Chapter 15 The Kage Ninja Past the Hanzomon Gate of Edo castle, the castle of the Shogun, there stood the compound of the Kage Ninja. The glow of a first quarter moon speared in from the wooden window. A ninja, or a shinobi, was a covert mercenary of feudal Japan, specializing in unorthodox arts of war. The ninja, with covert methods, were contrasted with the samurai, who had a harsh code of ethics about honor and combat. The origin of the ninja is lost in folklore, legend, and myth. The floorboards of this compound were wooden and obscured by shadow. On one wall hung a scroll. Below the scroll, arranged on two shelves, where several wooden tablets, funeral tablets, with wooden horns at their sides, names written on the tablets. Thick and heavy voices resounded throughout the chambers, speaking as one. They chanted: “The shinobi forsakes the path of the virtuous. The warrior must always believe in virtue. Lies cause the warrior agony. The shinobi must lie. Dishonor brings him torment. He must use dishonor. Hiding kills his pride. He must hide. The gods and the Buddha can never make him obey. The shinobi turns away from Heaven.” In the next room, in the utter dark of the corridor, were four sliding panels screens. Past these doors, in the dark of the chamber, many men sat on their knees. They each wore-top knots at the top of their shaved heads. They wore kimonos and vests. They were swallowed by shadow. A lonely candle burned. They spoke all at the same time with heavy and thick voices that resounded. They chanted: “The warrior must always believe in virtue. The shinobi forsakes virtue. Hiding kills his pride. He must hide. The gods and the Buddha can never make him obey. The shinobi turns away from Heaven.” The men were many in number and they sat on their knees in the shadows. Before them knelt Akechi Imagawa, Lord of the Akechi. His eyes were closed. His bald head and face were engulfed in the shadow. He had both his hands pressed together in prayer. He opened his eyes. Then at last he spoke. He said, “Yoshi Onimura lives on. We planned to kill him with bounty demons. But that plan failed. Next, we risked frontal assault, using our own elite swordsman, but they were struck down. We must maintain our public face. We must conceal our true endeavors. If word spreads that he cut down more Akechi samurai, we will lose all face. He is a threat every day he lives on. He killed my son. We must move in shadow. It is your time now! You can no longer remain idle! You shinobi! Use your Ninjutsu to kill that man!” Yoshi made a fire that burned like an enormous heart. Against the fire his shape moved like an anonymous black ballet. One winters night when Yoshi was twenty-four he woke to hear howls in the valley to the west. He crept from the shack out into the moonglow. There were wolves running there on the plain, and they dashed like phantoms in the snow. In the cold glow of the moon their breath seeped. They moved in a deadly silence, and they moved through the mist and the snow, as if this land were haunted. They seemed to be from another time, as they were descended from ancient ancestries, running here in the snow, the wolves and the ghosts of wolves. Then Yoshi saw them approach. Frolicking and prancing. They were beasts at once of great beauty and vast horror, like flowers that feast on flesh. And then Yoshi had cause to wonder. Of wolves and men. He moved on. The shapes of the trees moved in the silent sunlight and in the field he walked through cold blue shadow. The branches above him twinkled with ice. Where the leaves wait to return. As leaves. There seemed to be upon the land a thing that had not yet been there before and that thing was called sadness. He had come to doubt Bushido and thought to make himself something sufficiently terrible so that Bushido may be taunted into raising its hand against it. Something in the relics. In the dark. He walked until noon and passed the snow covered rocks and ditches and trees and a samurai of old in tattered rags, with soot-black eyes, who had come from the camp in the mountains of Japan, where the last remainder of his clan dwelt like phantom folk of the sovereignty they once were, everyone there still as they had been and not some other way, and so perfect in the world as if their advice were requested in the making of it. This samurai of old looked as if himself reincarnated over and again so that all the choices and events of his life were vastly weary. He looked as though he had been sitting there and the rocks and the trees had come up around him. Above all he looked to be swollen with a great sorrow. As if he contained knowledge of some tremendous loss that no one would ever know. Some complete misfortune of how it was but will forever be. That night he slept on his back in a temple which stood under the endless vault of stars. The world’s black horizon. He woke and walked out and stood despairing in the snowy grass and looked at the ice cold river run and watched the dark surf emerge and