Chapter 14
Winter, 1236 – The Unknown Lands
For nine days, she only watched him. In her waking hours, those strange gray eyes followed him around the room as he prepared food or ground medicines. He could feel her eyes on him as he meditated, as he slept. She watched him look into the waters and sing the sutras. But she did not say a word.
Yu’genta at first feared she would spring from her bed to attack him at any moment, though he was not sure she was well enough to do much harm. He knew she suffered pain despite his medicines, and after so long asleep she would have had great weakness. Still, many creatures attack even those who are trying to heal them in the face of pain. It is difficult to adjust to so much stripped from the body. But she did not attack, even when he came to change the bandages. Much of the time, she slept. Any pain she had, she suffered in silence. He allowed himself to grow slightly more comfortable in her presence, but continued to be wary. She is probably just too weak to dare, he thought.
On the tenth day, as he crouched by her and lifted a spoon of broth to her lips, she spoke a word-sound for the first time. Her voice was hoarse and dusky with misuse. He merely grunted in response. Perhaps the word for food. No matter.. She made the same sound again later in the evening when he brought mashed breadfruit mixed with juice to feed her. Though…perhaps there is more. Guru Ou’bouji spoke of me teaching her. He scowled. He would say I should teach a tiger next, I suppose. I must have much dharma I must earn before I reach the end of my years if that is my future.
Still, this sound she made was interesting. She used it the next day when he brought her a meal, as he expected, but then surprised him by making the same sound after he had finished binding her wounds again, despite flinching and what was clearly an unpleasurable experience. Why would she make this sound both for receiving food and for having bandages changed? He tried to offer her a scoopful of dung, but she did not make the sound, instead recoiling from him. Yu’genta came to realize in a few days she made the sound whenever she received something beneficial, even if that benefit involved immediate pain for her long term good.
One morning, he found the most beautiful of the healing flowers he had gathered and presented it to her, carefully looking for her response. It serves no benefit to her. What will she do? His patient paused as she accepted it, looking down in the delicate, curving purple depths of the lovely orchid. Then she looked up at him, and he could see the glimmer of actual tears on the corners of her eyes. She made the sound again.
It gave him much to think about that night. I do not know what the sound means. But perhaps Ou’bouji is right. Maybe there is a chance she actually has a soul.
Yu’genta continued his work, and he was beginning to grow concerned. Although her body seemed to be healing, and he was fairly sure she was past the pain, she was starting to eat less and sleep more, making little effort to rise. This confused him. He would expect her to try to slink away as quickly as possible, or, if more intelligent than that, to try to shore up her strength to prepare for a more powerful attack. But she seemed to grow less inclined to do either. He touched the waters to send a message out to Ou’bouji to ask why that might be.
“Show her the knifes.” came back the response.
He did so, picking up the pair of weapons from their discarded corner, and, with great caution, bringing them to her. She lifted her head at that, and her eyes widened. Yu’genta jumped back, ready with the chant that invokes sleeping. But she merely took them and said those words again before lying back down in exhaustion. The creature…The Human, he corrected himself…seemed to do somewhat better after that.
In the days that followed, ate and drank a little more and was slowly growing in strength, growing able to feed herself and move within the confines her sleeping pallet. One afternoon, as the winter sunshine slit down into the hut through the leaves of the roof, she looked at the cup from which she was drinking, and the flowers near her bed that he had brought for her healing. She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, and then took three different kinds of the flowers around her and arranged them in the water cup, trimming the ends and leaves to make sure they were arranged ‘just so’.
Yu’genta found himself curious, and swung over to land beside her, looking at the cup with the flowers. What is her intention with this? he wondered.
The human held the cup with flowers out to him. He eyed it carefully up and down. Humph. The shojo would know what this was. But it is….sacred. In a way. He accepted the cup from her. And, almost as a test of his own understanding, he grunted out his best imitation of the sound that she had been making. “Ari-ga-tō.”
She did not repeat the sound this time, but she just silently put her hands together and gave him a small bow.
Yu’genta put the cup on a shelf in the hut, and noticed her watching it often.
After that, she began to make a variety of different sounds, but Yu’genta mostly ignored them. He expected screaming and threats, as is. No need to encourage it. It was annoying enough that she was there. “Teaching or not, speaking with corrupted souls will corrupt your own.” He found it more pleasant when she was silent.
