The Dancer

Sakura was shaking as they walked down the quiet street, the sounds of the battle raging behind them and fading at their backs. She couldn’t escape. This warrior didn’t even bother to bind her or to keep a hand on her shoulder.

We both know I can’t escape.

“What do you want with me?” she asked for the third time. Like before, the man did not answer, only kept silent behind his white mask. The bloody handprint there frightened her. Did he put that there, or had one of his victims done it during his death throes?

Some samurai with swords and spears trotted past them toward the battle. Many of them were coming down the street in a long line. On the corners were flag bearers pointing the way toward the battle. These men were not Mikuman.

Would the emperor escape this battle or would he perish? Perhaps whatever outcome, the sooner the better, so this would all be over.

Something caught the dancer’s eye, and she glanced up the face of a guard tower. At the top, standing next to the railing was a woman and a small man. Both were foreigners.

Somehow she knew this warrior was taking her to them. But why? What did they want with her?

Sakura let out a shuttering breath. She would probably never see Lawrence again. Perhaps he would wonder what happened to her? Never find out?

I’m so sorry…