Niconora PoV
I sighed as I found my husband staring at Lake Kaguya. His eyes were on the shallow westernmost waters. It was where his parents and my father had made their last stand against Setsugen. The high tide at this time of year had shallowed up the spot.
I stopped beside him on the gentle slope of the bank, the autumn breeze tugging loose strands of peach-colored hair across my face. Down on the pale clay, resting right where the gentle lapping of the lake met the shoreline, lay flame roses and snowbells.
"You picked pretty flowers, Eijiro," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his sturdy back.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he reached up, resting one of his warm, callused hands over mine where they linked across his chest. His shoulders dropped an inch, letting go of the tension he'd been carrying since yesterday. Telling our great-great-grandkids about our parents' struggles had reopened old scars that centuries hadn't quite managed to smooth over.