The human was getting stronger. One day while he was sitting on the floor of his hut weaving baskets, she pointed to the pile of rushes next to him. “Hachimitsu kudasai?” The sounds meant nothing to him, but she pointed at the rushes and then pointed at herself, a pleading expression on her face.
Is she asking for the rushes? Why? He ignored her for a while, but she made the same sound again. This is too difficult! the old man groused to himself. He pointed at the reeds.
She pointed at them also. “Hachimitsu.”
He grumbled to himself, then repeated, “Hachimitsu.”
She nodded at him eagerly.
“Hachimitsu kudasai?” She pointed at the reeds and back at herself.
The old man snorted loudly. “Fine! Let’s see what you do with them. They aren’t food. Or flowers.”
He gathered up a bundle of reeds and brought it to her.
“Arigato,” she repeated, as she usually did when given something, and accepted the reeds. He grunted and returned to his basket making. After a time, he looked up to notice her watching him, copying his motions, slowly weaving a basket of reeds similar to his. It was a poor, simple thing, but it left him with a thousand questions.
Was she actually building something? Was she even trying to /help/ him? Was she learning from him? He brought her more reeds, and she continued to try to weave, fingers clearly unused to the work. But she slowly worked on finer baskets, even alternating color and design. That had even broader implications. Is she actually creating beauty? Was that not the hallmark of a soul?
The days passed. With time, she was able to rise. Yu’genta expected her to leave, then, weak and unsteady as she was, knowing that most creatures could not bear to be caged. He hoped for it, really…an excuse to return to his solitary life. She disturbed his serenity.
She did not go.
The human did, however, start changing the Vānara’s small world in ways that confused him. It started with trying to weave baskets or helping him to prepare food before she could walk again. One day, she cut a hole into the center of the fiber cloth he used to cover her for warmth. With more time, she started to do simple things inside the hut like remove the dead flowers or grind medicines. She would place the blanket over her body and move in the hut, especially when he was not present. He would leave and find the place cleaner when he returned. Or find a meal prepared where there had been none. Sometimes, the effort of it was enough to send her back to her bed in exhaustion. But then she would begin again.
It was not behavior that Yu’genta expected. But he slowly came to accept it.
One day, he returned from gathering in the forest to find a meal prepared. After he had eaten, he looked up to see her kneeling before him, wrapped in the plant fibers from her bed. She bowed, looking down at the floor. He could see the glimmer of pride, of wildness, that intimidated him, but her manner was humble.. She said only, “Kiru fuku kudasai?”
“Kudasai.” The sound she had made when asking for the reeds. She had made that sound asking for other things. What does she want? He grunted. Then he reached over with a foot and grabbed a fruit that was near him, and offered it up to her.
She shook her head. “Fuku….” She gestured to the blanket around her. ““Kiru fuku kudasai?”
Yu’genta scowled, trying to figure out what she was wanting, when suddenly he remembered. When he had found her, she had been wrapped in filthy pieces of cloth. They were wet and covered with insects, blood, and filth. He had had to destroy them. He had none to give her. He reached forward to pluck at the plant fiber and made a non-committal sound of inquiry.
She nodded eagerly, gesturing at the cloth. “Hai!”
He offered her the fruit again. She shook her head and made the sound “Īe.” Her face showed disappointment.
Humph. The nod and the ‘Hai’ must mean Yes, the old man thought. And shaking the head and ‘Īe’ must mean No. It probably is not that great a danger to me to learn that much. I shall ask Ou’bouji. But as to the cloth…
The next day, he went out into the forest and brought back sheets of coconut fiber for another blanket and set to work. She watched him as he made it with a sigh, looking disappointed. He thought, again, about her attacking him, but she did not do so. When he was finished, he presented her with the finished blanket.
“Arigatōgozaimashita,” she said, taking the blanket and curling up with it to go to sleep. But she didn’t seem pleased.
That evening, he touched the waters again, reaching out to the Guru.
Ou’bouji’s broad gray face gazed calmly back at him through the waters. “May the light of holiness guide you, Yu’genta. How are you and the one you have placed under your charge?” He may have sounded a little amused.
“She greatly troubles my serenity. She does not do as I expect. She is well enough to move now, though weak. But she has not attacked me at all. Instead she weaves baskets and prepares food and wipes away dirt and grinds medicine.”
The guru scratched the broad rim of dark flesh that protected his throat, a sign of his caste. “Has she asked for anything from you?”
