your sword has not yet tasted blood. I shall deal with this. You watch, and learn." With that he gestured for his son and wife to move back towards the screen, and he moved the table aside to make room for a duel. The challenger simply stood without moving, waiting for the duel to begin. Rokuni finished moving the furniture and placed his daisho in his obi, then stood facing the intruder.

"So, Rokuni, are you ready then?"

"Hai."

"Then let us begin. Someone should call the start of the duel. Boy!" Tarrou glared at him and nodded.

"On three then. Ichi....ni....SAN!"

The two samurai simultaneously drew their weapons, the challenger a katana, and Rokuni a katana and a wakizashi. They exchanged a flurry of blows, almost too fast for the eye to catch. When they stopped, the intruder was holding a gushing slash cut through the armor on his belly, and Rokuni had only a cut on one arm. Rokuni stepped forward to finish him off, then jerked to a stop, and fell, convulsing onto the floor. The other samurai started laughing; a horrible, gurgling sound. Tarrou took one look at his father, lying dead on the floor, and screamed out a battle cry, drawing his blades as he ran. Unfortunately, even wounded unto death, the more experienced warrior knew how to fight. He took one step forward and pierced the young samurai in the same place from which his life was bleeding away, and the young challenger fell to the ground, dead almost instantly.

Kurenai stood in the back of the room, trembling with shock. Her marriage, unlike many in Rokugan, had been a love match, and she had just lost half of her soul. Her face frozen in a wide-eyed stare, she looked down at the bodies of her husband and son, then at the sagging butcher who had killed them both, and calmly walked forward. The spreading blood on the floor stained the bottom of her pale peach kimono a dark red, but she didn't seem to notice. Smoothly, composedly, she walked towards the only samurai left alive in the room and stood before him. He leered at her, blood foaming between his lips, but she simply shook her head, and took hold of his katana, grasping it tightly until blood began to flow from between her fingers. She fell to the ground at the same time as the bushi, twitching with the poison that ran through her veins. Then all was quiet.

After a few minutes, the silence was broken by the wind, unconcerned with the deeds of simple mortals, as it passed through the wind chimes with a cheerful tinkle.