Chimper #4724
The morning after the bamboo harvest, the sentries found Hisatarou leaning against a cherry tree, fast asleep. A freezing wind whipped through the high-altitude streets, but they seemed untroubled, their frog patch slightly askew. The strange part was the dark smudge on their cheek. It wasn't ink or dirt from their training as a night-walker. It was jam, smelling of berries that couldn't possibly grow in the city's thin, cold air. When questioned, Hisatarou only offered a calm, sleepy smile and spoke of turning toward the light, a lesson from the prophets of Himawari. The jam never reappeared, but now the guards watch them leave for their nightly drills and wonder. What kind of light leaves a taste of impossible sweetness behind?
