Even a ronin could fight with honor. Preventing peasants from being abused and starved was not a grand act, but it was still a great act. While she wished for more action, his life was a worthy one she was proud of.
She understood why she was hidden away. Peasants were not allowed swords, and the chief’s daughter was no warrior. She waited in her saya, inside a silk case, in a trunk while time ebbed endlessly past. The samurai themselves faded away. That saddened her, and she hoped there would be another culture that respected her, not let her age away for naught. Eventually, the red blight of rust bloomed on her skin.
Then one day, she was taken from the trunk, and hands passed her to another.