Kill the Shogun

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She looked for something to kill. When she was taken from hooded darkness, it was because something was supposed to die. Her sharp eyes scanned the sky, looking for movement or a patch of dark against either the blue sky or the billowing white and gray clouds.

It was the month of No Gods, and soon it would be the month of White Frost, so the day was not hot. Still, even on a cool day, the sun heated up patches of rock and earth, forming weak thermals that made invisible pillars in the air. Her delicate feathers sought these thermals like sensitive instruments, instinct telling her to use the columns of rising air to loiter in the sky as she sought out her prey. She encountered the buffeting of rising air and banked her wings to spiral into the thermal, constantly sweeping the sky with her bright eyes.

She gave two flaps of her powerful wings, the column of air not being strong enough on a cool day to keep her aloft without effort. Below, the steep hills were densely covered with trees. The fall colors were just beginning to tinge the landscape like the delicate strokes of a kimono painter, touching brush to silk and watching the rich hues spread across the tightly woven, shimmering cloth.

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