Kitayoshi

On the night the river swallowed the path, Kitayoshi held two lanterns. The rains had turned the wilder forest into a churning maze, and the light was a promise of a safe return to the clearing. But the bank gave way without a sound. Kitayoshi was left clinging to a root, holding a single burning lantern; the other was just a flicker swallowed by the black water, along with the one they were leading. They later sought out Aki, desperate for an answer, for a way to rewind time. The forest spirit offered only the rustle of amber leaves, a language of acceptance Kitayoshi could not understand. They never went back to the singing and dancing. They keep both lanterns lit now, forever wandering. The grin is for passing travelers, but the light is for someone who can no longer follow.