NOT MINE! *huff*
None.
None.
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Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters


by Akai Kitsune

51: Garden

 

~*~

Kenshin was unusually gifted with plants, as well as swords. He never offered where he gained the skills he used to cultivate the Kamiya dojo's little vegetable garden, and Kaoru never really thought it was important enough to ask. Their food thrived, and it pleased him greatly, so she didn't question him.

There were flowers in the garden, too, growing wildly from the time of her mother's death to Kenshin's arrival, when he had immediately taken it upon himself to make the place beautiful again. Sanosuke had once commented at how prissy that sounded. kenshin merely responded, his voice mild, with the question of how the street fighter's longhouse smelled. That had shut him up.

The flowers blossomed handsomely under Kenshin's care, earning Kaoru's respect once again. He had smiled and waved aside her praise, crediting it to luck and a practiced hand. She wondered how and where a swordsman of his caliber would learn to work with plants.

 

Eventually she learned that he had been, in his childhood and even briefly in his days as a hitokiri, a farmer. He explained vaguely of his miniscule role in aiding his father in the fields as much as he could, though at eight years old, there was little he could do. He was quick to learn, he admitted, and he held onto any skills he gained. It had been years since he had a real garden to care for, and he was forced to concede that he was grateful for the chance to renew and apply his knowledge, especially if it was to help her. She flushed at the idea; too kind, always too kind.

 

When Kenji was old enough, curiousity led him to Kenshin's side in the garden, watching his father as he hunched over the plants, digging, watering, testing for maturity or defects, his eyes scrutinizing each blooming flower, each fattening vegetable.

Kenji always wanted to help, and though he was too young, and clumsy, and usually did more damage than aid, Kenshin had not the heart or the desire to refuse him. She liked to watch them as they fumbled in the dirt together, Kenji giggling and playful, Kenshin patient and gentle, his voice guiding them through the year's plantation, carefully molding the garden, even as he molded their family closer, roots growing deeper into the ground, intertwining like vines, or fingers, curving around the hand of another. Smalls hands, she remembered. Soft hands.

Like a child.

~*~

The original title of this chapter was "Stem".
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