Peace Maker Kurogane Fan Fiction ❯ The Silent Treatment ❯ The Silent Treatment ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

DISCLAIMER: Peacemaker Kurogane belongs to Nanae Chrono. The Shinsengumi belongs to history. I tip my proverbial hat in respect to both.

DISCLAIMER: This story contains elements reflecting homosexual relationships, as well as some sexual situations. Although I do not believe that, historically, these particular relationships existed, I do find it an interesting topic to write about, from time to time. If you do not find it an interesting topic to –read- about, I sincerely wish you luck in finding piece of fanfiction more suitable to your tastes.

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The Silent Treatment

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It was thoroughly unimaginable how much noise Okita-san could make. Not only was he skipping through the crunchy leaves of autumn carpeting the forest pathway, the First Captain was also humming. And when he wasn't humming, he was pointing out some forest feature or proclaiming his happy praise for the weather. So much noise. Okita-san was a cacophony enclosed in a solitary figure, a festival parade bound in a thin white yukata that made no attempt to conceal the slowly-withering body of its wearer. A thin white yukata that would certainly reveal far too much when even vaguely dampened by a short rain. Susumu glanced upwards to check for clouds.

None.

Susumu couldn't seem to make any noise whatsoever. He tried, for a while, to put his footsteps squarely in the middle of the largest patches of leaves, and he still couldn't get them to make that peculiar, yet pleasing, "crackle" sound. Perhaps the trademark silence of a practiced shinobi was beginning to stick to him the same way the smell of smoke clung to Hijikata-san. Perhaps his soft-soled shoes just didn't have the same impact on the leaves as Okita-san's geta.

Next, Susumu tried humming. He got as far as the first note, changed his mind, and pretended to be clearing his throat. In the end, Susumu decided, when two men were walking together, only one of them could hum at a time. And even then, the whole prospect was a bit iffy. Whistling might be slightly masculine, but humming... No, probably not humming.

"You're very quiet, Yamazaki-kun! But, then, you're always pretty quiet, aren't you?"

It was a question that, Susumu knew, he wasn't required to answer. Instead, he kept in step behind the joy-filled Captain, and attempted to ponder, once again, his mission. Hijikata-san had told him to go along with Okita-san, no matter how much the other Captain protested that he'd be fine on his own. If no one went, Hijikata-san had reasoned, Okita would never make it to the appointment with the specialist Matsumoto-sensei had recommended. No, Okita would more likely end up at a candy store, or dallying the whole day away chatting with the townsfolk. But, since Yamazaki was now Matsumoto-sensei's apprentice, he had a perfectly valid reason for being interested in medical affairs, and was therefore the most logical choice to escort Okita to his appointment.

And, it wasn't that Susumu didn't want to go with Okita-san. No, he was far more than happy to accompany the object of his secret esteem. The mere act of walking behind Okita-san, watching that long hair swish back and forth, enjoying the strange aesthetics of the ever-changing line of cloth against Okita-san's hips and legs, spying just a maddening hint of firm calf attached to slender ankle... The mere act of walking behind Okita-san was it's own reward.

Nonetheless, it would have been doubly rewarding if Okita-san had merely asked him, himself. Kneeling outside of Hijikata-san's quarters, Susumu had heard the First Captain's gentle voice proclaim with an almost imperceptible sliver of indignance, "Oh, I'm quite fine to go alone, Toshi. There's really no need to send your pet ninja."

Susumu couldn't believe how hard he'd flinched. No one had seen, of course, save Ayumu's surely ever-vigilant ghost. Even from beyond the moral world, Susumu felt certain that she was bestowing one of her frightfully pitying looks, the kind Susumu loathed most.

"Maybe we'll see some sika deer, on the way there, or maybe on the way back. Hijikata-san used to tell me all about the sika deer he saw while traveling around Tama selling medicine. Wouldn't it be fine to keep a deer as a pet? Oh, I wonder if Saizou-chan would chase a deer. That might not be too good..."

Okita-san kept chattering, filling the air with suppositions, pleasantries, conversational bits that required no answer whatsoever. Susumu had the feeling that the vivacious Captain spoke -at- him, so that he didn't have to speak -to- him.

Okita-san never really spoke to him. Ever.

