On the terraces of a small hill, on a small rice paddy—one of many rice paddies that characterized the eponymous land of rice paddies—a group of people were hard at work. These were the residents of Otoha village which sat at the hill’s peak.
It was November and the last harvest before winter, the biggest harvest of the year. For a small village like this one, every man, woman, and child was required to play their part and lend a hand.
Among them was a young girl who hummed a merry tune as she plucked bushels of rice; she waded through the shin-high mud fields, dressed in a conical bamboo hat and rugged robes. Sleeves of earthen gunk stretched from the tips of her fingers and toes to the bends of her elbows and knees. A healthy sweat clung to her brow as she piled bundles of rice into the basket at her back.
Soon the basket was filled, and she departed, ascending the hill towards the village storehouse. There, the girl unloaded her basket of rice and handed it off to a middle-aged man, the warehouse manager.
“Lady monk, thanks again for your help,” He greeted her enthusiastically. ”Why don’t you take a break?”
“Ambittha, then excuse me.”
The girl, the monk as it were, cupped her fists and wandered off. It only took a few minutes for her to arrive at the southernmost part of the village, atop a ridge that overlooked a grand plain.
Perhaps a kilometer and a half away, she could spot an exceptionally large encampment, bustling with unnatural activity. All around the encampment were clusters of tents and other accommodations; temporary housing erected by various shinobi groups.
Over the last few days, the once-simple plain had been transformed into a bustling venue fit for the grandeur of the Shinobi World Fair. The event had drawn all manner of people to the Land of Rice Paddies, including the monk herself. She could spot straggler groups arriving even now, only hours before the Fair would begin. Unfortunately for them, most of the best camping spots had already been taken; however, if they didn’t mind setting up further from the Fairgrounds, they could yet still find a decent campsite.
It was November and the last harvest before winter, the biggest harvest of the year. For a small village like this one, every man, woman, and child was required to play their part and lend a hand.
Among them was a young girl who hummed a merry tune as she plucked bushels of rice; she waded through the shin-high mud fields, dressed in a conical bamboo hat and rugged robes. Sleeves of earthen gunk stretched from the tips of her fingers and toes to the bends of her elbows and knees. A healthy sweat clung to her brow as she piled bundles of rice into the basket at her back.
Soon the basket was filled, and she departed, ascending the hill towards the village storehouse. There, the girl unloaded her basket of rice and handed it off to a middle-aged man, the warehouse manager.
“Lady monk, thanks again for your help,” He greeted her enthusiastically. ”Why don’t you take a break?”
“Ambittha, then excuse me.”
The girl, the monk as it were, cupped her fists and wandered off. It only took a few minutes for her to arrive at the southernmost part of the village, atop a ridge that overlooked a grand plain.
Perhaps a kilometer and a half away, she could spot an exceptionally large encampment, bustling with unnatural activity. All around the encampment were clusters of tents and other accommodations; temporary housing erected by various shinobi groups.
Over the last few days, the once-simple plain had been transformed into a bustling venue fit for the grandeur of the Shinobi World Fair. The event had drawn all manner of people to the Land of Rice Paddies, including the monk herself. She could spot straggler groups arriving even now, only hours before the Fair would begin. Unfortunately for them, most of the best camping spots had already been taken; however, if they didn’t mind setting up further from the Fairgrounds, they could yet still find a decent campsite.