The old man of the forest sniffed. “She makes sounds. I ignore them. You yourself have said is dangerous to listen to such violent creatures. She sometimes indicates she wants reeds for basket making. She seems to want a new cloth covering. Perhaps as she had when I found her? I gave her a new blanket but she does not seem happy.”
The guru considered this closely. “I have spoken to you before of the ancient times. I should have been more clear. Since the summoning of the great Destruction, the Vanaprastha have known only two kinds of humans that remain. The first are the Ruhmalists, who drew forth the great Destruction and live only for the creation and proliferation of destruction. The second are the ones known as Samurai, with their narrow eyes and their love of their knives. This one looks like neither, but it had the knives. So, as you did, I believed it was Samurai.”
Yu’genta listened carefully to the teacher’s wisdom.
Ou’bouji went on. “The Vanaprastha, as all Vānara who seek Svargam do, have avoided the Samurai. But we know some amount about them. They consume the flesh of their kin, Brother Goat and Sister Deer. They hunt the messengers of the heavens, the birds of the air. This causes the corruption of the body. They create and offer sake, which causes the corruption of the mind. Vānara which fall prey to this corruption become shojo, at the mercy of their basest instincts. Even the Vanapasthra and the seers can fall victim to their corruption; to lose En’you was a great tragedy. We know they train incessantly for war, and are quick to use their knives against any that do not do as they will or do not treat them carefully.”
Yu’genta rumbled, "I have watched them move through the forest. They are dangerous. That is why I keep silent.”
The image of Ou’bouji reached towards him through the water, appearing to touch the water’s surface. As he did so, an image became visible in the waters: an image of a group of samurai bearing the symbols of spiders on their black and white metal shells, cutting a swath of destruction through the jungles. “They are dangerous. And cunning...willing to lie and deceive to get what they wish. They have, according to those who know them best, only one virtue: utter loyalty and obedience to the one who leads them. But, in that loyalty, they have the seeds of virtue from which other virtues may spring. Perhaps even the beginning of a soul.”
The old man glanced back at the bed upon which the young woman slept. “This one...seems to want to help. When I refused her, she did not attack. She tries to make beautiful things, though it is clear she has no skill. That is why I thought she might have a soul.”
The image in the water cleared. It was replaced with another image, an image of a simple Ivinda farmer. Ou’bouji’s voice said over the seeing, “Before the summoning of the great destruction, there were many humans indeed. Most were of these, Ivinda. They have their equivalent among the aliens who have come to this land. For either, they do not seek enlightenment or purity. They earn their dharma in simple lives. They do not have the touch of Heaven upon them. The Vānara acknowledged them long ago, though did not communicate with them much. They usually hide from us. They are much given to their vices, even if they avoided violence, and caused some of the weakness of the shojo. But they are never allowed to carry the blades. The Samurai and higher castes forbid it.”
Yu’genta just grunted. His lost egret did not seem to him a laborer. A laborer does not carry the knives of a killer. And those not touched by the heavens would not carry the blessings of the kingdom of animals upon them.
Ou’bouji’s face reappeared in the water. “Before the great destruction, however, there were some among the Ivinda who the Vanaprastha did meet with. Those we could trust to treat us with courtesy and to keep their word to us. Those who sought the Way and led their people. The Vanaprastha came to them to create treaties. To teach them…to help them guide the humans on the path to freedom from the wheel of incarnation. Sometimes, even the Sannyasin would commune with them, they who are almost all removed from the world. These humans were the Brahmin of the Ivinda. They were holy.” The guru’s eyes were dark and intense. “Perhaps, among the Samurai, as among the Ivinda, there are Brahmin. Or at least, perhaps she is samurai who has been endowed with virtue despite her caste. Perhaps she has been sent to guide her kind on the path. Perhaps that explains what she is.”
“If she were Brahmin, or had virtue above her caste, how would we know?” Yu’genta’s could see the intensity in the guru’s expression, and feared he had done something wrong in the way he had dealt with the human in his care.
Ou’bouji’s small brown eyes gleamed with curiosity. “I will come in one turning of the moon. We shall test her. If she passes the tests, then we shall know if she is Brahmin. If she is Brahmin…then we shall speak. And we shall understand one another truly. If she is not Brahmin, I will bring her cloth wrappings the Samurai wear and she shall go. She will be well enough by then. The forest will finish her destiny for this lifetime.”
