"Who dares accuse me of theft?" raged Ichiro, barely containing himself for his ritual bow at the door. "Who speaks out against my name - the name I inherited from my noble father?"
The air wafted past the kneeling Kakita with the rich smell of sake. Yoshi, a shocked look on his face, murmured, "IchiroЙ have you been drinking?" Continuing his rant, Ichiro knelt at the feet of his venerable father. "Father, I have tried to live as you would wish. I have struggled to be your son, and I have failed. I am useless." Tears welled in the Crane's eyes, and Teioko looked at Yoshi, appalled.
Ichiro's outburst was unthinkable.
"Son," Toshimoko said wearily, "Do you have the letter?"
"I do," Ichiro spat, the sake on his breath bitter. He pulled the creased rice-paper from the folds of his haori and pointed it at Taioko. "She is the one who has poisoned you against me, father. Let me kill her with your sword, as the duty of your only son!"
As if struck, Toshimoko's face turned grey. "No, Ichiro. That you cannot do."
"Why did you take the letter, my student?" Yoshi whispered, turning his face delicately to avoid looking at the drunken samurai.
"There is a thief among us, one who would dishonor us both, father," Ichiro hung his head, the letter falling upon the floor. "I saw him approach your tent when you were out practicing kata, and I saw him reach for the letter. He ran when he saw me, and so I took the letter and hid it in my haori. I only thought to protect you."
"It is... all right, my son." Toshimoko's voice came from a great distance, thickened by age and regret. "I understand. Go now, and leave me the letter. Retire to your tent, and let us speak no more of this."