Gently lays a blanket because a certain someone fell asleep on the floor and might catch a cold.
There’s a chill that settles in as the mists roll across the rice fields, even on these long, summer nights. But he doesn’t notice just how long the sun had been down, and how quickly that fog had crept its way in. Fatigue is a word he learns the meaning of in it’s truest and physical manner, body still wracked from battle, mind weary from churning away at these systems of numbers and new, albeit frightening means of technology. The limits of a human body are so much more, and yet so much less than that of a sword’s cold steel.
Sleep finds him before he dares to pull himself away from these records. More like his master than he ever dared to admit, it would seem.
Idly, he pulls the blanket over his shoulder, and it’s that action that makes the uchigatana wake, only to catch Horikawa as he tiptoes his way back into the hall.
