Toshiro never understood the appeal of riding horses. They smell. They bite. They never do what you tell them. [i]What was so wrong with walking?[/i] thought the young man as he walked on the snowy avenues of Suto. Only an arrogant samurai would need four legs to get him around. [i]Maybe they can't carry their massive ego's otherwise?[/i] he mused. The town seemed to be in an uproar, which suited Toshiro just fine. It was easier for a guy like him to blend in that way. Dressed as he was, he could easily have been mistaken for a poor farmer. No one would suspect that he was a ninja, and a deadly one at that. In Toshiro's personal experience, people tended to see what they wanted to see. Most foolish samurai never knew the "helpless peasant" was a trained killer until he passed a thin blade between their ribs. Still, he made a mental note to look into the disturbance in town after his meeting, and maybe dinner, time permitting. He strolled up to the main gates of the palace. The guards on duty stopped him, but relented when he claimed he was on official business with the Daimyo's son, Kishinrou. One of them turned and headed inside, to inform the young lord that a peasant man was here to see him, claiming he had news from the west.