Yes was damning. No was a lie. And Asuma's pain-tightened face was too hollow to meet with anything but the most gentle of ripostes-- especially with the elderly monk there, supporting the young man's heft with an arm that looked far too frail. Natsumi summoned up half a weak smile. "I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep," she said. She bowed to the monk. "Thank y--"

The gentle, ironic smile snared her slow memory. This wasn't just an elderly monk. He was the abbot.

After ten minutes of seiza, Natsumi's bruised knees and healing thigh were already protesting. Stiffening muscles woke up and protested even more as she slipped off her cushion and shuffled around to face the two men. You'd feel a lot worse if not for him, Natsumi reminded herself savagely, and bent over her knees in the most formal of bows. If she concentrated on forming a perfect triangle with her fingers on the tatami mat, on keeping her back straight and her forehead only a few centimeters off the ground, she couldn't pay quite so much attention to how much it hurt.

"Thank you, kanchou-sama," she murmured. "We are most deeply in your debt."

The abbot bowed again. Asuma made a noise like a small animal caught underfoot and reached for his side.

Natsumi surged up off her knees. Her good hand flattened against Asuma's chest, bracing him upright, before she realized he hadn't ever been in danger of falling. He was almost steady on his feet, even without the abbot's supportive arm. Natsumi flushed, and dropped her hand. "Forgive me, kanchou-sama."