The grass underneath Kyojuro's sandals cried and squealed with every hurried sprinting step forward. Slipperly wet with the late rain dew.

His haori flickered like a bright flame behind him through the everlasting darkness of the still night.

His smile falters — no, more like twitches when he's forced to strain his ears to hear a soft rustle that didn't quite sound like it was coming from him.

And so, he came to swift halt. Calloused hand clutched tight onto the hilt of his blade, “Reveal yourself!” He barks into the late night wind.

There's no answer when he does, but he can sense a dreadful mask of air that coats the forest. He presumes it is your home, especially when the iron tang of blood teases along his nostrils.

“Masking your presense is clearly not a strong suit of yours!”

His foot sweeps across the grass in one swift motion at the slightest hint of movement, katana at the ready and pointed in what he assumed to be your general direction.

But when he spots your enlightened figure from the glistening moonlight above, he makes the inevitable mistake of losing his footing and focus mid-thought.