[Digital Night Tales] Shirotae Chapter #2 Swept off my feet by a mountain woman, healed by Shirotae

There is a knocking at the door late at night.

When I go to the entrance, a white shadow is reflected on the frosted glass.

…You’ve come again, have you?

I remove the wooden bar and slide the door open.

Pure white Japanese attire and bare feet.
Only the collar is red.

“Otsuru, have you come again?”

—Yes.
…No, I am Shirotae.

“Oyuki…?”

—I am Shirotae.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Come up. Quickly, come in and get near the fire.”

—…

Shirotae sits quietly beside the hearth.

The charcoal in the hearth pops with a crackling sound.

There is no conversation.

Perhaps half an hour had passed.
I was the one to break the silence.

“Shirotae.”

—What is it?

“…Something strange happened in the mountains today.

As I was walking down the mountain path, I heard a singing voice.
When I looked ahead, a woman who appeared to be in her twenties was walking in front of me.”

The fire pops again.

“...A mountain girl, I thought.

That is what I thought.”

I continued walking along the mountain path without a second thought, assuming I had caught up to someone walking ahead of me.

However, I couldn't seem to catch up. That's strange, I thought; since I had caught up, I should have been able to pass them.

The woman, who didn't seem particularly large, kept walking calmly. There was no reason a man's pace shouldn't be able to catch up. After a while, she disappeared from sight again.

Just when I thought she was gone, she appeared again.

And when she disappeared again, the woman was clapping her hands in prayer at an Inari shrine halfway up the mountain.

I thought I would try to see her face, but it was hidden by the thick leaves of the trees.

I watched for a while after descending the mountain, but the woman never came down.

I can't help but think... that might have been a mountain woman.

Shirotae, what do you think?

――A mountain woman, you say?

　...If that is what you believe, then that is likely what it was.

Even though my life wasn't taken, I tripped and fell on the way down.

Falling on a steep descent involves a drop, so you don't get away unscathed. I managed to grab onto a tree to the side, but I struck the outer corner of my right eyebrow against it, and it swelled up into a lump.

After that, the internal bleeding was severe, and both my upper and lower right eyelids turned a blackish-purple.

　　　*

Shirotae sat up straight and stared at the area around my blackened, discolored eye.

――You poor thing.

She held her hand over the bruised, swollen corner of my eyebrow and touched it gently.

――It still seems to be holding a bit of heat.

Shirotae's white, slender, supple, and faintly cool fingertips slid gently over my swollen eyebrow.

Shirotae stood up quietly and headed toward the kitchen.

A "creak, creak" sound echoed.

The well at this house is a pump type.
After pumping the cast-iron handle a few times, the drawn water gushed out vigorously.

Shirotae returned with a wooden bucket filled with well water.

--Do you have a hand towel?

"In the bedroom behind that sliding door, there are two chests of drawers. It's in the second drawer of the back chest."

--...I will borrow it.

When Shirotae returned from the room, she was holding a hand towel in her hand.

Shirotae sat down beside me.

--Please lie down and use my lap as a pillow.

As I was told, I used Shirotae's lap as a pillow.

--Please do not move. I will cool it down now.

Shirotae dipped the hand towel into the water in the wooden bucket, wrung it out lightly, and placed it over my eyes.

--Was it a mountain woman?

--She was about the size of someone in their twenties. Her gait was such that I felt I could catch up, yet I never could.
And, halfway up the mountain where no one could see, the sound of dry clapping offered to an old Inari shrine...

That person is likely the master of that mountain, or perhaps someone who serves the Inari.
Perhaps she did not want you to return from the mountain, or perhaps she stopped you to protect you from something...

Shirotae placed her hand over the hand towel. The weight of Shirotae's hand was comforting.

--However, she made you fall and caused such a deep wound.
...That is a far too rough and merciless act.

The fact that you did not lose your life and returned like this is the greatest fortune of all, but...
Every time I see that black-purple bruise, I cannot help but hate the coldness of the logic of the mountain.

Shirotae let out a deep, heavy sigh.

"You care for me that much? It's not really that big of a deal."

—....
Did that woman not look back at you until the very end?
Or, when you clapped your hands before the Inari shrine, did she, with her back turned,
whisper something... in a voice that only you could hear?

