"Haven't seen too many, but I've heard stories. Guess their get-ups must've been pretty good. Like performers."

He mulls it in his head, making an attempt to process, at least. Guts was well-traveled enough to have passed by a traveling troupe here and there. Slender bodied men with long hair applying make-up for their feminine roles to act. Some tournaments held similar events, but he was never one for participating in festivals or enjoying theater.

It was all an act of course, just pretend - or in the case of the women, a disguse - but he'd seen a little transgression nonetheless. People found a way. Some of the actors looked quite dazzling, he recalls, even if too much attention tossed his way elicited the same cagey bristling anyone else did. The only emotion that can really be pinned to such a thing was that it all seemed quite frivolous to him.

The tributary's whitewater roar mellows down to a weak gurgle, having yet to spot the glitter of water of the main river between the gray trunks. He presses on, the mare trotting over the thick roots of the tree that had spilled over onto the dirt path.