Winter, 1236 – The Unknown Lands
For nine days, she only watched him. In her waking hours, those strange gray eyes followed him around the room as he prepared food or ground medicines. He could feel her eyes on him as he meditated, as he slept. She watched him look into the waters and sing the sutras. But she did not say a word.
Yu’genta at first feared she would spring from her bed to attack him at any moment, though he was not sure she was well enough to do much harm. He knew she suffered pain despite his medicines, and after so long asleep she would have had great weakness. Still, many creatures attack even those who are trying to heal them in the face of pain. It is difficult to adjust to so much stripped from the body. But she did not attack, even when he came to change the bandages. Much of the time, she slept. Any pain she had, she suffered in silence. He allowed himself to grow slightly more comfortable in her presence, but continued to be wary. She is probably just too weak to dare, he thought.
On the tenth day, as he crouched by her and lifted a spoon of broth to her lips, she spoke a word-sound for the first time. Her voice was hoarse and dusky with misuse. He merely grunted in response. Perhaps the word for food. No matter.. She made the same sound again later in the evening when he brought mashed breadfruit mixed with juice to feed her. Though…perhaps there is more. Guru Ou’bouji spoke of me teaching her. He scowled. He would say I should teach a tiger next, I suppose. I must have much dharma I must earn before I reach the end of my years if that is my future.
Still, this sound she made was interesting. She used it the next day when he brought her a meal, as he expected, but then surprised him by making the same sound after he had finished binding her wounds again, despite flinching and what was clearly an unpleasurable experience. Why would she make this sound both for receiving food and for having bandages changed? He tried to offer her a scoopful of dung, but she did not make the sound, instead recoiling from him. Yu’genta came to realize in a few days she made the sound whenever she received something beneficial, even if that benefit involved immediate pain for her long term good.
One morning, he found the most beautiful of the healing flowers he had gathered and presented it to her, carefully looking for her response. It serves no benefit to her. What will she do? His patient paused as she accepted it, looking down in the delicate, curving purple depths of the lovely orchid. Then she looked up at him, and he could see the glimmer of actual tears on the corners of her eyes. She made the sound again.
It gave him much to think about that night. I do not know what the sound means. But perhaps Ou’bouji is right. Maybe there is a chance she actually has a soul.
Yu’genta continued his work, and he was beginning to grow concerned. Although her body seemed to be healing, and he was fairly sure she was past the pain, she was starting to eat less and sleep more, making little effort to rise. This confused him. He would expect her to try to slink away as quickly as possible, or, if more intelligent than that, to try to shore up her strength to prepare for a more powerful attack. But she seemed to grow less inclined to do either. He touched the waters to send a message out to Ou’bouji to ask why that might be.
“Show her the knifes.” came back the response.
He did so, picking up the pair of weapons from their discarded corner, and, with great caution, bringing them to her. She lifted her head at that, and her eyes widened. Yu’genta jumped back, ready with the chant that invokes sleeping. But she merely took them and said those words again before lying back down in exhaustion. The creature…The Human, he corrected himself…seemed to do somewhat better after that.
In the days that followed, ate and drank a little more and was slowly growing in strength, growing able to feed herself and move within the confines her sleeping pallet. One afternoon, as the winter sunshine slit down into the hut through the leaves of the roof, she looked at the cup from which she was drinking, and the flowers near her bed that he had brought for her healing. She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, and then took three different kinds of the flowers around her and arranged them in the water cup, trimming the ends and leaves to make sure they were arranged ‘just so’.
Yu’genta found himself curious, and swung over to land beside her, looking at the cup with the flowers. What is her intention with this? he wondered.
The human held the cup with flowers out to him. He eyed it carefully up and down. Humph. The shojo would know what this was. But it is….sacred. In a way. He accepted the cup from her. And, almost as a test of his own understanding, he grunted out his best imitation of the sound that she had been making. “Ari-ga-tō.”
She did not repeat the sound this time, but she just silently put her hands together and gave him a small bow.
Yu’genta put the cup on a shelf in the hut, and noticed her watching it often.
After that, she began to make a variety of different sounds, but Yu’genta mostly ignored them. He expected screaming and threats, as is. No need to encourage it. It was annoying enough that she was there. “Teaching or not, speaking with corrupted souls will corrupt your own.” He found it more pleasant when she was silent.
