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Kwan looked at his clothes, and the red dust threatening to stain it. Not that the stains mattered. He didn’t go to courts, nor did he hold any unless made to. It wasn’t like his youthful years, when everything seemed so simple and happy. He didn’t have the strength to attend or host. Not while Gumiho was still out there. Holding court would only lead to spent energy, enticing her to attack. Some days, it was all he could do to safe guard this mountain from Kurai. Other days, it wasn’t enough. And now that the doe...
Better that all the Juneun though he’d become a shut in than to know the truth. Afterall, Gumiho wasn’t the only threat. Given the chance, however, he feared she’d trick others into a trap and torment them. As she’d done before. He’d never forgive her, from that day onward. So he set his home on Mount Tora, keeping her backed to the edge of the world and as far away from all else as possible.
He couldn’t allow distractions.
Shedding his clothes to change, he reminded himself of that. He was still weak from the last confrontation; his only solace knowing that he’d dealt a heavy enough blow to keep her at bay. He needed to pretend he had more strength to him than he felt. If he gave even the slightest hint that it was taking longer for him to recover, Kurai from all over would swarm. They’d start with the mortals and the forests first. If he was to protect them, he needed to appear just as strong, if not stronger.
No distractions.
He looked at his discarded robe, at the red clay spattered on it. The scene replaying in his mind. Then Yua’s words haunting him after.
The girl looked frightened every time he laid eyes on her. Shaking and pathetic. In spite of it, she labored without complaint. He’d first thought her a puppet, or perhaps her brother as one. But the parting of them didn’t appear as much. He wouldn’t put it past a Kurai to ensnare a desperate mortal and use them to get close. Though, if that was the case, she would have acted while he was in recovery.
Unable to stand it, he left his room freshly dressed, sword at his side. They kept her in the kennels, if he remembered right. He mused at the irony. A kennel without hounds, and a prisoner without a prison. Walking past the tea house, the men hastened to look busy.
“I want the job completed before sunset.”
One man complained, saying it was delicate work that required more time.
Kwan stopped, turning on his heel. “Then you should have used the girl for an actual task to speed things along, rather than send her to fetch worthless things from a leaky shed in the farthest part of the estate.”
To that, they went rigid and quickened themselves. He’d struck at them before for drunken insolence, and again when they sobered. His reputation might imply a hermit-like behavior, but his family line demanded a disciplined household. If only they knew, understood, that every laxed action could potentially spell their doom. He had to act as the master, regretting his allowances as it was.
When he reached the kennel, he found it empty, except for a woven mat, a tattered deel, and a child’s toy. He stared a while, at how tidy it was kept. What an odd prisoner. Then again, what an odd place to hold one.
He walked out, crossing the path of a guardsman back from his post.
“Gi.”
The guard halted, standing in attention.
“Where is the prisoner girl?”
Gi twisted his face at the question, bewildered. “I haven’t seen her since this morning when she was bringing in clay, my lord.”
It was an odd thing to imagine, though it explained a lot. “How often does she do that?”
Gi shrugged as he thought. “About as often as the men. She’s a hard worker for a mortal girl.”
Kwan grunted. It seemed lax behavior was rampant in his home. “Thank you, Gi.” He walked on.
A new inspection of his estate began, walking the grounds and mulling over the new bit of information. In all his meandering, he hadn’t crossed paths with his prisoner. Regardless, he needed to record his findings, and made to return to his room.
On the veranda, Syaoran walked by, stretching his arms with a wide yawn.
“Have you seen the prisoner girl?” asked Kwan.
“I haven’t seen her all day. She’s most likely gathering clay as Yua instructed, or in her cell.”
Kwan grunted, continuing his path.
In his room, he set up his ink and paper. But it bothered him. She couldn’t just vanish into thin air. He stared at the blank page, unable to collect his thoughts—Yua’s words echoing in his head. He set aside his things, and concentrated. As long as she was on the mountain, he’d be able to find her.
His sight magnified, piercing through wood and stone and metal as he searched. It was a frivolous thing to waste energy on. And if it didn’t put his mind at ease? Either way, he’d already used the spell.
He spotted her by the river that cut through his lands. So, she was running away; looking for a place to cross without being spotted. Then, something unexpected happened. She began to undress. Did she think that would help her crossing? She didn’t cross though. It was to give her clothes a wash.
He let go of the spell, crinkling his nose as he tried to make sense of it. Of course, he’d told her to go and clean up. If she hadn’t come into the house, she wouldn’t know about... His eyes shut, helping to free him of the distraction so he could write down what needed attending and label them by order of importance.
When he completed it, some hours had passed. He heard no news of her.
Ridiculous.
As much as he resisted, his curiosity got the better of him. Again, he cast his sight to find her. She wasn’t beside the river anymore. In his search, he found her inside the outer wall, smiling as she watched something intently. He fixed his gaze more. Butterflies. In great abundance. She was smiling at them. It was the first time he’d seen her unafraid, at peace. Curious.
Ending the spell, he leaned back where he sat, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the paper-paned window.
Curious.
After sunset, he walked the veranda of the house, with every member bidding him a good night as they retired to their rooms or went to take their post. In passing the tea house, he frowned at the mess. Lax behavior indeed.
Holding his palm upward, a small light formed to illuminate his path in a gentle glow. At the kennels, the girl didn’t stir. She stayed blissfully asleep. He watched her a moment, trying to figure out how this same trembling mortal could be so still. There was the curiosity of that toy rabbit. What was the significance that she kept her cell tidy for it?
What a strange mortal.
He left without a word. Whatever way she’d found in and out of the walls, she chose to return. Why? Was her prisoner life preferable to her village? If so, why had he only seen her smile once, when there was not another around?
A strange prisoner.