Letting a Lion choose the distance was never a good idea. Letting a Matsu choose the moment of the attack pretty much defined "dead". Fuji broke out of the spiral Kiku was trying to impose, darting inward with yari ready to engage the heavier weapon.

Fuji

The end of a yari was something Kiku knew very well, having seen plenty of them moving towards her in the last war. Because it was straight, its capacity to function as a real danger with sideways motions was limited. She kept her mind on the quite threatening capacity to thrust.

While she expected Fuji to come forward with the point first, Kiku kept the naginata perpendicular. The heavier blade forced a thicker haft, strong enough to deflect a thrust from a yari and durable enough to use any point of it as a weapon. That was her precise goal: re-direct a thrust and get close enough to strike with the haft, taking advantage of her lower center of gravity.

Before they get close enough for the spears to clash, Fuji can catch enough of the tune being hummed. It was a lullaby.

Hochkie taps the Kuni on the shoulder. "come see me later my friend, It would seem I owe you some sake."

Karasu watched the match with a careful, evaluative eye, standing still as a statue.

Later, Fuji would remember the lullaby and be amused. At the precise moment, though, she had only thought for the problem at hand. She shouldn't have chosen the yari, she thought. Her yari sensei had never taught her How Not to Kill a Matsu, and he might have disbelieved that the concept existed at all.

She dove in with most of her speed, trusting Kiku to be able to block the thrust. This would invite a counter-attack with the haft on the part of the Matsu, which Fuji would counter-counter. Or not. It was a thrilling thought.


Fuji

A thrust with a yari is so much faster than one with a sword. It was enough to remind her why the horrible, flimsy, restricted seeming weapon was still used.

Kiku met the thrust by lifting it with the part of the haft between her hands as she ducked farther, turning her charge into an arrhythmic shuffle in the sand for a moment as she dove to get inside the reach of the yari's point. It put her in a spot to bring down the naginata as though she were trying to snap it over her knee, except there was a Crane there instead. The haft of the naginata was a crude hammer, but it left both ends still free.

The blow never came. She stopped, feet digging into the sand as the grains were more than happy to absorb her momentum. The Matsu was there to evaluate what Fuji knew, not to try and maim or embarrass. This wasn't a sheltered dojo where if there was an accident, someone could just be shuffled off to recover, and the point wasn't to try and put anyone 'in their place.' It wasn't about pride or enforcing authority, but about knowing where to start.

The side of her neck was cold. Did she just lose hair to that thrust, or did the wind move it? Sigh. She lost her place in the song.

Saotome watched from the sidelines, how long he had been there was hard to tell. He simply did not stand out from his surrounding.

He was very intent on watching the combat test, his eyes taking in each attack, each counter.

Makage comes striding up along the path, his villainous looking features set in what seems to be an ubiquitous, evil, leering grin, something well accompanied by the hideous ruin that is his right eye.

He wears a suit of heavyish looking armor, of solid make, bearing the Tsuruchi mon on the chest, with a tetsubo slung over one shoulder, crossing a quiver of arrows and a longbow. As he comes closer, he cocks his head to one side, to observe the scene as it is unfolding, his good eye darting from Lion to Ronin with something resembling interest.

As he completes his approach, standing off about fifty feet from the engagement, he unslings his tetsubo, setting it down, and leaning on it, almost as an older man would a cane. Briefly, his single eye darts to the other onlookers, flashing from Crab to Lion, resting measuringly upon a ronin and then continuing on.

Fuji rolled slightly, reflexively trying to absorb the impact of a blow that wasn't there. Then she pivoted, bringing the non-lethal end of the yari around to strike at Kiku.

A sensei is always a sensei, some detached part of her mind noted.


Fuji

The Matsu released the naginata with one hand and struck outward at the incoming yari haft with her forearm, angling to prevent it from angling off of bone. As it struck, she let her arm move inward with the momentum, absorbing instead of defying.

"Matte, Fuji-san..."

Fuji stops the yari before her next arcing motion can bloom and pulls back slightly. Her eyes still have the focus of battle, but she waits for the Matsu's next instruction.


Fuji

Manabu's good eye watched the demonstration unfold, face dispassionate. He nodded to Hochkie, giving him the slightest hint of a smile. "Looking forward to it, I haven't had such good quality sake in a long time."

He continued watchign the demonstration until it finished, impressed with both women. Of course, Kiku pulling her blow made him think. He was used to watchign Hida training excersizes, and had heard that those of the Matsu were as harsh, if not more so. It hadn't dawned on him yet that the hard part had yet begun.

Kiku steps back, flexing the fingers in the arm that bounced the spear.

"I have nothing to teach you with a yari."

After a nod, she begins tromping back towards the blanket with a healthy laugh. "I can still teach you, but you'll need to pick a weapon I'm better at or you are worse at. I'm used to the other end of the spear."

"Sensei," says Saotome, stepping forward and bowing. "May I, with Fuji-san's permission, be allowed to pit my yarijutsu against her's in sparring? I am always interested in learning new techniques."