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In the dappled light beneath a tree a white mare nosed at the turf. Resting neatly at the base of the trunk was a pair of wooden sandals and katana. These three belonged to the samurai who stepped barefoot out into the sunlight. His gee fluttered as he dropped himself into the tall grass. All around him ladybugs rose like spirits. He lifted his hand toward the sky and one alighted on his fingertip. For as long as the tiny beetle stayed he turned it in his hand watching as it crawled ever upward. Her gleaming shell reminded him of so many things. Both his joy and sorrow basked in her peaceful presence. When the breeze whispered, her wings fluttered to life and she floated off into the warm afternoon.
Until evening he lay there admiring the sky. Clouds moved across his vision in a parade of creatures, landscapes, and old friends. When the horizon finally darkened, his fingers wove into the thick grass and he pushed himself up. As he sat in his body's imprint he could hear the slow crinkling of the grass now freed from his weight. Cicadas and crickets had begun singing, still early in their crescendo. His eyes moved to blades of grass pointing toward the night. Among them fireflies glowed, floating like little lanterns in the dusk. The hoot of an owl sounded in the nearby wood and bats flitted above the trees.
Beside him he heard the soft thump of his mare's hooves on the ground. He looked up and smiled. The horse seemed to emanate her own light. She pressed her velvety nose into his offered palm.
"You want to go home?" he asked her and laughed lightly as she snuffled into his hand.
He brushed his hand up and down her forehead and scratched her cheek. His expression turned thoughtful and he spoke gently to her. "I am glad you were waiting when I came home."
What had been over fifty years for him had been but moments for her. In the wake of everything, to wind his fingers through her mane again had given him a peace he had not expected. It was at dawn, the day after a wedding that could never be, that he had found himself in the stable. There he sat in the straw and listened to his horse munching her breakfast. She was an old friend. He had trained her himself as a boy in the desert of Arabia. She had gone with him all over the world and had carried him to face Aku. That was until he had lost her along with everything he knew and loved. That morning he stood and hugged her neck. He could hear the thundering of her heart, reminding him that he was indeed home, that Aku was a thing of the past and the past alone. Then, holding tightly to his only friend, he wept bitter tears. To have won back his home, his parents and his people, filled his soul with profound joy. He shared his life with them once again but could not share his grief. He had gone to the future without them, suffered unimaginable things without them and returned as if it had all been a dream. They had all suffered much by Aku's hands but could never comprehend his loss of Ashi, half a lifetime of friendships, and his future self. He quickly learned that he did not have to carry that pain alone. The white mare was his friend, with whom he could share the solitude of his grief. And he was grateful.
She nipped at his sleeve and gave a snort.
His eyes crinkled into a smile. "Alright." he said, good humor clear in his voice. "Always so pushy."
He got up and shivered slightly in the cooler evening air. Reaching up, he took hold of her mane and let her lead him through the dark back to the tree. There he stepped into his sandals and put on his sword. For a moment more he stood simply breathing in the night air. Fireflies danced, doing their best to become like the stars above. A nudge pushed him off balance and he chuckled softly. Turning to his friend, he patted her shoulder.
"Let's go home."