Spring, 1584.

"Were any of you listening to me at all?... Damn halfwits," a siding call emanated from the old winter dog's aged maw.

Snow white fur glided in the fair winds, the wolf-man's hands remaining crossed over his kimono that was so dark in blueness it almost looked back even during the day. All it was, was some human shinobi that came to his island during the night. Somehow, the posse knew that he would be on the desolate outskirts without the guards he hardly ever called, to begin with.

The winter wolf with closed-looking eyes did not even have his sword while his attackers were more than just armed. But even still, with his robes autonomously swaying with a tactful dance practiced a thousand times over, the Hishiro-Ichimon Kenpo kept him protected, and he put blunt, pained reminders across their now bemoaning, floored persons. "Now get on and off this land before I change my mind!" he clamored like an upset father, crossing his white-hued furred arms and finally opening his sky fall blue eyes.

Yasu Hishiro, father to Ojinu Hishiro, soon-to-be grandfather to Hunji Hishiro, and sooner-to-be great-grandfather to Hanzaki Hishiro, was one of the older Hishiro who did not have some children with his wife for a long while after slaying his father according to clan tradition. A much more disciplined approach to life was assumed by him as did his father and his father's father and so on being men who must be potent enough to display and manipulate it.

But now, the over-middle-aged man, sighed, watching the assassins take off on boats far and away during the midnight's silence. The martial arts of centuries-long spanning proved to be good servants to his hands, but he knew not to be a tyrant.

Quietly, his pointed ears flicked upwards; a presence was abaft. He knew the clan's style of kenpo and battojutsu, after all; every powerful rite to him!