My own cries wake me from a nightmare of blood on the snow, the same I've had every night since the mountain. I can't stop the tears running down my face as I shiver from cold and fear. I look around the camp, but the others are asleep still, and I tell myself that it's better this way -- one of Suzaku's chosen warriors has no right to cry for nothing worse than a nightmare. Tama-neko comes over with an inquiring purr, and I pick him up and hug him like I used to with my old rag doll. I haven't had the doll since I was two; it was unseemly for a seishi to have such a childish toy, my father said. I understood what being a seishi meant, even then -- for knowledge is my gift. But it's too easy for people to forget that as wise a child as I am, I still am only a child.

It was hard for me to leave my family and come all alone to Eiyo. Sometimes at night, when no one else can hear me, I cry for my parents, for my mother. But I will not disgrace them. I will be just as strong as the others. None but the darkness will ever know my fear.

Dawn is coming now, and the others are starting to wake. I dry my tears, and when Mitsukake comes over to ask if I'm ready for breakfast, I smile and nod cheerfully. The others need me to be strong; I can never let them see my tears, marks of pain for this child's lost innocence.

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