[Muramasa Uemon]

storms and song, a divine hymn

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The minutes of skinship became hours, and surely enough the wanderer's 'education' lasted through the night.

Sweat was shed as was blood, and along with the aching of his present injuries, the affair made for an... interesting experience, to say the very least. During the small hours before dawn, he laid with the Jashinist, closely yet apart.

Catching only a wink of sleep, or perhaps less, as they shared each other's warmth. He did not put it past Utsuwa to rise in the middle of the night and sink a sharpened fingernail into his neck. Though... he imagined if that was their intent, they had already let their opportunity pass without violence. Aside from the scratching and biting, of course.

In the early morning, once the sun had barely risen, the priest rose with it. Uemon followed suit, wincing as he sluggishly propped himself up and dressed his lower half. Along with his chest, his shoulder and face still throbbed.

Fresh, reddened tokens from the night before covered his body... but he said little in way of complaint. His mind, however, felt a bit more clear now. "I would have bled out without their aid." The wanderer thought, glimpsing the full extent of their injuries in the low light of the cabin. Uemon turned his attention to Date's screen. "Still clear."

A good sign that, along with the periodic focusing on his Sense, seemed to imply they were free from any more pursuers. "For the meantime, at the very least." Silently, he watched as the priest made their way out of the door. Uemon was not a morning person on a good day... but he had a promise to keep, too. Soon enough, he was stood upright.

Following behind the priest to step barefoot out into the earthen mire that resulted from the rain the day before. As he did, he contemplated the events that had transpired in the last twenty four hours. Flight, battle, blood, treatment, pleasure, pain... not unlike the ryokan back in Tetsu no Kuni a year ago, only then there was no pretext of holiness.

He watched the Jashinist toe a symbol in the mud, the same one on their medallion, and his thoughts turned briefly to his homeland's gods as he joined them within. To his grandfather, and he how he used to make him pray.

Truthfully, he was glad the man could not see him now. "I am sorry, Jiji." He thought, then his palms met, and his eyes closed. "O, Jashin-sama..." Uemon began, listening to Utsuwa lead in prayer. They spoke... and he followed.

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