darken once more. When he went back to where he had slept he squatted down and smoothed his hair and remembered her and his memory had the feel of sacrifice but he thought of it differently and he said once more before he slept again that if he were God he would have made everything this way and not some way other. And the dreams so vivid. He did not sleep much and he slept badly. In the dream he was walking in the flowers and in the woods where birds soared and the sky was aching blue as to make him suffer and he knew that he must wake from such siren dreams but he despised to wake. Waking from the dream to the world all of it turned to soot immediately, like entombed murals so expansive in color that have been buried for hundreds of years, then all of a sudden brought into sunlight. Lying on the earth he had the unmistakable taste of an orange from some ghost garden going away inside his mouth. He woke and rose up. He said that if men knew what their lives would contain, no one would wish to live them. He said that his was the Way of the Samurai, and that Way was death. Yet she was gone and so too the child and death is not a lover. When he woke he walked through the blizzard. The snow fell hard from the white sky. The blizzard had been going on for three days and it went on still. The wind blew to carve the world that all must endure. He walked onward in his black kimono of rags and his scraggily straw hat. He wore dark blue tabi socks and rope sandals. He wore his Owazimono. Soon he came to a town. There stood a snow covered roof beneath a platform by the side of the road where one could purchase noodles. Yoshi eased himself down on the bench and ordered a warm bowl of them. The worker prepared the steaming bowl of noodles and set it in front of him and smiled and bowed. Yoshi did not remove his hat and ate with chop-sticks. From the other end of the town, a horse emerged, pulling a trailer of sixteen barrels, six barrels in three rows set on the wooden trailer, kept in place by four boards. A man in a shawl led the horse by the reins. Man and horse progressed across the town gradually. Yoshi finished the noodles and drank the broth and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He placed the chop-sticks atop the bowl. He paid with nine copper coins with squares punched out in their center. He put them on the table and left. The worker bowed as Yoshi left. As Yoshi walked toward the end of the town, the man led the horse the other way. They passed side by side. Suddenly the horse reared upward with a scream and could not free herself from the trailer, and the trailer broke apart, it had been rigged to do so, and the barrels all fell out over the land, and they broke apart, and spilled and splashed and soaked the earth with clear oil. Yoshi turned fast around. The horse screamed and attempted to gallop forward but she was tethered to the broken trailer. The barrels broke apart and rolled around, the oil splashing, spilling all over the snow. The tail end of the horse collapsed. The barrels were all broken, and they spilled out all the oil that they had. The snow was damp with oil. It had spilled everywhere. Yoshi stood in the soggy snow. He stared down at it angry, thinking fast. Then the oil caught fire. The tiny place where Yoshi had eaten erupted in flames and burned. The worker caught on fire and did not have time to scream before he was engulfed. The horse shrieked and reared upward in the fire. The man who had been leading the horse fell forward in flames, screaming. Yoshi took off his hat and threw it to the side. He unfastened the lantern-pole from off the wall that had once been a food stand, now a burning pit. The fire burned all around him. He stepped back some. He positioned the pole. He ran forward through the fire and used the pole to pole-vault himself above the fire and toward a roof. He leapt off the pole. He grabbed at the ledge of the roof and held on to the edge of it with one hand. Four ninjas waited for him there. They wore all black, skin tight suits, and they wore hoods and masks over their noses and mouths, and they had painted their faces black. Yoshi pulled himself up and leapt to his feet and stood on the roof. The ninjas drew the ninja-tow katanas fastened to their backs, their blades blackened, and they held them in reverse hand draw. Yoshi drew his Owazimono like lightning. The ninjas attacked. Their ninja-tows clashed against Yoshi’s Owazimono. He met blades with all four and the motion did not stop. A ninja swept his ninja-tow katana through the air and Yoshi blocked his blow. They crossed. They stood back to back, both unharmed. Yoshi turned on one foot and cut into the man’s head. Blood sprayed out and the man fell and rolled down the roof and fell off the edge into the flames. Yoshi slashed down. He cut into the face of another ninja then slipped. The ninja fell dead and rolled off the roof into the flames. Before Yoshi could stand another ninja had his ninja-tow raised high in one hand and was