Yoshitsugu said and did nothing while Takatora, his hopeless, nostalgic friend, cried out all of his tears. How long had he held onto that burden of grief, exactly? The sheer strength of feeling combined with his natural understanding of Takatora said 'a long time' to Yoshitsugu.

When Takatora stood up and pulled him into that tight hug, it was finally time for more to be said. Yoshitsugu had to admit, he did like the sound of a burial beneath camellia trees. Usually a positive symbol in Japan, for samurai the red camellia was often a loathed and almost feared flower thanks to the way it was shed. That was precisely why Yoshitsugu was so fond of it. It appealed to him on countless levels.

Takatora understood that, and in turn, Yoshitsugu understand why it had been chosen. Understood the message in what had been said.

"Was that chosen for your affection for a fallen friend, or as symbolic of his life as a warrior?"

His voice was still soft when he added:

"Regardless, your stream of tears has left my lap wet. A devious ploy, Takatora. I am now truly awash in the flow."

It was light humour by his standards, but the darker type of which Yoshitsugu was prone to wasn't really appropriate right now.