"Why did papa leave?"
Yuina paused, needle and thread still in her hands as she sat at the low table of her dining room. When her dark eyes trailed up, they landed on her eldest son: Ryoma, a boy with spiky, red hair and black eyes. He was standing by the table, watching her with a solemn expression that didn't look right on his young face.
"There are men who seek to disrupt life in our village, Ryo-chan," Yuina said with a gentle smile, setting the needle and thread, as well as the kimono she had been sewing, on the table before standing up.
"Ronin," Ryoma said quietly, knowingly, with those dark eyes narrowed up at his mother.
"Yes," Yuina nodded, fighting back a chuckle at the unamused expression Ryoma wore— he was only nine, so that scowl resting on still chubby cheeks was just adorable.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Ronin can be quite skilled, yes."
"So why aren't you worried?"
Yuina sight lightly through her nose, eyes soft as she looked up at the ceiling, "Of course, I'm worried. But I couldn't stop your papa from helping protect the village, even if I wanted to."
Ryoma crossed his little arms, "He could die, couldn't he?"
Yuina blinked, a small frown tugging on her lips, "That's certainly not something you should be worrying about, Ryo-chan."
"But he could."
A hesitant, "... Well, yes—"
"So why is he doing it, then? Why is he willing to leave us alone?"
Yuina's eyes softened at the slightly crack in his voice, at the glossiness in his eyes that she knew he was trying so hard to fight against. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him against her for a hug that was somehow both gentle and firm, but very, very warm, "Shota is strong, Ryoma. He's out there protecting our village, protecting us, because that's the duty of the strong: to protect the weak. What he's doing is dangerous, of course... but he knows what he's doing is right."
Ryoma returned the hug, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders as Yuina ran a comforting hand through his spiky, bright red hair. Silently, he let her words sink in: the duty of the strong: to protect the weak. He still felt the absence of his father— the man had left early that morning with a knife and a bow in hand— and hadn't yet returned. There were often skirmishes just outside the village with ronin, but Shota had never been gone for so long. Despite that, Ryoma couldn't help the feeling of pride that welled in his chest at his mother's words. His father was doing something noble, protecting the people of the village, protecting Ryoma and his siblings. Regardless of how unfair it felt, Ryoma was able to at least understand.
Yuina pulled away, hands still on Ryoma's shoulders as she looked down at him with a warm smile, "Don't worry, Ryoma," she said softly, knowingly, "Let me worry enough for the both of us. You can just relax."
Ryoma blinked, tensing up at the sound of something in another room clattering to the floor, followed by obnoxious laughter and a high pitched cry of, "Ryoma-nii, Satoshi broke my doll again!"
Yuina stepped back, lightly giggling behind her hand as she shook her head, "Those two..."
"They don't know where he went, do they?" Ryoma asked, and Yuina shook her head as she adjusted the yellow obi of her kimono.
"No. I'm afraid they wouldn't understand."
Ryoma nodded slowly, and then another yell of, "Ryoma-nii, Satoshi called me a crybaby!"
"Did not! Yuki's just bein' a brat!"
"Nah ah!"
"Ah hah!"
Ryoma deadpanned, fighting the urge to give an exasperated sigh as Yuina looked over her shoulder with an arched eyebrow.
"You better go break that up," she teased, and Ryoma gave a short nod before walking off.
It was a few seconds before Yuina Ryoma say, "Satoshi, Yuki isn't a crybaby."
At that, the woman tilted her head back and let her shoulders shake in a bell-like laugh, and then got back to work sewing up the kimono Yukiko had torn the previous day while climbing trees.
Thankfully, that night, all was well and Shota returned.