Death

At first,

Kenshō is indignant. Once he finds the grandmother and gets her silly soup recipe, he is lectured for trying to take more from nature than needed. Eager to put this task behind him, he does not argue (much).

To better do things one at a time, he takes his child form. With small hands, he plucks vegetables from the cold ground, fishes the stream for trout, and knocks on a neighbor's door to ask for dried kelp. (The last is the most insulting.)

With the ingredients found, he rushes through the actual cooking. The water boils over. The mustard greens shrivel. The fish burns.

He is forced to begin again, slower. As the pot simmers and the ingredients gently cook, a savory smell blooms in the home.

"You've grown," the grandmother remarks, being quite literal. Kenshō's human body now stands high above the hearth, nearly tall enough to touch the ceiling. There is an foreign feeling in his chest as he accepts the bigger clothing she offers. With a filled bowl in hand, he walks up the mountain. Three and a half days lapse.

Riku remains where he was left,

Sitting inside the drafty temple. He is still pale, but no longer shivering. Kenshō had planned to shove the bowl at him, but he sees his hands are stiff and pallid. Bringing the bowl to Riku's mouth, Kenshō helps him sip from it. It is empty before the human speaks again.

"This nobody is grateful to his core." He lowers his head for Kenshō to cleave off.

It is vicious and sudden,

Kenshō's realization that he no longer wants Riku's life. He is not sure when he stopped. For the first time since his birth, his soul is quiet. Why is that? What is this Riku has granted him?

"Your gratitude is better shown serving me," Kenshō protests, "I expect to be handfed." Carrying the mortal down the mountain, the dragon chooses to live among humanity.

Descending Dragon (Jianglong) Depicted on Silk Kesi Roundel, late 17th Century.

Months pass.

Kenshō follows Riku wherever he goes, imitating everything from the mundane to the atypical. He is still arrogant, stubborn, and overall quite annoying, but Riku's rigid lifestyle has tempered him. It is not long before he begins to delight in human chores. He even warms to the humans themselves... somewhat. Although he finds many of them grating and insulting, Riku clearly values them. That is enough for Kenshō.

The days go by quickly, and nights are spent in Riku's home beside the hearth. Kenshō wonders how he had ever tolerated the empty temple.

Eventually, Kenshō notices that Riku has not regained his health since returning. Dark circles line his eyes. He tires more easily, although this goes unnoticed by the other villagers. When confronted—to Kenshō's horror—he confesses he is going to die.

"Strength does not determine survival for us," he explains, "Any human can become ill, injured, or unlucky. To have lived this long, to have met someone like you... I was fortunate."

Imperial 'Dragon' Throne, Carpet, 16th Century.

He lasts a week.

The man who taught Kenshō moderation and patience is gone.

In the wake of his death, the storm blooms outward, spreading across the entire globe. No longer concentrated in the valley, the weather is far less severe. As more time passes, the snow eventually dissipates entirely, resulting in a new season referred to as "Spring" due to the sudden blooming of flowers and clearing of skies.

The cold is not gone forever, but only returns during three months of the year: December, January, and February. The villagers understand it as Kenshō's mourning period, for the dragon had subsisted one more year before dying of grief.