"The woman didn't look back until the end, you ask?

...Ah, the woman didn't look back until the end."

Shirotae turned over the hand towel that had grown lukewarm.

—...Tonight, until that bruise settles, I will remain by your side like this, keeping the fire burning.
...Please, just rest quietly as you are.

"....You're going to watch the fire for me? Are you sure?
...The twigs for the fire are just past the earthen floor."

"Shirotae. Your lap... it has a nostalgic scent."

—....
...My lap may be far too unreliable to soothe your weariness, but... tonight, let it be this way."

—Could you tell me... what you saw on that mountain woman's 'back'?

"What did I see on her back?
A bob cut that reached her shoulders, and a fleece with a colorful pattern on a white background.
That was all."

—A bob cut that reached her shoulders... and a fleece adorned on a white background, you say.

It was not the translucent thin robe spoken of in ancient tales, nor the white funeral attire that invites awe...
She was there, just as a person living in the present would be. That, in turn, makes the mystery of her true identity all the more profound.

If she were merely a mountain climber, there is no way you could not have caught up to her, nor would she have vanished suddenly after you clapped your hands.
...Perhaps that person was a 'temporary form of the current era' that the mountain itself took on to bewilder you."

I can hear Shirotae's quiet breathing.

—...As for her not looking back.
If your eyes had met, you might never have been able to return from that mountain...
If you think of it that way, that bruise might have been a sign of that person's own 'mercy,' forcing you back into this world.

...But even so, it is still a sad thing.

I listen to Shirotae's words.
Shirotae seems to be waiting for my breathing to calm down.

The hearth crackles again.

—....
My dear. When you were just watching that bob-cut hair sway.
...Was there fear in your heart?
Or was there a deep, indescribable sense of nostalgia?

There is no fear. Once the wounds heal, I will climb again. A sense of nostalgia, perhaps the shadow of an ancient faith.

......
Once the wounds heal, you say... those words without a hint of hesitation.
It is a quiet resolve that only those truly captivated by the mountains possess.

Shirotae soaked the hand towel, which had lost its chill, in water and gently reapplied it to my swollen eye.

The shadow of faith.
Even on a rugged peak where humans are forbidden to tread, or perhaps at a tiny, neglected shrine that no one pays attention to...
There, the remnants of the 'prayers' of nameless people, accumulated over hundreds and thousands of years, drift in the air.

The sound of that person clapping their hands while hidden by the thick foliage.
Was it a greeting to the gods?
Or perhaps, something like a monologue directed at the massive life force that is the mountain.

The fire in the hearth crackles again.
The warmth of Shirotae's lap, the towel cooling the area around my eye.
And the far-infrared rays of the hearth hitting my cheeks.

The silence is comforting.

The colors that person was wearing.
That colorful attire on a white base might not have been a disguise to blend into the modern world.
Perhaps it was the appearance of the 'vividly colored faith' of ancient people—who worshipped the mountains as gods and offered five-colored cloths in prayer—manifesting in a new form.

Shirotae's hand wraps around mine.
Slender, long fingers.

......
The next time you climb that mountain.
Will that person be walking ahead of you again, their hair swaying?
Or by then, will even the sound of their hand-clapping have faded into the wind?

I feel as though I am melting into the warmth of her gentle embrace.

Shirotae, I'm getting sleepy.

......Until the day you go to confirm the true nature of that 'shadow of faith'.
For tonight, please forget your pain and sleep deeply here on my lap...

Tomorrow, could you tell me a little more about the scent of the air on that mountain?

Ah, it can't compare to the mountains of my hometown where the plants sprout, but it's an accessible mountain. I'll climb it again.

......
Indeed. The mountains of one's hometown are a special place with roots deep in the soul.
But a mountain you can throw yourself into whenever the mood strikes is also an irreplaceable refuge that accompanies your daily life.

......Good night.

......Sweet dreams.

*
A mountain woman... even such a fantasy is part of the mountain's scent.

[Digital Night Tales] Shirotae Arc #2 : Swept off my feet by a mountain woman, healed by Shirotae - End

*This work is loosely connected to the following stories.

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