The Ronin’s Tale: (Interlude) A Conversation

The lord’s minister entered the space and the occupant, a lone figure yellow with light; gray with mood; read without pages.

“You are “ronin”? He asked.

A nod.

Stiffly, “Your sword is required.”

“Does your master not have many sharp loyal blades? I am “ronin”, with no lord.

You are sought.”

“My question begs.”

“The need is specific. Loyalty alone will not suffice.”

“How did you find me? “

“You are known, but not cast out, nor yet in a far land.”

“The task?”

“Small”

“The reward?”

Solemnly, “You will continue to roam.”

“Ah, condemned to the dungeon of freedom!”

“We are all condemned to one space or another.”

“The task has my blade. Your lord has my thanks.”

The yellow and the gray loitered.

 

 

 

 

 

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