Watching the lights bob along the river streaming by, the samurai decided that this ward where he was supposed to be living wasn’t so bad. Perhaps it was the sake talking, but he wouldn’t mind resting here for a little while... If only he hadn’t been pulled away from more important matters. Sitting on the bank of the river with a jug of rice wine resting next to him, he felt like one of the little rafts -- burning with a purpose, but given no method to steer.
The breeze ruffled his hair and brought with it the smell of freshly fallen snow. He had a complicated relationship with snow. On the one hand, it blanketed the world in a dazzling quiet -- on the other, it hid many dangers just below the surface. Turning, he spied a Cryo Vison sparkling in the distance and raised his cup to the stranger who bore it.
“Would you like to join a fellow traveler for a drink with these wandering souls? I’ve always heard many spirits enjoy the company of the living.” He turned back to the river.
“It’s interesting that many cultures celebrate the dead and departed with ceremonies of fire. Perhaps it was something to do with a flame’s cleansing nature... I wonder what it must be like -- to have one’s soul purified by fire...”
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