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Ten year old Sokaku Takeda crawled into the branches of a tall tree and prepared himself to watch and learn. Mid-morning the Imperial troops sallied forth, and were met with wave upon wave of arrows. The men of the Aizu clan were remarkable bowmen, and the Imperials had good armor, still, the downslope of the vale was covered with screaming men by the time the Imperials reached the bottom and began their charge.

Shooting arrows, clan Aizu moved back into the trees. The cavalry moved to the sides at the trees and let the infantry move past, and now the battle began truly rage. Lines of marching men were broken up by the trees, and the Aizu warriors charged forth with spear and sword.

Orders shouted into the bloody wind were drowned out by screams, shrieks. More Imperial warriors charged into the forest, and the Aizu men were driven relentlessly back. Several of the Aizu, however, made a stand underneath Sokaku's tree.

Arrows slashed through underbrush and thunked into trees and armor and men. Warriors shiny swords became dull and slick with the fluid of dying men. From his position above, the ten year old boy watched as an Imperial Samurai raced into the small conflict taking place at the base of his tree.

The samurai angled his sword to deflect and moved past a thrusting spear, and then his own sword was moved to the side and a dagger was inserted between the joint of chest and arm. The warrior gave a groan as the dagger slipped through the armor, and he sank to his knees. The battle raged around the man, then the Aizu moved further into the forest and the lone Samurai was left to bleed out his final few moments of life.

The roar of the battle sifting through the trees, the ferocious action shifting elsewhere, the Samurai raised his head. Whether to take a final look at the sky, or whether to see the heavens opening for him, the effect was the same–he went face to face with a ten year old boy. Startled Sokaku had been analyzing the techniques of war, and now he was analyzing something else, he was analyzing the departing of a spirit.

For long moments the two stared at one another, eyes wide, sharing an eternal moment, then the Samurai's pupils seemed to dilate, and he sighed, and he died. He died in place, on his knees, but upright, too proud to lay down even in death. And the boy felt the spirit leave, and he marveled at its easy passing.

Even though the Samurai had been the enemy–had been an Imperial warrior–he still exemplified the code of the Samurai, and the boy felt an intense pride that he, Sokaku Takeda, was also a Samurai. Then his pride rose even higher, for not only was he Samurai, but he was a member of Aizu clan, the fiercest of all the Samurai. Through the remainder of the day the battle raged like storm tossed waters, and warriors fought to the death again and again, and the Sokaku held to his high perch and watched and learned.