The silver-white dreams of the sky snapped with the bitter groans of a malcontented heart beneath the hooves of Beren. The sky was a dark as tarnished steel, and it’s belly hung as low as that of a serpent as it digested its last repast. Fat, chill flakes spiraled like tears from an ashen face from the skies, settling as soft as a whisper upon the flesh of rider and mount alike. Vapor roiled from their nostrils like that of a great dragon of old, locked inside memories and the aged pages of tomes alike, having long forsaken the human eye. Beren snorted and pawed the loam, ranking soil and snowdrift alike beneath the ember of his hoof, his mouth gaping like a dissatisfied fish as he worked the bit within his maw with the idle ring of steel upon bone. Though in truth it was spring, winter still favored her reign over the land, and was loathe indeed to bow her regal and ice-adorned head to that of spring. Those that dwelled in the wrinkled visage of the mountain still looked upon the sparring of the White Queen of Winter as she crossed her blade fashioned of ice with that of Spring, and her chill shriek of indignation and rage as Spring ever had the audacity to step upon the trailing train of her pallid gown still rang ever in their ears. With a flick of the reins and a press of her heels into Beren’s sides that was a mere shadow of her former brazen mannerisms, horse and rider pressed on.

They rode past many a villa, mere steeply pitched heads of giant’s within the barren landscape of snow. Every now and again the lament of a snow kissed hound would greet her ears as she rode by. The loam-dull gaze of those who toiled away at the land met her own, their hoes forgotten among rows of once freshly tiled soil. They could only watch with sorrow shadowed eyes as the ice claimed the last of their warm jade hope, the crops withering and dying with a mere whisper from winter. At length, they left the villas far behind, and entered the gossamer jade of the bamboo thickets, who were as silent and solemn as shadows as they towered above passerby, whispering half-heard remarks behind sleeves of silk. The dull thud of Beren’s hooves upon the decaying gold leaf litter had no more substance to it than a whisper. So it stands to reason that she would remain in ignorance that within the wan light of the sun and the rustling of silken leaves, several darkened shadows moved above her, with merely a slight shiver of a leaf. It was then that Beren came to a brusque halt, nostrils shivering, ears pressed flat to his tapered skull. Toukon’s brow’s furrowed, and she clucked to him impatiently, burying her heels into his sides. “You mad bag of bones,” she muttered crossly, and the unintended adage of her father’s made her wince inwardly. He would be wroth indeed when she returned.

Beren did not heed a single one of her curses or entreaties. When at last he did lunge forward, she nearly slid from his saddle as he broke into a rough canter, ears still flat upon his head, their tips nearly brushing his neck as he flung back his head. “What the hell ails you, you demon horse?” She cried from his back, indignant. Her question was answered in the form of an arrow. A single arrow, crafted finely from aged bamboo wood with a silver-white quiver of a swan’s pinion danced past her ear, only to send a nearby bamboo shoot shattering into a million jade and gold shards. Beren reared then, iron-shod hooves churning the air. “What in the ninth dimension of hell?” She swore. Like ebon spiders descending from silver strands of spider silk, ebon-clad ninja descended from the tops of the bamboo. “Greetings!” She greeted. “All done playing hide and seek, then?” “You will go no further,” snarled the first to land. “Is this your will?” “It is. Unless you relish a blade in the gut-in which case, either of us would be willing to assist in your death.” “If such is your wish….” She said, inclining her head in a slight bow, wheeling Beren about as if to return from whence she came. “Then I’m afraid I will have to break your will in favor of my own!” With that, she stood in the saddle, bending backwards ever so slightly so that she nearly brushed her mount’s back with her hair, before flipping into the air once, twice, thrice, drawing her sword with a practiced air and skimming the leaf litter ever so lightly, bracing her halt with a downward splayed palm, coming to rest in a slight crouch. For a moment, there was nothing but an astonished silence.

