Iroha stretched as she dismounted from Yamato. The pony whinnied as she tied him to a tree. “Easy, boy” she cooed, running a hand through his mane. “I’ll be right over there.” she said, pointing at the beach.

It was cold and foggy today, just like all the other days in this frigid climate. The only other people around were either Ainu, criminals, or Ronin like Iroha. Hokkaido was an inhospitable place, but it was considerably safer that living on Honshu. At least, for her it was.

Carrying a wooden bucket and with Pokobe on her shoulder, Iroha strode down to the shoreline, her eyes peeled for crabs, shellfish and seaweed. The sea had fed her many times over the past nine months, and with luck it wouldn’t stop.

Glancing up from the sand, Iroha spied something in the water.

It was a dinghy, floating gently in the shallows. Curious, Iroha walked into the water and up to the small boat. There was a man inside, curled up at the bottom. He’d clearly been in there for a while, and he was thankfully still breathing. He opened his eyes and looked up as Iroha approached.

“Hey, mister.” Iroha said, concern on her face. “You alright?”