Liquid gold fell across the cobbled path as the morning light filled the sky, warming the quiet bustle of the village. Around the blacksmith’s cart, curious villagers stopped to inspect the rows of gleaming tools: hand-forged knives, gardening shears, carving hooks, fishing spears, and woodworking blades.

  The scent of oiled steel and cedar wood mingled with the sweet aroma of bean buns and cooked rice from a nearby stall.

  From his stool, InuShin watched his father polish the hilt of a sickle with a cloth and steady rhythm, smiling faintly as the customer thanked him. With the exchange of the tool and grateful coins, both men bowed.

  “How much longer until we return home, Father?”

  His father slipped the coins into a small pouch and shifted his attention between the weapons. “We still have many tools to sell, so I was thinking we would depart first thing tomorrow morning. We have enough for Awa no Sanchiku tonight.”

  “Do we really?” InuShin leaned forward, a sharp pain coursed through his side, wincing, yet he maintained a hopeful expression.

  “Hai,” his father chortled, and then his eyes softened. “How’s your side and leg?”

  “Sore, but I’m okay.” He straightened himself. “The bruise is getting bigger.”

  “Hmm.” His father shifted his attention back to his stall for a second and then back to InuShin. “Since this may take a bit, do you want to search for herbs and berries for your bruising?”

  “Do we have enough for them? Because I really want Awa no Sanchiku.”

  “I was thinking you could go to the nearby forest and gather some dokudami leaves and yamabudo berries. Your mother taught me a remedy to help with the bruising. Do you remember what they look like?”

  “Hai.” InuShin hopped down from the stool, wincing as he placed weight onto his left leg.

  “Are you sure you’re okay enough to do it?” His father eyed him.

  He nodded. “I’ll be okay, Father.” He puffed out his chest. “When do I need to be back?”

  “Dinner time.” He pointed to the far east of the village. “The forest is over there, but don’t stray too far.”

  “Hai.” InuShin bowed and then turned, walking towards the forest, the pain throbbing in his left calf. I can do this.

  As he followed a stone-lined path, he witnessed other children running in circles, laughing and playing. Each of them dressed in a kimono, more vibrant than his own. A handful of villagers carried buckets of water, their geta clicking against the path in a rhythm.

  “The new village may be peaceful, but it's not the same without my friends,” he murmured.

  The strong salty scent of pickled vegetables invaded his nostrils, and he crinkled his nose,

  As he approached the village gate, the path narrowed, winding towards an arched bridge across the Aki River. A samurai approached on horseback, and villagers stepped aside, bowing in respect. InuShin followed suit.

  He exited the village, staying on the less trodden path, noting the grass was higher around the edges. Near the bridge, a small tree stood with a small Jizo statue tucked into the base, providing a watchful eye over the travelers.

  The rustling stream of the river overtook the sound of the village, combined with the splash of the fish beneath him.

  As InuShin approached the forest, a cool breeze brushed across his face, the Hinoki branches swaying gently. The scent of wet bark and moss clung to the air, laced with something sweet: plum blossoms or honeysuckle growing wild in the underbrush.

  He carefully stepped between the roots and stones, sandals pressing against the soft earth.

  The melodies of the birds came in bursts, but hushed, as if they were aware of his presence. He inched his way into the forest, repeating to himself. “Dokudami leaves and yamabudo berries.”

  He braced his hand against a Hinoki tree as he eyeballed his surroundings. In the distance, a squirrel sat perched on a branch, staring at him. Nearby, a deer stood still, tail flicking back and forth.

  “Why are they staring at me?” He exhaled deeply, stepping over a branch on the ground.

  The squirrel and deer scurried away, leaving him to his thoughts once more.

  “Yamabudo berries,” he chanted once more. “Dokudami leaves.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Thump… thump… thump…

  A faint beat, akin to a heart, pulsed through him. Not from him, but from the soil beneath him. It pulsated through his sandals, into his bones, settling into his chest, as if the forest breathed with him.

  He paused, not in confusion, but in observation.

  He remained still, listening.

  The animals around him fell silent. A fox, with fur resembling a sunset, stared at him with golden eyes, its tail curled around its legs. Even the woodpecker froze in place, as if waiting for permission to continue.

  “I’m so confused. Why are all the animals watching me?” He shook his head. “Not important. I need to find the herbs and berries.”

  InuShin approached a patch of ferns, carefully kneeling beside them so as not to crush the delicate stalks.

  The leaves of dokudami spread like soft fans, heart-shaped, with a strong smell when rubbed between his fingers. He plucked several and then leaned closer, spotting the deep purple cluster of plump yamabudo berries hanging in the partial shade.

  As he reached to harvest the last berry, a soft gust of wind stirred his hair, sending strands spilling into his vision.

  A glimmer for a split second. A single thread of silver amid black.

  He jerked upright. “What?”

  He raised his empty hand, combing his fingers through his raven-black locks. But there was nothing, no silver strand. No shimmer. He breathed out slowly.

  “Must’ve been the light,” he murmured, though his chest tightened in doubt, gaze faltering to the forest floor.

  With a heavy breath, he surveyed around him once more, the fox still there, watching. Waiting.

  He crouched back down, reaching for the berries as the tension in his side surfaced, forcing him to clench his jaw. He plucked a handful of berries and slipped them into his sleeve pocket along with the leaves.

  InuShin returned to his feet and turned around to retrace his steps, hearing a grunting noise near him.