Then there came a groan of the elderly, and three of the bamboo shoots fell in silence to the earth in neat quarters of equally size, neatly cleaved by her blade. “So be it!” Hissed the presumed leader with a crimson symbol of a serpent swallowing its own tail embroidered on the back of his robes. With a mere flick of his fingers, dark, heatless flame appeared upon the tips of his fingers. With another flick of his fingers, it descended from his fingers and shot across the polished jade of the leaf litter, defining a path that led from him to her. The fire quickly devoured the hems of her kimono, singeing her flesh as its acid base wound about her like a lazy feline entwining about its master’s ankles. Though the pain of it made her shriek, her eyes narrowed as they met his smirking vision. His? She glanced closer. She, she realized, with no little wonder. The acid bit further into her flesh, causing her to be jerked from her reverie. Moving her free hand in a complicated gesture, she absorbed the flames into her palm and threw them back, sweeping her sword upwards to parry just as a blade flashed downwards from above in a lethal head cut. She shifted then, centering her weight and planted her feet in a manner that would allow her to twist aside quickly. She twitched herself out of the way of another of her attacker’s wild slashes, rasing her blade to parry once more, though she did not quite strike it at the right angle, and the jagged edge of the blade dug into her arm.

She hissed, biting back another sound, and instead whistled for her mount. Beren, who had continued to thrash about and rear, driving down hooves or iron upon the unprotected skulls of the assailants, thrust up his head and cantered over to her. It was evident that the ninjas, skilled though they were, had not been prepared to face a battle-changer stallion, a breed of horse trained specially to aid their masters in a confrontation. She vaulted onto his back in one smooth motion, driving the cantering stallion forward, leaning to the side ever so slightly to thrust at a charging ninja. The onrushing ninja’s momentum, coupled with the young girl’s strength and skill, served to drive the blade into the crook of his fighting arm. Blood sprayed from the wound, causing the ninja to yelp and drop his sword. Another low-line parry halted a blade to the back, and the sheer speed of a spooked horse was enough to clear the rest from her way. In a swirl of leaves, she was gone.

She galloped on for many seconds, without thought or purpose, drifting further from the Ice Oni’s cave with each passing thought. It was then she heard a piercing, commanding whistle from above. Before she had time to ponder such a sound, thin, angled bamboo rods whistled from the air, to land with a solid thunk into the loam, quivering slightly as they sought to steer her off course and entrap her in their mass. She sawed on the reins, urging her mount this way and that to avoid the slender green hail of wood. Again and again the whistle came, always just when she thought herself clear of them, like a heron’s beak stabbing at a hidden koi. It was then Beren shrilled as one of the angled shafts slid into his side. Time seemed to slow as the stallion stumbled and dropped to the floor, Toukon leaping clear of him mere seconds before he rolled to his side. She did not have long to mourn his most eminent death, for their before her, in a explosion of leaf litter, rose green-clad warriors, previously invisible to the eye, bits of bamboo even secured to their hats for further camouflage. With a snort, Toukon placed her feet together. “Come, then,” she challenged. They didn’t need to be told twice. Silent as snow fall, they proceeded to close in about her. Seven, she realized with a sinking feeling. There are seven here, and doubtless countless others still unseen. She was almost resigned to her fate, when the shrill of a vaulting horse ensnared her attention. A chestnut shadow eclipsed the wan sunlight, knocking a majority of the warrior’s aside. It bore no rider.

To further compound her confusion, the warriors next fell like rain, felled by the very air, it seemed. Until she noticed the still shuddering arrows protruding from their chests, the quiver a deep crimson. She whirled then, blade outreached at the sudden scuff of footsteps from behind. “Easy,” soothed the voice. “I apologize for my unforgivable tardiness,” continued the voice as a strangely clad man stepped from the folds of jade. “Who are you?” she demanded of him. Yet another silver-white quivered arrow thudded at their feet, trembling in the soil. “Perhaps it is best you ask my name later…when the threat of being speared like meat for the spit is no longer eminent.” With that, he swept her up, seized the reins of the red-gold stallion, and cantered off.