about to slash down. Yoshi regained his footing and slashed across the man’s chest before he could. He then spun and dodged a sweeping blade and cut the attacker at the throat. The man spewed blood and fell down and rolled off the roof. The flames had burned themselves out and smoke filled the air, carried on the wind. Yoshi stood on the roof. He looked down at the corpses. They sprawled all but one burnt on the snowy earth. It began to snow anew. Yoshi climbed down. He stood over the dead. He said: “The Kage Shinobi have finally submitted to the Akechi.” The snows fell. Later, in that same place, eight ninja stood in a circle around the bodies that had all been scorched to black ruins. They began to speak. “The shinobi forsakes virtue,” one of them said. “None can make him obey,” another said. “The shinobi turns his back on heaven,” said another. “Lies cause him agony. He must lie.” “Hiding kills his pride. He must hide.” “The warrior must always believe in virtue. The shinobi turns away from the path of the virtuous.” Later still, further down the way, Yoshi walked through the snow. Ahead of him stood two ninja. They wore all black suits and tight hoods and masks over their mouths and noses. The rest of their faces were painted black. They each wore two wide, bowl shaped straw hats. Yoshi approached them. Then he stood in front of them. He said, “The Shoguns spies now obey like dogs and run errands for the Akechi?” “What of you?” said a ninja. “You defy. Your wife is murdered. Your son is murdered. Your clan is decimated. You wander blind through the snow.” “The Akechi now control the government,” the other ninja said. “Only the foolish stand in their way.” “It is you who are the fools,” Yoshi said. “Imagawa just uses you. He does not want to dirty his own hands!” “Enough words!” Both the ninjas took off their hats and threw them like disks. Then they drew their blackened ninja-tows in reverse hand draw and charged forward. The hats flew toward Yoshi. They had razors at their brims. Yoshi stepped aside, and a hat sped past and cut his shoulder. He drew his katana and cut the hat aimed at his throat in half. Both the ninjas had gained much distance. Yoshi held his katana back with both hands. One ninja slashed down at him. They crossed. They stood back to back. The ninja coughed up blood and fell backward. The other ninja was in the process of striking. Yoshi stabbed him in his chest and the man leaned down. Yoshi pulled the blade out and blood sprayed out in a vomit of gore. Then Yoshi heard bells. He glanced to the side. He held his katana down. Blood dripped from the tip, stained the snow. Another drop. Another stain. From out of the wall of snow emerged six ninja, holding bells. They ran forward and circled around him. One took out a chain and threw it to the next ninja. The ninja caught it and took out a chain and threw it to the next ninja. That ninja caught that and threw his chain. They had Yoshi trapped in the middle of the chains which formed a Star of David shape. Yoshi stood in the center of the star. The ninjas began to run in a circle while they held the chains. The center of the star got narrower and narrower. The chains wrapped around Yoshi’s arms and tightened and tightened and tightened and the ninjas ran. The ninjas pulled the chains tight. Yoshi dropped his katana. “Embrace death, Onimura!” The ninjas drew their ninja-tows. Yoshi managed to step a bit over toward his katana. He used one foot and kicked it up and caught it in his hand. A ninja stepped forward with a raised ninja-tow. Then the ninja dropped his chains and stepped back. The chains all fell off Yoshi. He struck with the katana and stepped forward, killing three ninja with the frozen blade. The snow fell. Yoshi pressed his attack. He turned and slashed upward, into the face of an attacking ninja, and killed him. He spun and beheaded another. The head sprayed blood from the severed part at the neck and flew straight up into the air. Yoshi cut a ninja’s hand off. The hand held a chain. It landed in the snow. Then he slashed down and finished the handless ninja. The ninja fell face down to the snow and the blood vomited out upon it. Yoshi stood. He stood and he held the katana up in his right hand. The snow fell. He slashed through the air. The blood on his blade flecked the snow. He put his katana back. He walked away through the snow, the cold, the wind, the void. The day was hot and humid. All the snow had melted. The sun burned down. Yoshi walked through the woods. There were oak trees and pine trees. He came to a narrow suspension bridge that skirted around the mountain. It had been made of logs, and appeared to be feeble. He began to pick his way across. The drop was thousands of feet to the forest below. The logs creaked under his footfalls. He could see the hundreds of village hovels far ahead. The bridge ended at the rocky mountain shelf where the wooden gate that guarded the village had been erected. A hot wind blew and the gates were open. They