Super Happy Katana Fun Time

It was a cold, unforgiving night. Sleep stuck dew and wasted moisture all along the inside of Tetsu's coat. The sinewous compounds of her musculature were nearly in disrepair the morning after. No more fights. No more collective battles in an a hour's time. Little Tetsu rose on an elbow and found the joint sore. Articulation made it crack and show perceptible trauma-based damage. Mostly to the underside and not the inside, she observed carefully. It took putting pressure on the region to identify an accurate state of affliction. Pony coats did not convey bruises so easily. The mare, quite bitter in their dry throat and drowsy from the dust and mid-summer's heat, stumbled to awareness. Crippled in the head, she diagnosed just from the lack of coordination. A concussion.

All around were bristled packets of wild Mizuedo ferns and bushes, their presence dwarfed by the immense bamboo forestry dividing travel into paths. Slowly, she crept along the riverbank from the abandoned housing. Although she slept on tatami, Tetsu knew not the danger looming ominously about the silence. All she knew was that somepony brought her sword to wash and left it gleaming in the moonlight. It's edge was sharp as tongue games from the local jesters. And so much more. Her approach toward the weapon brought a stalemate betwixt thoughts. On one hand, she knew it was cold water somepony soaked it in. And another part knew that could brittle the blade, which needed to be powdered and swabbed regularly. Just as wind rustled, she flinched, recognizing a leaning bamboo unit as whips crashing against some poor child. Her own poor child. Their eyes reflected upon the starry liquid below her. Innocence lost, they spelled a lifetime of punishment and many more sinful revenges. Tetsu choked on her own breath as it rushed back into her. Another child. Another loss. Their eyes reflected upon the crimson blade above her. Pride gained, it worded several bloodlines of reward and very few rebellions against the empire. Tetsu, they could've called her. Instead, the guard captains and the samurai or their outcast ronin siblings simply called her 'the outsider.' Some questioned her birthright into the ranks of honorable purebreads such as her peers. Others said it was her lack of inclusion. Her distance was alien. Foreign to the most unsuspecting, it was many things. Her mental states. Her mannerisms around things like loss or kindness. They all said she was an outsider.

Father's features filled itself into the carcass of a hanged equine. He was rotten and spoiled, hanging by the ankles both back and front alike. Hog-tied, like father did on boring summer nights. Tetsu shook as the corpse fell apart. The memory was over. Tetsu eased her grip on her blade as it fell limply into obscura.