Rumors flew as if with wings, fluttering throughout the palace.  They chased the Daidoji guardsmen that rushed to secure the entries and guest quarters.  Whispers took form with eager speed, breaking the courtesy of shoji screen and rice-paper wall.

Lady Ameiko was dead, murdered in her chambers by a Lion militia.  Hoturi had gone mad, insulting Kisada, and lay mortally wounded by a Hida guardsman's blade.  The Ikoma had started a fire in the upper chambers and killed all the line of Doji Satsume.  Matsu Tsuko herself had arrived, demanding the surrender of the Osari Plains - no, Kyuden Kakita - no, all the Crane provinces.  The only thing anyone knew for certain was that something had happened to the Lion ambassador, and that Daidoji stood outside every door, their faces blackened by duty and anger.

With the anger of a caged oni, Doji Kuwanan marched through Kyuden Kakita.  The storming steps of his thickly set legs shook the delicate paper of the screens.  Behind him, three somber-faced Daidoji guardsmen paced with spears raised and ready.

"Word?" Kuwanan demanded of the two gate guards.

Swiftly, they knelt as he approached.  "None, my lord.  Nothing on the road, and nothing in the river.  Either the fleeing assassin has escaped on foot, or he is still within the palace."  Even for a member of the Daidoji family, the man's words were terse, with none of the courtly frills one might expect from a Crane.  The Daidoji were the youngest family of the clan, formed from the children of Lady Doji and Lord Kakita and sworn to defend Crane land and honor with their lives.

Kuwanan nodded.  Rage burned in his silent visage.  Turning, he straightened his shoulders.  "Send twelve men to check the countryside outside the palace.  Keep the guards in place, and bring me another four to search the southern gardens."

The Daidoji lowered his head again and then stood.  As he reached for his spear, Kuwanan could see the twisted snakes that laced his wrists in blue, tattooed coils.  The marks of the Daidoji family were granted only to those who passed their trials of manhood.

Kuwanan's own hands tensed reflexively.  Those tattooed serpents had nearly encased his own arms and marked his destiny, but his father had determined another course.

No time for memories.