claws at my eardrum.
“Run!” yells Yoshi, dragging me along with him. I can’t run fast enough. The boar’s hot breath burns the back of my leg. My wooden crutch is not made for racing wild pigs. I imagine my skin beginning to rip. I imagine a warm trickle of blood.
Yoshi sweeps me onto his back, like an empty harness package. The boar runs faster. Wild animals can smell the weakest member of a pack. The boar smells me. Clinging to Yoshi’s back, the White Crane shivers in fear.
Kyoko reaches the cherry tree first, with Taji close behind. They help pull Mikko out of danger. It’s easy to run with one arm, but it’s hard to climb. Yoshi pushes me upward, and my friends haul me onto a large branch. Yoshi scrambles up after me. Five samurai kids safely perched in a tree.
“Thanks,” I say when I can breathe again. “You’re a hero, Yosh.”
“Now what?” says Mikko.
Yoshi shrugs. “We wait.”
“Shoo, shoo!” Kyoko yells and waves her fists.
Black Tusk claws at the tree. Staring into its big, hairy face, I see eyes filled with hate. What it hates is us.
“We’re stuck here,” moans Kyoko.
“At least we won’t be missing dinner. We’ve already had that,” Mikko jokes.
“Sensei said we choose how we look at things. Maybe we should enjoy the view,” suggests Taji.
That’s a pretty smart idea, considering Taji can’t see. Sensei would be pleased.
From the top of the cherry tree, I can see for miles. The
ryu
buildings are old and dilapidated — the kitchen, Sensei’s room beside the teahouse rubble, our sleeping quarters and classroom. In the center of the buildings, the practice ring is surrounded by even older trees.
“There are a lot of cherry and plum trees,” Yoshi comments.
Kyoko hugs her branch. “I’m glad this one’s here.”
“Maybe Sensei put it here for harmony,” says Taji. “To provide balance with the buildings.”
When you put things in certain places to create harmony, good things happen. Water brings peace and purity, so my mother puts fishbowls everywhere, even in doorways. It’s not easy to hop around fishbowls on the floor, but it’s even harder to jump flopping goldfish.
“Let’s ask Sensei, after he rescues us.” Mikko points to the edge of field.
Sensei sits astride Uma. A skinny old man on a crazy old horse. The boar looks up but sees nothing to be afraid of. Silly pig.
“Zaa! Zaa!” Sensei screeches, charging toward us, his beard flapping wildly. The terrified boar doesn’t look again. It rushes, squealing, into the forest. Everything runs when Sensei yells. Not just us.
“I see you have been practicing sprinting. Excellent,” Sensei says. “Breakfast is ready. Rice pancakes and syrup.” He digs his pointy crow feet into Uma’s flank, and they gallop toward the
ryu.
We climb down and follow, racing through the sunset toward the kitchen. As if a wild boar is chasing us.
“People are coming! People are coming!” Yoshi shouts from his meditation stone. Yoshi’s stone juts way out over the valley. He likes to sit right out on the end and watch the sunrise.
It makes me dizzy to look at him, but he says it helps him think. I know he thinks about that day on the path when he saved my life and that other day long ago when his friend died. He’s balancing more than his body out on the edge of the rock.
“Who is it?” Kyoko is faster than the rest of us and reaches the stone first. Even with my crutch, I’m last, of course.
Four of us strain to see into the valley. We don’t get many visitors. Sometimes old friends come to visit Sensei, like Master Onaku, the swordsmith. And once my mother and father came to check on me.
“He is a good boy. He listens well and eats everything on his plate,” Sensei said. My teacher knows exactly what to say to parents. Mother and Father were proud. I could imagine them repeating Sensei’s words in tearooms across Japan, to their friends and anyone who would listen. Little Niya, praised so highly
“Run!” yells Yoshi, dragging me along with him. I can’t run fast enough. The boar’s hot breath burns the back of my leg. My wooden crutch is not made for racing wild pigs. I imagine my skin beginning to rip. I imagine a warm trickle of blood.
Yoshi sweeps me onto his back, like an empty harness package. The boar runs faster. Wild animals can smell the weakest member of a pack. The boar smells me. Clinging to Yoshi’s back, the White Crane shivers in fear.
Kyoko reaches the cherry tree first, with Taji close behind. They help pull Mikko out of danger. It’s easy to run with one arm, but it’s hard to climb. Yoshi pushes me upward, and my friends haul me onto a large branch. Yoshi scrambles up after me. Five samurai kids safely perched in a tree.
“Thanks,” I say when I can breathe again. “You’re a hero, Yosh.”
“Now what?” says Mikko.
Yoshi shrugs. “We wait.”
“Shoo, shoo!” Kyoko yells and waves her fists.
Black Tusk claws at the tree. Staring into its big, hairy face, I see eyes filled with hate. What it hates is us.
“We’re stuck here,” moans Kyoko.
“At least we won’t be missing dinner. We’ve already had that,” Mikko jokes.
“Sensei said we choose how we look at things. Maybe we should enjoy the view,” suggests Taji.
That’s a pretty smart idea, considering Taji can’t see. Sensei would be pleased.
From the top of the cherry tree, I can see for miles. The
ryu
buildings are old and dilapidated — the kitchen, Sensei’s room beside the teahouse rubble, our sleeping quarters and classroom. In the center of the buildings, the practice ring is surrounded by even older trees.
“There are a lot of cherry and plum trees,” Yoshi comments.
Kyoko hugs her branch. “I’m glad this one’s here.”
“Maybe Sensei put it here for harmony,” says Taji. “To provide balance with the buildings.”
When you put things in certain places to create harmony, good things happen. Water brings peace and purity, so my mother puts fishbowls everywhere, even in doorways. It’s not easy to hop around fishbowls on the floor, but it’s even harder to jump flopping goldfish.
“Let’s ask Sensei, after he rescues us.” Mikko points to the edge of field.
Sensei sits astride Uma. A skinny old man on a crazy old horse. The boar looks up but sees nothing to be afraid of. Silly pig.
“Zaa! Zaa!” Sensei screeches, charging toward us, his beard flapping wildly. The terrified boar doesn’t look again. It rushes, squealing, into the forest. Everything runs when Sensei yells. Not just us.
“I see you have been practicing sprinting. Excellent,” Sensei says. “Breakfast is ready. Rice pancakes and syrup.” He digs his pointy crow feet into Uma’s flank, and they gallop toward the
ryu.
We climb down and follow, racing through the sunset toward the kitchen. As if a wild boar is chasing us.
“People are coming! People are coming!” Yoshi shouts from his meditation stone. Yoshi’s stone juts way out over the valley. He likes to sit right out on the end and watch the sunrise.
It makes me dizzy to look at him, but he says it helps him think. I know he thinks about that day on the path when he saved my life and that other day long ago when his friend died. He’s balancing more than his body out on the edge of the rock.
“Who is it?” Kyoko is faster than the rest of us and reaches the stone first. Even with my crutch, I’m last, of course.
Four of us strain to see into the valley. We don’t get many visitors. Sometimes old friends come to visit Sensei, like Master Onaku, the swordsmith. And once my mother and father came to check on me.
“He is a good boy. He listens well and eats everything on his plate,” Sensei said. My teacher knows exactly what to say to parents. Mother and Father were proud. I could imagine them repeating Sensei’s words in tearooms across Japan, to their friends and anyone who would listen. Little Niya, praised so highly
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