The soft thud as his opponents head landed on the soft earth by his feet told him that his last blow had had the desired effect. Turning slowly, he saw the rest of the weasels body fall, the scarlet fountain from it's neck spotting the grass around it, the torrent quickly subsiding as the remaining liquid drained from it.  Dropping to a crouch, his senses reaching out, his ears twisting and turning to the barest noise, he watched and waited.  The bandits had struck suddenly and without warning, the fog that had settled on this trail giving them near perfect cover, the high bamboo growing either side not aiding visibility.  He was sure he had dispatched them all, but had learnt at an early age to never assume the test was over.  He had the scars to remind him of the over eagerness of his youth.<br/><br/>After waiting for what seemed an eternity, he finally satisfied himself that the only noises were that of the bamboo, creaking slightly in the gentle breeze.  He rose slowly, carefully wiping the glinting blade of his katana on the robes of his fallen attacker, making sure to leave no stain on the gleaming blade.  A swift, well practiced movement, and it was sheathed once again.  And then the ritual of searching the corpses slain at his hand.  More death, more blood.  Would it ever end?  The jangle of a few coins in a purse lifted his spirits a little. Perhaps he would eat today.<br/><br/>Having emptied the pockets of his adversaries, Kitsune took his bearings from the low sun and continued on his way, the path to Kyoto lay ahead of him, and he had business there.  An old debt, long overdue.  But he was hopeful that his journey would take him close enough to a tavern, and the promise of a hot meal and perhaps a little sake put a little more enthusiasm in his stride.<br/><br/>Was it his imagination or had the fog got thicker whilst he was searching the fallen?  Each step seemed to bring the shroud of damp air closer around him, the bamboo seeming to fade further away.  So thick that he slowed to be sure of his footing.  And then, in the distance, a clearing.  The colour of the timber was a surprising contrast to the verdant green of the bamboo he had been walking through, and the design of the structure now in front of him was unfamiliar.  The objects that adorned the front of the building were also strange, shapes and purpose a mystery.  His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, his ears straining, he sniffed silently, hoping to pick up some kind of scent.  Smoke? But he could see no fire, an acrid taste in the back of his throat, strangely similar to the smell left behind after the fireworks he used to enjoy at home as a young cub.  He approached the door, stepping softly so as not to let the wooden boards betray his prescence, turning the handle as slowly as he dared and slipping inside.<br/><br/>The sight before him both confused and amazed. His next breath caught in his throat, his blade hand gripping the handle of his katana tightly, yet not unsheathing his keen blade.  A strange thing on two legs, dressed in unusual clothing, a hat upon it's head was stood transfixed, staring in one direction.  Once Kitsune followed his gaze, he then understood the astonished expression on it's face as his own eyes were bedazzled with colour and movement. Soft fabrics, the flash of skin and an unheard song in his heart as he looked at the female form in front of him.  The grip on his blade fell slack, a wonderful sense of peace and calm overwhelmed him, and as he stood rooted to the spot, he wondered what magic filled this place.