Oh, there were occasional greetings, a smile spared whenever Susumu passed, but... Okita-san was a renowned conversationalist, and it was a side that he never shared with Susumu. Almost everyone went to Okita when they needed someone to talk to. Tetsu, Tatsu, Hijikata-san, Kondo-san, even Yamanami did, before... Before.

Despite his deadly skill with the sword, Okita-san was friendly, and patient, and a good shoulder for anyone who had troubles. Or, so they said. Susumu had never experienced that particular friendliness.

And, perhaps the want of it had driven him to watch Okita-san a little more closely. Susumu would linger on the rooftop upon returning from a mission, watching as Okita-san practiced his swings late into the night, sweat that should have been defeated by the evening breeze clinging to Okita-san's brow. Matsumoto-sensei had spoken of this, the terrible night fevers that would come and go in the first stages of the disease. Susumu would count the strikes between bouts of coughing. If it got below one-hundred, Susumu made sure someone brought the secretly ailing Captain hot tea. What else could he do?

Susumu watched him, too, when the First Division marched out for patrol. Clad in an immaculately clean Shinsengumi uniform, the one Susumu himself would never wear, his thumb would flick over the hilt of the Kikuichi Norimune, back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to quell through steady rhythm the beast that lived within the sheath. His hair would be pulled up into that high ponytail, which always made him seem all the more dangerous. Or, perhaps it was the other way around, and Okita's loose hair and simple yukata made him seem gentler than he really was.

Nonetheless, all eyes would be on Okita then, the entire squad fixated upon their majestic Captain. He commanded such respect from everyone, merely by his presence, by the aura of his swordsmanship and skill. Even Serizawa had liked Okita. In all his days with the Shinsengumi, Susumu had never once met a single person who didn't either adore the first Captain, or implicitly fear being killed by him.

In the end, Susumu couldn't tell if he wanted to -have- Okita Souji, or -be- Okita Souji. The two impulses were probably linked, Susumu figured.

"Oh look, I think that's the place. Matsumoto-sensei did say that there was a pond in front. That's lovely. And here I was, thinking it would be something altogether imposing and threatening, like some sort of old daimyo's crumbling fortress, with moats and creaky gates." Okita laughed to himself, and headed off the path without hesitation, leaving the quiet shinobi to follow at his own whim. Susumu stared after him, bound in pure wonderment at the sight of Okita's form as he emerged from the trees to be coated in sunlight.

In the shadow of such perfection, Yamazaki Susumu feared there was little he could ever do to bridge the massive gulf between them. But, perhaps, maybe... Just maybe... If his apprenticeship to Matsumoto-sensei went as planned, maybe then...

He'd be more than just Hijikata-san's "pet ninja".

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Susumu tried not to wince. He wasn't really much of one for wincing, but this time, it was difficult. Every step he took seemed to echo into the forest. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Whereas before he couldn't hear any evidence of his own part in their journey, now every movement produced a rustle, a crackle, or a thump.

But, not a single sound came from the figure walking ahead of Susumu. No loud footsteps, no humming, no endless chatter. Ever since they left that clinic, Okita-san had been merely floating in front of Susumu like a vapor, like a too-tactile ghost.

The treatment had been horrendously painful, in Susumu's estimation. Surely, it had to be. The doctor's hefty assistant had tied Okita-san into a foul-looking wooden contraption, face down. Then, he'd proceeded to bludgeon Okita-san repeatedly on the back with the flat side of a bokken. This, he said, was all to assist in breaking up the collected blood clots and fluids around Okita-san's lungs.

There had been welts. Susumu had seen them. Long stretches of mashed red and purple that crisscrossed a back already lightly scarred from years of swordfighting. A pool of darkened blood had collected on the floor, the thick liquid having emitted from Okita-san's mouth and perhaps even his nose during the treatment.

There was no way that such a treatment was sensible, Susumu concluded. He'd report to Hijikata-san and Matsumoto-sensei both that the doctor in question was an absolute fraud. No, a fraud and a sadist.

But, even then, even when that brute was trying to beat the sickness out of Okita-san... Even then, Okita-san hadn't uttered a word, not a yelp, not a grunt of pain. Watching him from across the room, as Susumu had, he couldn't even tell if it was hurting him or not.

Strange, indeed, that sight. To see someone raise a weapon to the consummate swordsman, and not have that person immediately be struck down by a too-fast flash of the Kikuichi Norimune. Not many men could say they'd literally beaten Okita Souji and gotten away with it.

