Seimei looks up, and once again feels a nagging dart of irritation that he gave his name so easily to this man. This irksome man. This visitor who keeps on disturbing him from his studies, or from his leisure, or from just sitting in the garden with his shikigami as an aesthetic background. This Minamoto no Hiromasa, and he owns the man's name just as Hiromasa owns his, and he could use it. Don't think that he couldn't. It would be ease itself. A single word.
"Seimei . . ."
"Yes?" Seimei says, and closes his scroll. "What is it?"
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