Several hours have passed since the last bloody battle, and not a soul has seen hide or hair of Tsuruhime. Iyokono’s priests and warriors, having searched the entire site thoroughly, have begun to fear the worst. Some are nearly in tears from worry for the young oracle, while others encourage everyone to be strong and hopeful as she always is.
Motochika observes her crew’s concern from a distance. It isn't any of his business, even if they had fought on the same side, yet after a little while, he feels it seeping into his own being, as well. Just where is the little crane brat? Either she’s stupidly decided to go on a grand adventure all by her lonesome, or she is really in some sort of trouble–and, with the former being incredibly out of character, he figures he should lend a hand.
“I will return,” he finally announces to his men, having had enough of this dawdling. He sets out on what he hopes to be a short and successful journey.
The Sea Devil is lucky, in that respect. It doesn't take long for him to find her–or, rather, traces of her. His eye easily catches a spot of white among the forest's wash of green and brown. He crouches at the base of a gnarled tree, brushing ferns and flowers aside. A familiar worn bow and a quiver of arrows are tucked neatly into foliage between the roots. It was clearly done with some modicum of time and respect, and since the air's scent is devoid of blood, Tsuruhime is most likely fine. Now Motochika wonders, with a tick of irritation, why the foolish girl has left her weapon here and herself vulnerable.
Fortunately, the trail is easy to pick up from there. Motochika ventures deeper into the forest and finally finds the beloved little crane, seated with her back to him on the bank of a small river. Her knees are drawn up to her chest and her head is bowed, and already Motochika feels that something is off. He approaches Tsuruhime quickly, not bothering to muffle the sounds of his footsteps.
“There you are! Your men have worried themselves silly over you, Oracle.” Motochika sets a cautious hand on her shoulder. “Now, enough hiding out here. You have an important job to return to.”
Tsuruhime doesn’t answer him, and it is then that he hears sniffling. Quirking an eyebrow, he leans forward to see the cause, and sure enough, there are tears coursing down her cheeks.
“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you got lost and scared yourself."
Tsuruhime doesn't rise to his teasing, only shaking her head minutely, and Motochika sighs. "Then what is it? Did your Twilight Ninja flee again? Are you wounded?”
“Didn’t you see what I did?" Tsuruhime whispers, sudden and hushed, as if she can scarcely believe it herself. "I… I killed someone.”
And when she finally looks at him with hollow eyes of tainted innocence, it makes any smart remark of congratulations he'd had die in his throat. It is easy, painfully easy, to forget how young and inexperienced Tsuruhime is. She leads one of the greatest armies in the Land of the Rising Sun, but at the end of the day, she is a shrine maiden, and a child. Her heart is still pure and playful, full of virtuous prayers for the health and well-being of others.
He cannot even begin to fathom what it must be like, having ended a life that she had sworn to protect.
“Tsuruhime," Motochika begins, hunkering down next to her and adopting a gentler tone. "I know this is tough for you, but this is normal in war. In order to succeed, in order to bring your crew to the very top, this is–”
“But I don't want to!” Tsuruhime cries, clawing so viciously at her sleeves that the fabric tears beneath her fingers, and it lances through his chest. “I don’t–I don’t want to rob anyone of their chance at life! Motochika, that man had loved ones! Perhaps a loving wife, and lovely children, and wonderful friends–he was loved! He was important! And I have caused him and his loved ones heartbreak with my very hands–!”
"Tsuruhime–"
“His voice continues to cry out in my head, over and over again and I... I cannot–"
Motochika reaches out and pulls her into his embrace, the action so gentle and unexpected that it startles Tsuruhime into a brief silence. He understands it, however; they are only tentative allies and usually friendly enemies, but Motochika's heart still refuses to leave her here like this.
"Holding back isn't healthy," he says, simply but from experience. "Let yourself grieve. It's okay."
It is then that the poor girl allows herself to break down completely, sobbing incomprehensibly into his chest. Motochika holds her as tight as she will allow, his own thoughts swept into a foreboding whirlwind.
A kind man, Keiji had once told him, will never escape his true self.
Motochika exhales, quietly. Perhaps he isn't as stone-willed as he'd thought he'd forced himself to be.