When after a moment he heard no verbal response from the other shinobi, Shiu looked over his shoulder back at the swordsman. Much to his pleasure, he caught the tail-end of his nodding back in affirmation to his implicit orders and him falling back in the ranks. He thought for a moment how nice it was to say something and have others simply obey it. The Kuronmeru family had no shortage of servants, but it was a different experience ordering a civilian around who was paid to listen than it was for a shinobi who outranked him to fall in line without question.
Whatever small bit of pleasure he felt from this was short-lived, however, as just as soon the trio of small kids made their way around him again. Even after Shiu stopped, one of the boys rammed into his side and stumbled over his foot, displaying a clumsiness that made Shiu suspect he’d done it on purpose to begin with. He frowned an angry death glare down at the pile of child right below him, but the boy seemed to completely ignore him, scrabbling back to his feet in a tired sprint to try to catch up with the other pigtail-chasing boy.
He pressed on. As the party came closer to the swamp, the more the terrain before them changed. Patches of shallow beds of water cropped up against the ankle-length grass, and the closer they got, the more thin films of moss he saw frothing at the surface of the water. A couple of times, he had to wind their path well around these modestly-sized bodies of water. It would not have been a problem for a couple of shinobi to cross over, but the ox-drawn wagons seemed more difficult to turn, and he didn’t trust in the stability of their wheels.
By the third time he had to circle around, he was beginning to doubt his decision to plow through the marshlands. Not only did it seem like there could be segments that wagons such as these simply could not navigate, but there was also a strange salty smell in the air that he wasn’t sure he liked. Shiu may have been able to tolerate that on its own, but in addition to the raucous noise of the children and the meaningless drivel of the straw-hatted peasant, it felt like an assault on his senses.
Much to his chagrin, just as he was about to admit they needed to change the trajectory of their course, he heard a change in the straw-hatted man’s tone, and a foreboding silence from him. This was, apparently, because he had just told whoever he was talking to that he would be right back, and he had hopped off his seat on the wagon to run ahead to talk to Shiu.
The man rounded on him, sticking his torso out in front in such a way that was meant to block him from walking any further. Shiu could have simply walked around, or pushed him over like he wanted to, but he restrained himself and came to a halt, settling with meeting the man’s toothy smile with an icy stare.
"Excuse me. Hi, hello,” the man started, waving his hand entirely too close to Shiu’s face. "You weren’t planning on taking us through that marsh ahead, were you?”
"I was,” Shiu stated flatly.
"Oh, that’s a bad idea. We shouldn’t do that,” the man said, his face becoming concerned and he shook his head emphatically.
If anything, hearing the source of his headache from the past several hours telling him not to go through only made him want to stubbornly double down on his efforts.
"There’s all manner of yokai haunting that bog,” the man continued. "They say there’s kappa lurking those waters, and trees that’ll suck out your blood, and spiders the size of a house with the face of a woman.”
"How can a
tree suck
blood?” he sneered, agitation rising in his voice.
"Well, they’re possessed,” he said matter-of-factly. "They wrap you up in their roots then sap everything you got out of you. My cousin said that’s why you hear the trees groaning. You
hear things once you get in there. That’s why it’s got the name it does.”
Shiu had enough of these superstitions getting in the way of his duties. First there was his mission in Amegakure, where their paranoid employer charged them with performing a cleansing ritual on the factory she had bought, and now this man, who was somehow impossibly even
more annoying, was telling him nonsensical tales of trees eating people. "None of that is real,” he said, whatever small care he might have had for sparing this commoner’s feelings all but gone now. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the straw-hatted man cut him off. By now, the wagon at the front had caught up to them, and now was idling behind the two awaiting direction.
"It’s true, I swear it,” he said, staring at him wide-eyed in his passion. "Those stories don’t come from nowhere, you know. It’s always young men who try to naysay this kind of stuff, but if you were out there by yourself, you’d be singing a different tune.”
As the man bodily impeded the party’s progress with going anywhere, either around or through the swamp, there was the sound of gentle, puffing snorts approaching from the treeline ahead.