The birth of Aikido

The wind thrashed his hakama against his legs. He was standing yards from the legend, by now an old man, if either of them blinked its was imperceptible. His chest heaved as he remembered to breath again and tried to soften the tension in his belly and relax his sword grip.

The old man was glowing, motionless as the moon, the wind fluttering silver hair across his forehead. He held his sword loosely by his side. His face too was expressionless but the young man detected compassion. But then again, he might have imagined it.

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