the Owl and the Wolf

A bright orange sun looms over a fresh battlefield with corpses lining and covering the plains of grass, equally enough blood, and bodies as the field. A war was occurring with unprecedented deaths on every side with one clan beginning to take the edge with their infamous style of combat, which left their swords dripping in blood. But now the bodies are left to simmer in the rising sun's light. Only one soul seems to remain on the land, a lone boy, scampering between armour-clad bodies. He wears white garb that has lost its shine for the red. An oversized katana is strapped on his waist but is too big for him to fully open from its sheath himself. His hair is dark, with a line of ash covering his right temple to the end of his ponytail. Sitting beside a corpse and rummaging through its waist and chest for any valuables. A pitiful sight, being illuminated by the orange light.

From across the hill comes a tall and broad old man with a giant silver sword on his back, he is covered in feathered clothing and his long white hair in braids over his head, back and beard. He stampedes over the bodies quietly observing the bodies for movement. One soldier groans then begins to rush to get up but is stopped by a giant sword down his left shoulder almost splitting him in two. The tall man isn't slowed by this one soldier and keeps walking, looking for more on the ground. Towering over the ground he casts a long shadow behind him, especially outlining the curve of his sword. With his sharp eyes, he easily spots the little boy's shadow from a long way away, hunched over a body, alone and dirty yet glimmering with a halo around him. A surprise sight, this old wise man had been scowling after the battlegrounds of the great clan, even adopting the name of the Owl, a wise warrior who lies in the trees, waiting in the dark for any cowards attempting to flee, and searching the bodies afterwards for those who feign death. Yet he had never come across a boy, bloodied and alone in any of the wide expanses. He approaches in silence to the side of the boy with his sword drawn.

Being alone for a time, left in this hell, the young boy has developed an acute hearing but does not move from his position, as the wise owl was already too close. The boy raises his head to meet a long glistening blade. The owl slides the blade across his cheek up his forehead with a thin slice, leaving a red line and some blood dripping down his head, when the boy puts both of his hands on the blade, holding it still. Cutting his hands. The great Owl laughs, "Such a young pup left on his own in the wild, you wear the claws and fangs of a beast, with a sword too big for you to wield. With dark hair and an ashen streak, are you a boy or a wolf?" The great owl puts his sword down and kneels. "Well, what are you? I shall call you wolf if you come with me. And I shall make you into a worthy shinobi, if only you follow my teachings. What do you say wolf?"

Wolf had nothing to say he simply stood up and put his hand onto the large sword, as both the wolf and the owl walked over more bodies, connected by a blade. Taking the young wolf to become a trained shinobi, loyal to only him. To become either another mindless demon on the battlefield, responsible for the deaths of many, singlehandedly extending the war, becoming a legend to fear. Or maybe a hero vowing to protect another, losing his allegiance to the owl, but getting recognized alone as the wolf. Or just a repeat of the owl, awaiting after battlefields, killing corpses and cowards. Perhaps coming across another little pup.