(Author’s Note.. This story is written to reflect upon the life that Ronin such as the one mentioned here lived. This is also why the main character is never given a name.) A tired and dusty looking man appears in the distant horizon, his gaze as unsettling as a storming sky. As his visage becomes clearer with the ever-increasing lack of distance, his sheathed companion, belted to his side, becomes apparent. It had seen the demise of many an opponent, and it would be many more before its owner breathed his last. The sun was beginning to set at this time, and the ever-lessening light was casting its fading luminance upon his back, but his shadow, walked before him, his silent traveling partner. The wind from the East, hurling itself against him, giving his long, unkempt hair life, making it flow about him. It mattered little that his vision was partially obscured by this, he never knew where he would wind up, for he was on the road, as always. Like a ship on a turbulent sea, he was a wave tossed man, a Ronin. Master of his own destiny, and yet having no master. Such was his life, as others have lived. He was not the first, and would not be the last. Stopping only to rest, at times to eat, and when he needed to bathe. He was a warrior, but even when he passes through a small town, the looks and stares of the people... The knowing look that he served no Daimyo (feudal lord). It was a contemptuous look they gave him. To die in the service of one's lord was a great honor. For a warrior to die without a master to serve was a shame upon one's honor. Passing through the town quickly, would be a wise choice. However this time would be different, although it wasn't an unfamiliar event to befall him this day. A man calls to him, as he walks through the small town. "Oy, kisama!" ("Hey, you!" in a much less than respectful manner.) Stopping, he turns to face this man who calls to him. The other man walks closer, grasping at the tsuka (hilt) of his Katana. This was not an unusual event for him to face an unknown challenger for no reason other than the opponent wished to test his skill. Drawing his own weapon silently, both men slowly assume ready positions. The challenger raising his sword above his head, in the powerful Chudan no kamae position. The Ronin facing him, sword held away from his foe, in the deceptive Waki no kamae stance. The seconds lasted like separate eternities, as they circled one another, waiting for the opening, the moment of truth. Then the opponent shifts his feet slightly, beginning his charge. "Shi-ne!" (Die!), he cries as he quickly closes the distance between them. The warrior holds his ground, till the opponent is only a few paces from him. The challenger, brings his blade down toward the Ronin's head, as the warrior's Katana also raises, but in a different manner. Blades clash, the ring of steel on steel.... Fury against calmness.... Then a second sound, that of a sword that had succeeded in quenching its thirst. The combatants pass one another.... After a few paces each, they both stop, neither one turning. Blood is seen on both men, but it belongs to only one of them. The Ronin's forward gaze unfaltering, as behind him he hears the other man say "Masaka." (I can't believe it...), while falling to the ground. It is over. Swinging his blade to the side to remove the blood from the horizontal slash that he had dealt to his foe's abdomen. A charging Hidari do strike. One of many counter maneuvers for the overhead Men strike that his opponent had tried for. Performing Nuki, the sheathing technique, he turns and walks on in his intended direction. "Baka" (Fool), he thinks in a most depressed tone... "Another meaningless death." Another life lost to his experience. Pausing momentarily only to buy an apple from a child nearby, and handing him a coin, he journeys on. Once again adrift...Such is the life of the wave tossed man...the Ronin. END
