Well, she would be hard-pressed to find any lie in his statement.
You heard me correctly,he said gruffly. As miserable as he felt, she would not ruffle him further. There was a strange accent to their speech, he noted, one wholly unfamiliar to the aging Samurai, and he wondered if it was cultural to behave so imperiously toward a grizzled warrior simply trying to have a quiet moment to himself.
Hua Kexin appeared to be more invested in keeping the conversation light, offering a small olive branch of polite commentary to break up the awkward moment.
Not cultural, he surmised.
I would hardly call myself hospitable, but the gesture is kind,Osamu replied. His eyes turned back to sea, silver gaze stretching, reaching, longing hopelessly for a horizon and a future that now seemed forever lost to him.
The injury is within, Hua Kexin. It cannot be mended by a healer's touch.
What inner strength he still possessed flagged in the visible slump of his shoulders.
It was, perhaps, a matter of time. One man cannot guard a kingdom of ghosts.
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