The human was getting stronger. One day while he was sitting on the floor of his hut weaving baskets, she pointed to the pile of rushes next to him. “Hachimitsu kudasai?” The sounds meant nothing to him, but she pointed at the rushes and then pointed at herself, a pleading expression on her face.
Is she asking for the rushes? Why? He ignored her for a while, but she made the same sound again. This is too difficult! the old man groused to himself. He pointed at the reeds.
She pointed at them also. “Hachimitsu.”
He grumbled to himself, then repeated, “Hachimitsu.”
She nodded at him eagerly.
“Hachimitsu kudasai?” She pointed at the reeds and back at herself.
The old man snorted loudly. “Fine! Let’s see what you do with them. They aren’t food. Or flowers.”
He gathered up a bundle of reeds and brought it to her.
“Arigato,” she repeated, as she usually did when given something, and accepted the reeds. He grunted and returned to his basket making. After a time, he looked up to notice her watching him, copying his motions, slowly weaving a basket of reeds similar to his. It was a poor, simple thing, but it left him with a thousand questions.
Was she actually building something? Was she even trying to /help/ him? Was she learning from him? He brought her more reeds, and she continued to try to weave, fingers clearly unused to the work. But she slowly worked on finer baskets, even alternating color and design. That had even broader implications. Is she actually creating beauty? Was that not the hallmark of a soul?
The days passed. With time, she was able to rise. Yu’genta expected her to leave, then, weak and unsteady as she was, knowing that most creatures could not bear to be caged. He hoped for it, really…an excuse to return to his solitary life. She disturbed his serenity.
She did not go.
The human did, however, start changing the Vānara’s small world in ways that confused him. It started with trying to weave baskets or helping him to prepare food before she could walk again. One day, she cut a hole into the center of the fiber cloth he used to cover her for warmth. With more time, she started to do simple things inside the hut like remove the dead flowers or grind medicines. She would place the blanket over her body and move in the hut, especially when he was not present. He would leave and find the place cleaner when he returned. Or find a meal prepared where there had been none. Sometimes, the effort of it was enough to send her back to her bed in exhaustion. But then she would begin again.
It was not behavior that Yu’genta expected. But he slowly came to accept it.
One day, he returned from gathering in the forest to find a meal prepared. After he had eaten, he looked up to see her kneeling before him, wrapped in the plant fibers from her bed. She bowed, looking down at the floor. He could see the glimmer of pride, of wildness, that intimidated him, but her manner was humble.. She said only, “Kiru fuku kudasai?”
“Kudasai.” The sound she had made when asking for the reeds. She had made that sound asking for other things. What does she want? He grunted. Then he reached over with a foot and grabbed a fruit that was near him, and offered it up to her.
She shook her head. “Fuku….” She gestured to the blanket around her. ““Kiru fuku kudasai?”
Yu’genta scowled, trying to figure out what she was wanting, when suddenly he remembered. When he had found her, she had been wrapped in filthy pieces of cloth. They were wet and covered with insects, blood, and filth. He had had to destroy them. He had none to give her. He reached forward to pluck at the plant fiber and made a non-committal sound of inquiry.
She nodded eagerly, gesturing at the cloth. “Hai!”
He offered her the fruit again. She shook her head and made the sound “Īe.” Her face showed disappointment.
Humph. The nod and the ‘Hai’ must mean Yes, the old man thought. And shaking the head and ‘Īe’ must mean No. It probably is not that great a danger to me to learn that much. I shall ask Ou’bouji. But as to the cloth…
The next day, he went out into the forest and brought back sheets of coconut fiber for another blanket and set to work. She watched him as he made it with a sigh, looking disappointed. He thought, again, about her attacking him, but she did not do so. When he was finished, he presented her with the finished blanket.
“Arigatōgozaimashita,” she said, taking the blanket and curling up with it to go to sleep. But she didn’t seem pleased.
That evening, he touched the waters again, reaching out to the Guru.
Ou’bouji’s broad gray face gazed calmly back at him through the waters. “May the light of holiness guide you, Yu’genta. How are you and the one you have placed under your charge?” He may have sounded a little amused.
“She greatly troubles my serenity. She does not do as I expect. She is well enough to move now, though weak. But she has not attacked me at all. Instead she weaves baskets and prepares food and wipes away dirt and grinds medicine.”
The guru scratched the broad rim of dark flesh that protected his throat, a sign of his caste. “Has she asked for anything from you?”