But, now... Now, Okita-san was walking in front of him. Any lesser man would have had problems even standing. Susumu didn't know how Okita did it. When the treatment finished, he'd pulled his yukata up over the welts, stood up, thanked the doctor, and left. Then, as when he watched Okita endlessly practice his swings through the night, Susumu knew there must be pain. It must be painful. It was impossible for anyone to be that strong, to ignore that much pain. It was impossible.

And yet, Okita-san was walking. Slower than before, but he was walking.

Susumu knew not what to say. His words never mattered. His life, his very existence, bore little consequence. His duty as a shinobi was merely to serve his master. Respect, acknowledgement, friendship, these things must, by necessity, be eschewed. But, even more than this, he'd never had the inclination, nor the reason, to comfort another.

Well, perhaps with Tetsu. But, Okita-san and Tetsu weren't even in the same category of humans.

Susumu absently fingered a small shuriken scar on his neck, a wound given by a strange blonde shinobi many months prior. It had turned into a nervous habit, he noticed, something he did when upset or perplexed. He'd rub the scar, trying to defeat the skin's memory of his past failures through a repeated caress. It never worked, but he did it anyway.

"Okita-san," Susumu finally managed, "We could... Could we stop?"

Okita did stop, but the bottom half of his long hair kept swishing to the left, a consequence of the breeze. It made the captain look vaguely off-centered. "Do you need to pee, Yamazaki-kun?"

Okita-san's voice, haunted rather than chipper, caused Susumu to tighten his hold on his own neck. "No. No, sir. It's just..." It's just that every step Okita-san took unleashed pain into Susumu's throat. He knew he had to think, had to come up with something that protected the Captain's pride, yet also caused him to stop and rest. Susumu gritted his teeth slightly. "It's just that, I've lived in the city all my life. I've never seen the deer, those sika you were talking about before. Ayu used to love..."

Susumu deliberately let his comment cut off, as if he were too affected by the memory of his dead sister's love for large herbivores to continue. Sure, it was a lie. Ayumu had never spoken to him about dinner, much less her love for deer. Nonetheless, the trademark of a good shinobi didn't reside in his ability to throw kunai or shuriken, but in how convincingly he could weave falsehoods.

Okita-san didn't respond immediately, and Susumu was beginning to wonder if the other man had passed out while standing upright. "Yes," Okita finally said, "Of course. Let's stop for a while, and..."

When Okita-san swayed in the same direction as his hair, it took a moment for Susumu to realize what was happening. He thought Okita might be turning around, but instead the usually exuberant Captain tilted, faltered, and began to fall.

Susumu mustered all of his speed to leap into action. He managed to skid to a stop on his knees and break Souji's fall by wrapping his arms around the injured captain's torso. This jarring sensation, especially with the fresh welts on his back, returned Okita immediately from whatever minor realm of unconsciousness he had achieved. Okita gasped, and with it came a painful, rattling gurgle from somewhere deep within his throat.

"I'm..." Susumu did his best to help Souji into a sitting position without again touching his back. "I'm sorry."

"No." Okita's breaths were labored now, his eyes not focusing as Susumu would have wished. Even sitting, Souji seemed to be weaving slightly right and left. Was there that much pain all along? "I'd just been concentrating on walking, focusing all my effort on keeping going. I guess the sudden stop..." Okita hung his head, intentionally covering his expression with his long hair.

"When you stop, the pain sets in, is that it?" Susumu finally understood. It wasn't that Okita was superhuman, it was just that as long as he had something else to focus on, he could use it to blot out the pain.

"Yes." Susumu felt something digging into his arm, a constricting force that almost threatened to cut off the flow of blood. Even injured, even sick, Okita had a mean grip. Eyes filled with an unspeakable terror flashed up at Susumu from beneath Okita's thick bangs. "Yamazaki-kun, do not tell anyone. Swear it. Swear to me."

"Matsumo..."

"No, not Matsumoto-sensei, and certainly not Hijikata-san. Don't you see? If they know, Hijikata-san will send me back to the Shieikan dojo permanently. What can I do there? Nothing. Nothing but let the pain settle into my bones."

Susumu found his hand on top of Okita's, trying patiently to pry it off his upper arm. "I... I don't know, Okita-san." Susumu told Hijikata everything he found out. Everything. And this was certainly major information.

"If you have any honor, you will swear it."

