The way of the sword

The realisation

Shima lay among the dead leaves of the forest, the cold winds, the first signs of winter bringing him to his senses. He opened his blurry eyes and was greeted with a bright moon, shining like a clear cut hole in the sky, the entire forest was bathed in it’s eerie silver light. The dark shadows of the leafless tree branches played on the ground, like the slender fingers of death, seemingly grasping at the lifeless body of the fallen Samurai.
Gradually his eyes focused, he took in the view of his immediate surroundings, rolling his head to one side and then the other, his eyes could barely make out dimly lit shapes on the ground all around him. The realisation gradually dawned on him, they were his fellow students, his friends. He could hear no sounds coming from them, they were all dead, he could sense it. His chest tightened and he struggled for breath, the cold air stinging his lungs, making his blood run cold.
He tried to sit up but was kept down by the incredible pain he felt in his abdomen, the slight effort had exhausted him and he collapsed back down onto the ground. He stared down at his side, their was a rip in his kimono, splattered either side with blood. His entire body felt stiff, and for a time he merely lay, staring into the starless sky, his mind trying to comprehend what had happened.
“How did we lose?”
Had they been too confident? The first lesson of The Art Of War is to never underestimate ones enemies, in his mind they had done exactly that. Their were ten of them, facing one man, how could they have possibly lost to him? The man in question was, Tadatoshi Bizen, a Ronin, a nobody in the eyes of the students of the Onin school. He had arrived in Kyoto no less than a month ago, he frequented the Onin school, challenging the students to a duel and belittling their sword techniques, his attitude was contemptible, and the students decided he needed to be taught a lesson, and they accepted his challenge.
Staring up through the almost bare braches, Shima’s eyes fell upon a single leaf laden with dew, dew that began to drip down, it hung on the edge of the leaf for just a moment, and in this moment it reflected the bright moonlight that turned the clear water to a fantastic silver, his heart skipped a beat as it started to fall towards his face, his mind flashed back to the terrifying vision of Tadatoshi’s sword swinging towards him, instinctively he rolled to one side, the dew splashed to the ground where he had been laying, it was harmless, yet his body was flushed, his heart beating rapidly as though he had just dodged a blow from a sword.
The thought of the duel he had just experienced sent chills down his spine, it had been an eye opener to the dangers of confidence, one never knows the extent a persons talent from looks alone. Tadatoshi had claimed to be a master of The Art Of War, yet his demeanour and attitudes were not that of a Samurai, no one as brash, loud and rude as he could have any idea of the discipline required to pursue the way of the sword. Shima, and his fellow students had seriously misjudged their foe, the result was catastrophic.
In his current state, full of hate, sorrow, and pain, his mind could not focus, he needed to get back to the city, to rest and to assess the situation, this loss would have huge repercussions.