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The pain was incredible, much more than he thought it could be. He could not move, lest he gash himself more. He was stuck, arm through what was to be the source of his protection. It was strong, that much was certain. He tried to break it with his other hand, but it only stabbed him more. He could not move for fear of more pain. He could only stand and stare at his bloodied arm. He knew he needed to move, but fear had gripped him solidly. He was not used to physical pain, he was used to getting his way. Now, he knew it was time for him to grow up and get out of this. It was his own fit that had gotten him stuck in this situation, and now he knew he would have to grow up to get out of it. As though responding to his heart, and epiphany came to his mind.
What a terrible destructive force rage is. I punch this glass that was here to keep me safe, and instead it binds my arm painfully within its teeth. My rage has turned even my shield into a sword against me.
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Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.
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