The words were biting, almost cruel, yet spoken in such a quiet tone that Susumu had to pause to make sure he'd actually heard them. If he had any honor... If Susumu, a shinobi, had any honor... Was that it? Was that why Okita-san always avoided him? Pure prejudice over the dishonorable reputation of a shinobi? Susumu had endured many slights over the course of his life, but the fact that Okita, a man so willing to accept everyone, even a pig, would shut him out... The humiliation was nigh unbearable.

"Yes." Susumu forced himself to choke out the words, despite his sudden disgust at his own lot in life. "I swear it."

Okita's grip relaxed, and with it the First Captain fell forward against Susumu, apparently no longer able to support himself. Susumu, surprised to find out how heavy the lithe swordsman's upper torso was, did his best not to fall backwards. Okita's left cheek ended up crushed to Susumu's sternum. They were close enough that Susumu could feel Souji's hot breath leak icy words through his yukata. "It's a promise, a promise between warriors, and if you break it, I will... I will..."

"Yeah, I know." Like Hijikata, and Kondo-san, like all these self-made swordsmen, Okita-san took promises with -dead- seriousness. "For now, just rest, Okita-san."

Susumu did his best to help Okita off the tree enclustered path. They needed to be out of the way, just in case someone happened to pass by. If anyone of note saw Okita-san in this position, the promise Susumu had just made would be rendered worthless. Okita-san's secret had to be protected, even if just to prove to Souji that Susumu was more than just a dishonorable shinobi.

Susumu managed to get Okita to a small glade just beyond sight of the path. He laid Okita on his side, and they ended up with Okita's head resting on Susumu's upper leg. It was a practical arrangement, Susumu told himself, so that he could keep tabs on the Captain's breathing, pulse, and possible fever while he rested. But, in reality, he knew he'd finagled it that way, just to have an excuse for more closeness than truly reasonable.

Both were silent for a long while, and Susumu tried not to stare down at Okita's face. Instead, he listened to the sounds of the Captain's breathing while looking around the glade. It was a peaceful spot, with large shady oaks, red tinged stripped-bark maples, and the occasional lilac tree, though not in bloom, luxuriously golden to fit the season. Tall alders clung to their greenery, refusing to succumb to autumn. The yezo and the momiji were each trying to outdo the other in hues of red ranging from almost orange to deep burgundy. All this, bounded by a sky so blue it mocked the azure of the Shinsengumi uniforms, would have almost been idyllic, if Okita-san weren't in such dire pain, and hadn't just threatened to kill Susumu if he told anyone about it.

"It's not so bad, Yamazaki-kun. It's really not so bad. So you needn't worry."

"I'm the one with the medical training," Susumu retorted, slightly more bitterly than he'd meant.

"Ah, but you're not a doctor yet."

Again, again, Susumu wasn't quite anything of note. A pet ninja, likely dishonorable, not quite a doctor. He clenched his jaw, as well as a hidden fist. Was there nothing, nothing that could raise him to be worthy of Okita-san's esteem or respect?

"I didn't mean anything by that, Yamazaki-kun," Okita said softly. Susumu looked down to find Okita staring blankly into the distance. "I get on your nerves, don't I?"

Susumu could only blink. He couldn't even discern if this was another of Okita-san's multitude of rhetorical questions.

"I know I do. You're always so quiet when I'm around, and you always have this look on your face, this look that I've somehow slighted you before I even say hello..."

Susumu wanted to tell him that he was always fairly quiet, and that as a practiced shinobi, he'd trained himself to wear the same expression no matter who entered the room, but he doubted that Okita would believe him.

"So, I figured that you always found me a bit dull to be around. The harder I tried to be chipper and entertaining, the quieter you'd become. So, I... So, you see..." Despite any pain he might have been feeling at the moment, a small smile crept onto Okita's lips, "And, I have to admit, Yamazaki-kun, I've always been a bit jealous of you."

"Jealous?" Susumu figured that -had- to be some sort of lie or trick.

"Because of how much Hijikata-san trusts you. He trusts you with information he won't even tell me. Plus, now you're going to become a doctor. You're able to do something besides cut men down in cold blood. I've never... I only have my sword."

