An older woman awaits the return of her conscripted son with increasing desperation, as does her daughter-in-law their resolute team struggling to survive the scurrilous agency.
To find food and maintain their health they murder stray samurai who show up in their swamp, and sell their armour and swords and trinkets to a dissolute profiteer flush with millet.
One day the son/husband's friend whom he left with long ago appears, with a sad tale denoting the end of their imagined saviour heads hang low.
But he takes a shine to the widowed maiden who is far too destitute to deny her will, their resultant coupling enraging the elder who sees starvation as her only future.
She pleads with the worldly opportunist to let her partner in crime live free.
He loves her far too much however.
To deny his innocent jouissance.
A sordid examination of despondency as dismally applied to wanton logic, people struggling to find food while others flee through reckless innovation.
Grim realities to thoughtfully consider the frugal basics embracing thrift, if you value your life it's best not to join although there's no telling what desertion may aggregate.
The atheist basks in comfort after escaping the feckless bloodshed, living day to day even hour to hour but remaining certain of his scorned trajectory.
The elder employing supernatural tricks to convince her compatriot not to leave, the eventual extensive forlorn irony as unexpected as it is deceiving.
Lost in the luscious swamps of medieval Japan driven mad by hunger.
Enabling strategies accidentally emergent.
Ethereal endowments.
Spiritually embalmed.
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