After a long night of hanafuda and warm sake, a young merchant set out for a neighboring village. Wanting to reach the village before sunrise, he decided to take an old neglected mountain trail that had become overgrown from disuse.
In the dark hours before dawn, a young fishmonger was on her way to the docks. It was a cold and windy morning fit for neither man nor fish. As the fishmonger ambled toward the coast she heard the sound of wooden geta on the cobbles. Beto… Beto….