Susumu stared at Okita's face. He could usually tell, after so long now as a shinobi, when a man lied. A certain type would get nervous, another type would appear too confident, yet another would go completely blank-faced, in an attempt to force themselves to be unreadable. But, Okita's face bore no signs of falsehood. The First Captain, Susumu knew, might tell a fib to Hijikata-san here or there, but would never lie about something serious. It just wasn't in him to lead people astray.

"It's not...like that...Okita-san."

"Souji. When I'm not in uniform, I'm just Souji."

"Souji."

A surge of adrenaline rushed through Susumu's body, reminding him vaguely of various times when he'd crouched outside the dwellings of the enemy, listening for secrets. But this secret, altogether different in value, wasn't something he'd have to report to his superiors. Sitting in this pastoral glade with Souji's head in his lap, he'd finally found a place where swordsmen and shinobi did not exist. Now, all that remained was a young man training to be a doctor, and his sick friend.

"Yamazaki-kun...Susumu..." Okita's voice, no longer quite as pained, but still not painted with the cheerfulness that typically defined the man, washed over Susumu as he watched the flitting path of a nearby dragonfly. "Take care of them for me. My brothers in arms. Kondo and Hijikata, Nagakura, Saitou and the rest. You're the only one who isn't bound by a swordsman's code. And so you're free, free to see what they can or will not. After too long, a demon grows blinded by blood like a man lost in a snowy winter will forever see only the endless white. But, you..."

Susumu forced himself to make a displeased noise, despite the growing lump in his throat. He pressed the back of his hand to Souji's cheek, checking his temperature, but also trying desperately to absorb some of Souji's goodness into himself. "Now, you really are kinda annoying me."

Souji's chuckle was lost beneath Susumu's hand. "You sound like Toshi. Or rather, like I remember him from when I was a boy."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I used to lay on his knee, just like this, weary to the bone from practicing my swings, and he'd tell me...all sorts of things...until I fell asleep. Just like this... Just exactly..."

Susumu let his hand slip down Souji's face, over lips, warm and pliant, that hushed themselves at the touch. When he reached Souji's neck, he grazed his fingertips over swaths of skin he knew to be vital killing points on a man. The jugular, the throat, that soft spot under the ear where a kunai could best be thrust into the brain. Vital. Deadly. And so terribly sensitive. A ragged breath spilled from Okita's mouth, warming Susumu's knee.

"You gotta be quiet, and still. If you move around too much..."

"Toshi says that sometimes, too."

Susumu didn't particularly want to think about the private activities of Hijikata and Okita. He wanted to concentrate on the feel of Souji's skin, the sloping ridges of his collarbone, shoulders that looked so softly rounded, but in reality were packed with taught muscle, a chest enmeshed with tiny discolored dashes, scars that felt almost slick under his fingertips... When Susumu's nail happened to scrape against one scar by accident, Souji's breath caught, and he shuddered.

Sometimes, it was difficult to believe that Okita Souji was a swordsman, but with his scarred skin and lean muscles spread out beneath Susumu's fingertips, it was hard to think of him as anything else.

Susumu could see Souji's eyes. The focus had returned to them, and their gaze followed the nearby dragonfly. The pains of new and old became secondary to the sensations Susumu created with his fingertips. Like walking away from that detestable clinic, like practicing his swings long into the night, Souji once again had a way to escape the pain.

Souji bit his bottom lip when Susumu's fingers emerged from inside the yukata, and trailed over his ribs, along his side, and down his hip. Susumu gathered the fabric slowly, one handful at a time, allowing Souji to feel the drag of the thin material as his legs slowly emerged into the autumn air. Whereas a swordsman's grip requires power, the shinobi turned doctor's apprentice excelled in precision -- the flick of the shuriken or pull of the wound-stitching needle, the measurement of poison or salves, and now the accurate administration of pleasure.

When Susumu's fingertips finally flickered down the expanse of Souji's body which had heretofore belonged only to Hijikata, the ailing swordsman fisted his hand against Susumu's knee. An intense look of concentration (one very akin to when, sword steady, Souji faced his enemies) graced Souji's face as he tried not to move against Susumu's hand. Again, he began to breathe clearly, each chestful of air stronger than the one before it. The typically sullen shinobi watched with interest as Souji's hand slipped from his knee onto the ground, began to tear at the grass, and knead the fallen autumn leaves into dust.