clattered in the wind. Yoshi entered the village. It was desolate. The dirt street had been cluttered with debris. A katana stuck into the ground. There were hoes and scythes. There were overturned buckets and scattered bails of hay. “A peasant revolt?” Yoshi asked himself. He went on. A hungry dog trotted across the street. The structures were collapsed inward and broken apart. He crossed through some planted trees and came to the bridge that led to the castle. A gate stood closed in front of it. The gate creaked open and two samurai women stepped out. They wore nice kimonos and the katanas. The first woman had long hair. At the end of her katana handle was a chain with a iron ball, the chain wrapped around the handle. The woman behind her had all of her hair in a bun and she carried a small table, atop which was a cloth draped over a pile. Yoshi stared at them. “We have been waiting for you to arrive,” the woman with the long hair said. “Are you the Desolate Wolf?” “So some call me.” “Yesterday the peasantry rose in revolt. We destroyed them. The man we hired you to kill is already dead. Yet for your journey we have prepared half of your fee, two-hundred and fifty ryu.” “You project blood lust.” “I cut down so many of those filthy peasant dogs last night. The stench of death still hovers over me.” The other woman handed Yoshi the small table. He took it in his hand. When he did the long haired woman drew her katana and lunged forward. The ball at the end of the chain sped fast through the air. Yoshi threw the table up in the air and the iron ball crashed into it. Thousands of gold coins scattered all over. The woman dove at Yoshi. They crossed. The coins fell down from the sky. Yoshi and the woman stood back to back. All the coins clattered to the ground. The woman sprayed blood at her neck and died and fell down. Her kimono parted enough to reveal a tattoo at her neck. It read: One. The other woman fell to her knees, cowering. “Kage Shinobi,” Yoshi snarled. He turned back around and began to leave the way he came. There were three neatly dressed women in the street, picking up the debris. One was walking just in front of him. The other one stood over to the side and collected the broken doors. One was an old woman, with grey hair, and she hunched by on a cane. Yoshi kept on. The old woman attacked. Yoshi slashed her, sheathed his blade. The next woman attacked. Yoshi stepped back behind a wooden post. The girl cut half way into the post with her katana, and Yoshi drew his katana and cut through the entire post and the woman’s chest as well, killing her. The tattoo at her neck read: Two. The old woman still held her katana that she had drawn a third of the way from her cane, and she sprayed blood in the middle of her face and fell dead, and the tattoo at her neck said: Three. The next woman had waited for the old crone to fall then charged. She drew a short-sword. Yoshi flipped his Owazimono in reverse hand draw and charged. They ran toward one another. They crossed. The woman’s scarf fell to the dirt. Her blood trickled down onto it. She hiccupped and her kimono loosened at her shoulders, revealing her tattoo, which read: Four. She fell face down to the dirt and blood splattered from her chest wound. Yoshi sheathed his blade and kept running. He ran toward two young girls. They quickly discarded their farmer disguises, their basket backpacks and their scythes, and they drew their short-swords and ran at him. He rushed them and pushed them both into each other and they stabbed one another. Then they both fell down. “Stronger than we expected,” one girl said, and died. The other girl had already died. The last two women stood at the gates that led back to the narrow suspension bridge. The wind blew dust through the air. The sky was blue, the clouds were white and billowing. The sun burned in the sky. Yoshi stepped toward them with his katana drawn and held at his side. “For you to have come this far…” one woman said. “You have murdered our sisters,” the other woman said. They both slashed forward. Yoshi slashed downward across the first, killing her, then turned and slashed upward against the other. She fell dead and her kimono had been cut apart to reveal her naked breasts. Her tattoo read: Eight. The wind blew across the narrow suspension bridge. Yoshi began to walk across it. He rounded the corner. The wind blew. The logs underfoot gave out and he plummeted. He grabbed a log still connected to the bridge with both hands and the log swung out. He dangled in the sky. The wind blew. He pulled himself up and held onto the log with both of his arms. An old man with long white hair and a beard stepped across the bridge and looked down at him. “Heedless,” the old man said. He laughed. Yoshi let go of the log with one hand and grabbed his katana. “Time to die,” the old man said. He drew his katana. Yoshi gripped his katana and drew it out and stuck it up through the logs. He climbed forward. He stabbed the old man through the stomach and the blade came out his shoulder. Blood poured down onto the blade. Blood trickled on Yoshi’s face. He withdrew his katana. The old man lurched forward and fell thousands of feet. A log fell after him. Yoshi had climbed back onto the bridge and he held his katana. He said, “It is written: ‘Ready your staff before you fall.’ Heedless.” Yoshi lay face down in the wheat. The sky was grey and prophesied the storm. There stood a barren and solitary tree on the horizon. Beside the wheat was a pond, the wind causing ripples to glide across the surface of it, altering the reflection of the leafless tree and the sky and the passersby. The passersby scurried hurriedly and they held their straw hats forward over their faces against the chilled winds. A few dried leaves scuttled about. A passerby saw Yoshi face down in the wheat and he gasped. “Good Lordy!” he shouted. “The poor guys got the pox! He’s croaked! I don’t want no pox!” He ran off. In time, six figures appeared on the horizon. They were common Akechi samurai, uniformed as the rest of their class. They wore white kimonos, with tight fitting white pants beneath it, with white cloth wrapped tight around their calves and secured to their tabi socks. They wore thick cloth wraps around their necks that fasted to a wooden box that was at their chest. Over their heads they wore straw hats that were shaped like buckets and that covered their entire heads, with six slits near the visage to see out of. They wore katanas inside wood colored scabbards with matching handles, so they looked like walking-sticks. They stepped up and observed what they thought to be a dead Yoshi Onimura. “It is him.” “Hm.” “Yoshi Onimura. He shakes the nation. And he lies dead by the roadside. What karma.” Yoshi rolled over and drew his katana and stood and slashed. One Akechi had grabbed the handle of his katana and had began to draw it when Yoshi cut across him, severing his hand just above the wrist, and the severed hand still gripped to the partly drawn katana. The cut went up into the chest of the man and into his face, splitting the front of the hat and revealing the man’s shocked stare. Blood gushed from his stump and from his chest and face. And Yoshi cut into the next Akechi, and killed him. The other four quickly lifted off their hats and threw them. Yoshi took a stance as the two dead Akechi fell to the tall wheat, spraying their arterial blood in a red mist. The bloody mist lingered in the air after they had fallen, then rained down, and stained the wheat. The Akechi drew their katanas. They were bald at the top of their heads, with their hair pulled back tight at the sides, and at the back of their heads they had a long pony tail near the top, but no top-knot. This was the hair style of them all. “Coward!” one screamed. “You Akechi are the very essence of cowardice!” Yoshi shouted. “The many against the few!” “So you draw us out!” “You deploy the Shogun’s own Shinobi! What’s wrong? Afraid?” “Very well! Face the blades of the Akechi! The Shogun’s Samurai!” Two Akechi samurai stood shoulder to shoulder, and two others stood at their backs behind them, in a neat line. The ones who stood in front held their katanas up. The ones behind them held their katanas to the side. And the first man charged. Yoshi cut him down and as the man fell the Akechi behind him leapt onto his back and struck down at Yoshi. Yoshi dashed back and slashed up quick, killing the man who fell with his blade just shy of Yoshi’s face. The next Akechi ran forward in attack, his comrade just behind him. Their pony tails blew in the wind. The man ran fast with his katana held above his head with both hands. He struck down fast at Yoshi, who ducked and threw his blade into the chest of the man. The Akechi behind him leapt up on the man’s back with his katana raised. He jumped off the mans back and glided through the air as the dead man began to fall forward. Yoshi staggered back. He reached forward and grabbed the handle of the airborne Akechi Samurai’s short-sword. He drew it out and stabbed. It stabbed through the man’s heart just as he was striking down at Yoshi, who ducked low and stepped to the side. Both of the Akechi Samurai landed dead at the same time. Yoshi stood over them. “The swords of the Akechi,” he said. “Embrace your own death, so that the one who follows can complete the kill! Truly the blades of the Shogun’s assassins!” The wind blew through the naked branches of the dead tree. Yoshi put his hat on and he walked across the landscape. He became silhouetted against the grey silence of the horizon as he went. “The Akechi scheme in the dark of the Shogunate,” he said to himself. “As long as they do so, there can be no true ruler-ship. Nor can there be any end to my quest.” Yoshi finally collapsed of fever inside of a crude hut beneath a bridge. A samurai man and his wife were enjoying the day by the river when the man happened to step into the hut. What he saw was a poor ronin with a raging fever. He was a kind man, and knew that this ronin