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	Whipped by a fierce wind And dashed like the ocean waves Against the rocks— I alone am broken to bits And now am lost in longing.   Minamoto no Shigeyuki (1000 a.d.) A steady rain fell from the rippling clouds above, it's cool drops ricocheting from Zakuro's cylindrical straw hat as he ducked into the opening of a building, the sign above the entrance simply Hyo. It was an early mid-summer evening, dusk slowly encroaching on the flooded fields that surrounded the small town Sakai. Zakuro pulled the star hat from his head as he entered, letting it fall to his back where the string that was tied around his neck caught it. The Hyo was dark, little of the remaining sun filtered in, though lamp light illuminated small pockets of tables. The smell of beef danced through the crowd, most of which were huddled around small tables on their knees or in various states of relaxation. The chatter did not stop as the Ronin entered, his eyes moving systematically from one group of men to the next, he was meant to meet someone here.    ” Excuse me, I'm looking for a man named Ukioinin ” Zakuro leaned in to the closet table to the door, speaking to a balding man who sat with a large group. The man gestured quickly with his hands towards a table in the back, not speaking. Zakuro nodded in appreciation before moving inward, careful to move fluidly through the clusters of tables until he reached the back of the Hyo where a tall bearded man sat patiently with a cup of saki. The man's face was old beyond it's years, he had clearly lead a hard life, but his body was clearly strong and full of fight. This was the man he was meant to speak with.    ” Come Ronin, sit with me. The others should be arriving shortly. ” Ukioinin's voice was deep and raspy, carrying a serious tone. Zakuro simply nodded and lowered himself to his knees, whipping his tunic back as he did so, and prepared to wait for the others.