Touzaemon

Always, before the first fishing boats depart, Touzaemon stands by the pale stone temple in Waterfall City. They are known to all as an ambitious trainee, warm and friendly, their spectacles often fogged from the city's constant spray. But this daily ritual is theirs alone. Using a shard of charcoal, they draw three symbols on the damp temple wall: a spiral, a descending line, and a single, perfect circle. Then, they wait. They watch as the mist from the cascade slowly washes the marks away. Some believe it's a prayer for skill; others, a way to focus the mind. No one has ever guessed the truth. It's not a prayer. It is a question posed to the river, a question about a name they heard only once, long ago.