  His heart thumped heavily as he shifted his attention, spotting a wild boar staring at him. It didn’t charge, only stared.

  “I’m leaving now. Please, stay put.” He slowly repositioned his foot, stepping over a branch, but maintained focus on the boar.

  The boar remained still, its watchful eye observing every movement. “Worry not, little one, there is more to you than this world will know. Walk carefully, more will be revealed in time.” Its voice was familiar.

  InuShin froze, mouth agape. “Were you the one from before? The one who told me to wake up?”

  The boar stood there, staring. Silent.

  Step by step, InuShin backed away from the wild animal and then turned around, retracing his steps out of the forest.

  As InuShin stepped into the village, the sun began descending, casting long shadows across the dirt path. In front of the homes and storefronts, little fire-flickering lanterns sat beside the lush green shrubs, lighting the pathway.

  The energy within the village was different.

  Calm. Still. Uneasy.

  InuShin followed the path, heart heavy from earlier—the laughter and chatter from before now replaced with gossip.

  “Do you see his hair?” one of them whispered.

  InuShin reached up and ran his fingers through his hair once more, only seeing the color that matched his father’s.

  “But look at those eyes,” another joined.

  He clenched his jaw and tilted his head down, averting his gaze from theirs as his heart thumped heavier.

  It was a quiet, lonesome walk back to his father.

  The sky melted into hues of amber and indigo, shadows flickering on the paper walls from the nearby lantern. “I’m home.” The familiar scent of dried mushrooms and daikon greeted him, sweet, earthy, and comforting, in addition to the sweet and savory scent of the Awa no Sanchiku.

  He removed his sandals in the genkan and stepped onto the raised platform, spotting his father crouched low over an iron pot, stirring the contents inside. Their temporary home was filled with simmering vegetables, accentuated with the occasional pop of oil.

  Over the fire, lay three skewers of different meats: beef, chicken, and pork. Grilled to perfection.

  “Good. Put the herbs on the table, Shin,” his father spoke gently, not turning from the pot. “Once this is left to stew, I will teach you how to make the remedy, just as your mother taught me.”

  InuShin followed instructions, his small hands placing the pouch of gathered herbs onto the low table, careful not to spill the contents. He sat cross-legged, the warmth from the fire softening the chill in his chest.

  Outside, crickets began their nightly song.

  With a cloth tucked at his side, his father wiped his hands clean and then joined InuShin at the table, his father’s eyes widening for a split second when they fell on him. “Let’s see what you’ve brought.”

  InuShin opened the pouch, dumping the contents onto a small plate. The vibrant green leaves of dokudami, along with several plumps of yamabudo berries.

  “You’ve done well,” his father praised.

  InuShin’s heart swelled. “The forest helped me,” he muttered, then hesitated. “There was this heartbeat, then a boar spoke to me… I think.”

  His father paused for a moment, then resumed separating the stems. “The forest watches over those who walk gently,” he replied. “Some say the animals carry the voices of old spirits. But those voices only speak to those they recognize.”

  “Recognize?” He tilted his head, confused.

  “Mm. Sometimes, it’s not just your name. Sometimes it’s something deeper,” he said, tone unreadable.

  He handed InuShin a small mortar and pestle. “Grind the dokudami first, then the yamabudo. We’ll steep it in hot water and add a bit of rice vinegar and ash to draw out the bruise. I’ll show you.”

  As InuShin crushed the leaves, he glanced at his father. “Did Mother hear the voices too?”

  The pestle slowed in his hand, his father looked into the fire for a long moment, before standing and moving to check on the pot. He removed the lid, and the fragrance of the millet and carrots flooded his nose, mixing with the fresh herbs on the table.

  “She… she had a way about her,” he said finally, voice quieter than before. “The birds seemed to land near her more often than not. Deer didn’t startle. Even the wind was gentle when she was nearby. Your mother… was kind. But fierce, too.”

  InuShin sat silently, still grinding.

  “Do I look like her at all?” InuShin asked.

  His father chortled. “Only in the way you furrow your brows when you think too hard. But your eyes, those are mine.” His tone shifted, more seriously. “You have her calmness, her way of listening. She never had to say much to be understood.”

  InuShin smiled faintly, then added a dash of the crushed herbs into the steaming bowl his father had set aside.

  “She was attuned to the world around us. She believed the world gave us what we needed.”

  A silence passed between them, soft. The simmering pot sighed as his father ladled the stew into two wooden bowls and placed the skewers onto a bamboo slab, carrying them over to the table.

  They sat together in the dim light, InuShin sipping his tea infused with his own foraged remedy, another remembrance of his mother. A balance of sweetness from the yamabudo berries with the sharp, earthy flavor of the dokudami leaves.

  Once a piece of each skewer was removed, he took his chopsticks and picked one of them up, biting into it. He savored the sweet flavor of the beef, mixed with garlic, green onions, and ginger.

  The millet and vegetables filled the space with warmth. He watched the steam rise in front of him and imagined his mother once sitting just like this. Quiet, serene. Smiling.

  “Thanks, Father,” he whispered.

  His father looked up, brow raised. “For what?”

  “For teaching me… and for remembering her.”

  His Father hummed softly, the faintest of smiles curled at his lips. “We carry her with us, Shin. In the way we speak. The way we move through the world.”

  InuShin sat silently once again, but listened. Not just to his father, but to the world around them. The rustling leaves outside, the whistling wind, the echo lingering beneath his skin.