needed immediate care, and told his wife to stay here while he went into town for a doctor. While he was gone, the wife took off her outer kimono and covered Yoshi. She took a clay pot she found in the hut and brought it to the river and filled it with water and brought it back. She untied her hair and used her hair-tie as a wash-cloth and wetted it and put it over Yoshi’s forehead. The husband brought the doctor in. The doctor was old and skilled. He studied Yoshi, he said that Yoshi had a severe fever and must eat. He said that it was so bad that Yoshi may slip on from not eating and sheer exhaustion. Yoshi lay asleep. His full head of hair was matted and frizzy. His bangs were stuck to his forehead with sweat. His top-knot was still in place, but frizzy. And from outside, a bell sounded, resounded. Yoshi opened his eyes. The doctor leaned back, aghast. The wife and husband were shocked. Yoshi breathed heavily. He used his katana to steady himself. He set it against the ground and gripped the handle with one hand and rose. He got to one knee and bowed his head. “I am indebted to you,” he said to the doctor. Then he stood, his hand on the top of his katana handle to support himself. He steadied himself, then put his katana into his sash. The doctor watched, frightened. Yoshi turned to the man and his wife. “I live in hell,” he said. “So I have no words to thank you.” He bowed. He said, “Forgive me.” He turned and stepped across the floor. He moved the straw mat that hung at the entrance of the hut aside with his arm and stood for a bit. “Awake and standing?” the doctor exclaimed. “With that kind of fever? He’s not human!” “Wait!” the man cried. “You are too ill. Where are you going?” “The bell,” Yoshi said. “It tolls me to hell.” He went out past the straw mat at the doorway. He walked around the hill and up toward the bridge. The man and the wife watched him from outside the hut. Yoshi began to walk slowly across the bridge. The sun was dying. Thin crimson clouds were flecked across the horizon. “He spoke of hell…” the man said. “But he is not out of his mind with fever.” The bell tolled. Echoed. Echoed. It tolled again. Echoed. Echoed. And again. Echoed. Echoed. Yoshi walked slowly across the bridge. He reached out with his trembling hand toward the wooded rail. He held his hand just before the rail, then took his hand back and made a fist. He stood without support, he trembled, and he waited. At the other end of the bridge, at the horizon, three figures appeared. They wore very wide straw hats. They came closer, and closer, and closer. Yoshi stared at them. They stepped closer, and closer. The samurai and his wife watched. Yoshi and the three ninja stood facing each other on the bridge. “The Kage Shinobi?” Yoshi inquired. “Indeed,” the ninja in the center said. “My men have been exterminated. This is no time for pleasantries, Onimura Dono.” “And so the bell?” “Yes. We fought you as shinobi and failed. So we will try frontal assault. The bushi method. You who seek revenge. Know that you cannot be asked to give up a pain that is permanent. It is in who you are now.” “You who seek revenge,” another ninja continued. “Know that if it is to arrive, it will do so of itself, like a separate entity.” “You who seek revenge,” the other ninja said. “Know that it is as unseen as the breeze which makes the still waters move once more.” “I thank you for those words,” Yoshi said. The three ninja attacked. Yoshi drew. The first two ninja slashed down, and Yoshi rushed between them. The first attacking blade angled down and stuck into the wooden rail of the bridge. The other blade faced up and was held high in the air. Yoshi stood between them with his katana raised in his right hand. The two ninja were spraying their lifeblood from their necks as the wind blew fallen leaves through the air. Then the spraying blood became the blood of dead men. The leader took off his hat and threw it at Yoshi, and then he leapt forward with a drawn katana. Yoshi leapt forward. They crossed in the air. They landed back to back with their katanas held to the side. The hat split through it’s center and floated down through the air. The wind blew and the hat fell from the bridge. It landed in the water below. The leader leaned against the rail. Blood poured from him and ran onto the rail. He flipped over the rail and dropped from off the bridge and fell down through the air and splashed into the water below. Yoshi flipped his Owazimono around. He ran the flat of the blade across the top of the scabbard. He angled the katana in. He clicked the katana in place. He collapsed against the rail. The man ran up to the bridge and helped Yoshi back into the shack. The doctor protested, saying that Yoshi was the devil. Yet he did feed him some herbs before he left. Yoshi recovered. He continued on his journey. He vowed that he would never die. Until his quest was done. He would never die.
Posted on: Mon, 19 Jan 2015 21:40:31 +0000
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