The old man of the forest sniffed. “She makes sounds. I ignore them. You yourself have said is dangerous to listen to such violent creatures. She sometimes indicates she wants reeds for basket making. She seems to want a new cloth covering. Perhaps as she had when I found her? I gave her a new blanket but she does not seem happy.”
The guru considered this closely. “I have spoken to you before of the ancient times. I should have been more clear. Since the summoning of the great Destruction, the Vanaprastha have known only two kinds of humans that remain. The first are the Ruhmalists, who drew forth the great Destruction and live only for the creation and proliferation of destruction. The second are the ones known as Samurai, with their narrow eyes and their love of their knives. This one looks like neither, but it had the knives. So, as you did, I believed it was Samurai.”
Yu’genta listened carefully to the teacher’s wisdom.
Ou’bouji went on. “The Vanaprastha, as all Vānara who seek Svargam do, have avoided the Samurai. But we know some amount about them. They consume the flesh of their kin, Brother Goat and Sister Deer. They hunt the messengers of the heavens, the birds of the air. This causes the corruption of the body. They create and offer sake, which causes the corruption of the mind. Vānara which fall prey to this corruption become shojo, at the mercy of their basest instincts. Even the Vanapasthra and the seers can fall victim to their corruption; to lose En’you was a great tragedy. We know they train incessantly for war, and are quick to use their knives against any that do not do as they will or do not treat them carefully.”
Yu’genta rumbled, "I have watched them move through the forest. They are dangerous. That is why I keep silent.”
The image of Ou’bouji reached towards him through the water, appearing to touch the water’s surface. As he did so, an image became visible in the waters: an image of a group of samurai bearing the symbols of spiders on their black and white metal shells, cutting a swath of destruction through the jungles. “They are dangerous. And cunning...willing to lie and deceive to get what they wish. They have, according to those who know them best, only one virtue: utter loyalty and obedience to the one who leads them. But, in that loyalty, they have the seeds of virtue from which other virtues may spring. Perhaps even the beginning of a soul.”
The old man glanced back at the bed upon which the young woman slept. “This one...seems to want to help. When I refused her, she did not attack. She tries to make beautiful things, though it is clear she has no skill. That is why I thought she might have a soul.”
The image in the water cleared. It was replaced with another image, an image of a simple Ivinda farmer. Ou’bouji’s voice said over the seeing, “Before the summoning of the great destruction, there were many humans indeed. Most were of these, Ivinda. They have their equivalent among the aliens who have come to this land. For either, they do not seek enlightenment or purity. They earn their dharma in simple lives. They do not have the touch of Heaven upon them. The Vānara acknowledged them long ago, though did not communicate with them much. They usually hide from us. They are much given to their vices, even if they avoided violence, and caused some of the weakness of the shojo. But they are never allowed to carry the blades. The Samurai and higher castes forbid it.”
Yu’genta just grunted. His lost egret did not seem to him a laborer. A laborer does not carry the knives of a killer. And those not touched by the heavens would not carry the blessings of the kingdom of animals upon them.
Ou’bouji’s face reappeared in the water. “Before the great destruction, however, there were some among the Ivinda who the Vanaprastha did meet with. Those we could trust to treat us with courtesy and to keep their word to us. Those who sought the Way and led their people. The Vanaprastha came to them to create treaties. To teach them…to help them guide the humans on the path to freedom from the wheel of incarnation. Sometimes, even the Sannyasin would commune with them, they who are almost all removed from the world. These humans were the Brahmin of the Ivinda. They were holy.” The guru’s eyes were dark and intense. “Perhaps, among the Samurai, as among the Ivinda, there are Brahmin. Or at least, perhaps she is samurai who has been endowed with virtue despite her caste. Perhaps she has been sent to guide her kind on the path. Perhaps that explains what she is.”
“If she were Brahmin, or had virtue above her caste, how would we know?” Yu’genta’s could see the intensity in the guru’s expression, and feared he had done something wrong in the way he had dealt with the human in his care.
Ou’bouji’s small brown eyes gleamed with curiosity. “I will come in one turning of the moon. We shall test her. If she passes the tests, then we shall know if she is Brahmin. If she is Brahmin…then we shall speak. And we shall understand one another truly. If she is not Brahmin, I will bring her cloth wrappings the Samurai wear and she shall go. She will be well enough by then. The forest will finish her destiny for this lifetime.”