Hisasaburou

Every morning, Hisasaburou walks to the precipice where the pale stone temple meets the endless cascade, combat pole balanced on their wooly shoulders. They stare down, past the great rock stairs carved into the cliffside, to the fishing boats that dot the lower river. That was their life before the squall that took their vessel and crew. A master of the currents then, their beard was salted by a thousand voyages, not grown through quiet contemplation. Their new master, Tsutsumi, found them washed ashore, a survivor with nothing but the storm in their eyes. Tsutsumi offered not pity, but a pole and a new discipline. This morning ritual is the first lesson: face what you lost before you can defend what you have left.