Waiting

They seated themselves upon springy tatami, legs crossed and stoic in face. There was a chilling breeze that day. It whipped in through the open temple doors and numbed their hands. The tea was welcome then. They clasped the cups of steaming liquid in their hands and took delicate sips, refilling themselves reservedly from the bronze teapot.

The monk had left them to their business, and climbed down the mountain. He had bowed and smiled knowingly and then disappeared into the forest with his weight leaning heavily upon a knarled willow walking stick.

"Where's Oda?" Morohira complained, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. As much as they wanted to scold him and urge that he quiet down, he did have a point.

"Before sundown, that was the agreed-upon time, was it not?" Togashi asked Gengyo, looking out at the sky. It was tainted with orange. The sun had long since begun its setting. Soon night would fall, and Oda was nowhere to be seen.