practicality

Daitou was heading home after some practice at the Dojo - everything had been cleaned up, put back properly, and he slipped his geta back on as he left the building. It was only a step or two before his right shoe caught on something, though. Odd. The ground outside was usually pounded flat by all the people coming in and out. He took a step back, and then crouched down. It was a small mound of dirt - freshly made, it looked like. He dug into it, and only had a half-second glance of shining crystal as his fingers brushed it and everything went dark.

( 'I was nine.' )