"Festival time," Shiro said slightly looking up from the fire and out the window. It was one of the few times of the year that he felt safe enough to venture into the village. People seemed to notice him less with the increase in visitors from other places. He liked the festival too, and actually spent some time watching the people move about.

"Used to," he said a bit forlornly. It had been years since he'd been challenged and lost. There were still scars on the back of his neck hidden under his red hair that marked him as the exile that he was. He may have been a bit of a legend in his youth but now he was little more than an outcast.