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‘I was like every other child.’ “Kei! Quickly!” Cried the medics, their frantic voices struggling above a furious storm. A lanky, hooded figure shouldered through the flap of a cramped tent as it billowed with the rain. The tent was damp and lit by a smattering of wax-dribbled candles; dim lights swayed with the raging storm, shadows danced across the room... The whistling of wind pierced a comfortable silence. “Tell me she’ll be okay!” Tarou barked at the nurses; a crack in his voice betraying his usual stoicism. Large, calloused hands softly entwined about his wife’s, offering some semblance of comfort. “She’ll live.” The hooded man intruded before kneeling next to the woman. A scream of pain that should have shot through the night was instead drowned by a terrible crash of thunder. ‘I don’t know what my first thought was… But it was surely cold.’ The troupe of Iryo-nin flocked to their patient as she shrieked and squirmed; she was giving birth. Suddenly, a striking emerald sheen shimmered outwards from Kei’s palms, and the sheer splendour of his chakra seized the sights of the surrounding shinobi. He brought his weathered hands to a hover above the writhing woman and she became buried in quiet colour... Screams turned to groans... Groans turned to silence… Silence. The soft, melodious hum of the Mystical Palm bathed the very air... A sharp wail struck the room like a tuneless chord. “It’s a boy.” Grumbled Kei, and the greenish gleam about his outstretched hands found itself scattered in thin streaks of fading brilliance. With a final and ferocious clap of thunder, the parting storm gave way to a deluge of rain. The heavy patter pounded against the crown of the tent, threatening to crash in. My father wrapped me tight in a rough fur blanket and laid me in the cradle of my mother’s arms. “Yoroi…”
