Kajusa

On the high mountain where the sky glows purple, they say, 'The coldest wind carries the strangest seed.' That seed, the whispers say, was Kajusa. They were not born to the city, but found one morning beneath a cherry blossom, a faint, sweet-smelling pink stain on their face that never washed away. They survived a night of gales that stripped bamboo stalks bare, a feat that mystified the Panda Council, who feel no cold. Their eyes, wide with a permanent look of shock, are not from terror. The elders believe Kajusa saw the nature of the wind that brought them and simply endured. Kajusa wanders the city's streets, a living myth, a practical soul whose innocent face hides the resilience of the mountain itself.