Susumu didn't care that the name repeatedly whispered by Souji wasn't his own. He didn't mind that, in his weakened state, Souji couldn't return his affections. All that mattered was that, with his own hands, he had removed a man's pain. For a brief instant, he'd become more powerful than the whole of the Shinsengumi, few of whom knew more than the sword, and all of whom were powerless to help Okita Souji.

When Souji came, he broke the silence with a cry of, "Please, Toshi. Oh, please To..." that was cut off by his hand flying to his mouth. The dirt and dried leaf bits that ended up smudged across Souji's lips and cheek went fully ignored as his body shuddered in climax.

Soon heavy and tired with satiation, Souji swiped absently at his face with the edge of his sleeve as Susumu pulled the yukata back over his legs. Souji fought sleep as Susumu watched over him. Yes, Souji would be fine, Susumu knew, for there was something within the chipper Captain which reigned more infectious than any disease. It gripped Okita tightly, and ensnared all those who came into contact with him. And now, now it had captured Susumu, as well.

"Yamazaki-kun," Souji whispered as his eyes closed.

"Yeah?"

Souji smiled softly, just for his friend. "Heal as many as you can."


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Hijikata stared through the open shoji as he puffed on his pipe. How... Disturbing? No, that wasn't the word. Infuriating? Mildly. But, more than that, the whole scene which had unfolded just moments ago in his quarters was... Atypical.

He'd been going over some documents, nothing important, just a few reports on recent patrols, when he looked up to find the silhouette of a certain "pet ninja" affixed to the shoji.

"Enter and report!"

Yamazaki had opened the shoji and bowed. Nothing unusual there. But, as soon as he stilled himself, Hijikata grew interested. There was something, something about the way he was sitting, something about the very unusual look on Yamazaki's face... The shinobi seemed suddenly in possession of a type of confidence and defiance usually lacking in his breed. Hijikata wondered if it was just the lighting.

"How did it go? Where's Souji?"

"Sleeping," Yamazaki replied curtly. "I'll ask you not to wake him tonight."

Hijikata wondered briefly if his shinobi had imbibed alcohol on the way back. Yamazaki never demanded anything, and always knew his place. Something was definitely amiss.

"And the treatment?"

An angry gleam flashed in the usually impassive ninja's eyes. "It's not for Okita-san."

Hijikata crossed his arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't send him there anymore. That specialist doesn't have anything that Okita-san needs." Yamazaki's tone dipped into an uncharacteristic growl of warning that Hijikata had never heard before.

"I think that I know best what Souji..."

"You don't." Yamazaki stood, and bowed again. "If that will be all..." He left Hijikata's room before being dismissed, before Hijikata could even gather his wits enough to raise an objection to Susumu's behavior.

Hijikata continued to stare at the open shoji. In the space of a single day, Yamazaki had gone from subservient to willful. With an annoyed snort, Hijikata stood, and stomped along the engawa to the small room where Okita slept. He slid open the door and stepped inside, but was careful enough to keep it from making a loud snap when he pushed it closed.

Hijikata glared at the supine form on the futon. The blankets had been pushed all askew, and Souji's hair was tangled and damp from perspiration. It looked as if a whirlwind had attacked the First Captain in his sleep. And despite the fact that his eyes were closed, a small smile crept onto Souji's face when a too-familiar grunt echoed in the bare room.

"Don't be hard on him, Toshi."

Hijikata frowned even more deeply, and plopped himself down next to the futon. Grabbing one end of the blanket, he pulled it back up to Okita's shoulders as he replied, "You have to change everyone, don't you? I liked him better..."

Souji's lifted his hand from where it rested, palm up on the tatami, and placed it on top of Hijikata's fingers. He brushed his thumb back and forth over Hijikata's knuckles, just as he was oft wont to do with the hilt of the Kikuichi Norimune.

"Now he's his own man," Souji whispered, "Now he's no longer anyone's 'pet ninja'."

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The End.

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Thanks for reading! This was an intriguing piece for me to write, and I think it could stand a few revisions to make it cleaner.

Author’s Notes:

The medical treatment: Alright, I made that up. I don’t know if anyone ever used such a treatment for tuberculosis. However, I do know that (rather painful) beatings on the back were sometimes used for patients of other lung diseases, such as rare pneumonias, long into the 20th century. With that in mind, I don’t think it is terribly out of the realm of possibility.

Sika deer: Are apparently natives of Japan, but currently fairly close to extinction? Again, I have to admit that I am not exactly sure how rare they were in the 1800s.