It was unusual that Sarutari Kumiko was up so early in the day, seeing as she'd spent the long night entertaining the drunken samurai warriors. As she kneeled beside her wardrobe mirror she realized why. She'd been dreaming of her brother, standing atop a hill littered with corpses. She couldn't focus on their faces, but she could feel who they were. Friends, teachers, family, it did not matter. Anyone who died in the war was still her kindred. Her brother did not move from his stance and it seemed as though he were chiseled of stone, Katana resting at his side as the sun set below a sea of crimson.

No, your brother is dead. Do not dwell on wishful thoughts and dreams or they will one day destroy you.

Delicatly she ran a comb through her hair before tying it up in a loose bun. There was no one to impress during the day, all of the "heroes" were off at inns sleeping off their hangovers, burying the memories of the cruel battle with whatever they could. Even the Samurai that patrolled the streets were rarely seen after sunrise.

It seems this world is filled with ghosts and nothing more. Wandering through the days, dwelling always on the past. Its a shame to know I'm one of them.

She shook the thoughts from her mind and stood, pulled out a simple dark blue kimono and dressed slowly. Steadily she approached her window, gazing out at the town around their kura. The sky was contrastingly blue, and it bothered her deeply.

How dare the sun shine so brightly in times like these?

Kumiko closed the shutters and turned, gazing thoughtfully across her room. She was lucky to have her own, and it had taken many hard tasks to pay off the debt she owed her family. Though they were kind enough to her, they were not her father, and she caught herself still missing him even after all these years. It wasn’t long before she hardened herself again and crossed the room. Silently she opened the screen, slipped through into the hallway and closed it again. She shuffled quietly down the stairs and grabbed a rice cake before slipping into her wooden sandals and exiting the kura.

She bowed respectfully to a nearby Samurai, he inclined his head without paying her any attention. It made her blood boil slightly at such a blatant sign of disrespect, but she had to remind herself that she was no longer shimin, and would not regain that title unless...

No, my place is here, with my family. There is nothing in that old house but memories. Nothing left of my parents but a name. Nothing of my brother but a group of old warriors telling epic tales that will one day be forgotten.

Her wooden sandals struck the cobble stones rhythmically, as she kept her pace slow. A few sorry commoners passed her by, eyes towards the ground, minding their own; but no others. She contemplated making a house call to a good friend of hers who could get her a shinobi mission, but knew she would not be awake at that time. Instead she decided just to wander, and see what came across her path.

If anything I may pick up my aunt some niboshi from Kaito