Kazuha

The smell of wet stone and river fish sharpens whenever Kazuha passes. The fishers down by the docks say Kazuha is a lost spirit, kind but cursed, leaving small carvings for them when the catch is poor. A plaza guard, polishing the great statue, calls them a nuisance whose personal drizzle makes the rock stairs treacherous. They see the perpetual sadness in Kazuha's eyes as a sign of trouble brewing. But a small child who plays by the lower pools will tell you Kazuha once shared their strawberry milk, and that the rain they bring feels cool and gentle, not angry. Kazuha says nothing, just watches the water rush over the city's edge, a silent figure everyone has a story about but no one truly knows.