Yoshihime

Yoshihime was supposed to be a fish-scaler. A quiet life by the lower docks, lulled by the constant roar of the great falls, was all they ever wanted. But their mentor vanished mid-delivery, leaving behind only a waterproof satchel and a perpetually unimpressed duck. The city elders assumed Yoshihime inherited the role. Yoshihime, and the duck, knew better. These days, they clatter up slick stone stairs that connect the riverside markets to the main city, a look of perpetual shock fixed on their face. Mr. Quack, the duck, handles all the strategy, offering a corrective peck for a wrong turn or a discerning quack at a dishonest toll collector. Yoshihime just carries the mail, a wide-eyed cog in a machine steered by a waterfowl.