Part 1

"Kyouji! Brother Kyouji, give it back!" Akami's rusty-colored hair bounced crazily as she jumped up and down, trying to retrieve her lost doll. Her hands grasped empty air again and again. "That's mine! I said give it back!"

Kyouji laughed at her wasted efforts, dangling the prize just beyond her reach. "Why don't you just take it, Akami-chan?" he teased. "It's right here." He tapped her on the head with it, then immediately raised it to over his own. "Come on--I'm just holding it for you."

"Oh, you brat!" Akami paused to catch her breath, her eyes fastened on the doll that hung in the air. "I made that doll. It's for Sister."

"It's very nice." He admired the young girl's handiwork appreciatively. "Looks...almost like her. Say, why don't you make another? Of Sachiko-san?" He grinned.

The younger put her hands on her hips in a pout. "Make your own dolls for your stupid girlfriend."

The two continued to argue back and forth, and so did not notice the young boy that watched them. He was unusually short for his young age of seven, with red-orange hair a shade lighter than his sister's and large, curious violet eyes. Once he was sure that Kyouji wasn't paying attention, he broke into a sprint.

"If you don't," Kyouji was saying, "I'll take little Shiiho here and--" He stopped, realizing that his hand was now empty. For a moment he stared, uncomprehending. "Hey, where'd it...."

"Here, Sis." Shinta handed the doll he'd pilfered back to its owner, and received a warm hug.

"Thank you, Shinta-chan."

"Hey." The eldest brother loomed over the, his face contorted into the angry snarl of some terrible beast. "You, little boy, are in trouble now."

Shinta regarded his older brother blankly. With the deliberate attitude of a wise warrior he stood at his full height, and faced the towering "giant" with his calm, intelligent eyes. "I'd prefer you leave my sister alone," he said in a tone of absolute seriousness. "I think you've had enough."

"Oh?" Kyouji fought to keep his countenance threatening, as the mock-heroic look on his younger brother's face was already beginning to pull laughter from his gut. "And what if I don't?"

Shinta stepped in front of Akami and spread his arms out. "Then I will protect her. If you don't want to get hurt, you'd better go."

"Shinta-chan's my hero," said Akami matter-of-factly.

Kyouji looked at Shinta's protective stance, pursed lips and serious eyes, and suppressed a grin. "In that case, Mr. Hero, you win. I'll leave her alone." He hung his head in an exaggerated sign of defeat and retreated to the porch where his mother was sewing.

"Thank you, Kyouji," his mother said, smiling as Akami and Shinta scampered off with twin giggles.

"I just hope the little shrimp doesn't get a big head," he laughed.

She cast him a sideways glance. "You'd be surprised, Kyouji. When Shinta was with Shiiho in town yesterday, some boys were bullying your sister. They were almost twice Shinta's age, but he still stood up to them." She paused for dramatic effect. "They backed down."

"Really?" After a moment of stunned silence Kyouji laughed out loud. "That's our Shin-chan for you. The little dare-devil. He'll do anything for the girls."

"I'll never understand how he does it," his mother admitted. "It wasn't the first time. He never puts up a fight, but somehow they all know not to start anything with him. It makes me wonder where he got his reputation from."

Akami reached into her bag, pulling out several small dolls that had been stitched from pieces of scrap fabric. Each was no more than five inches long, with tiny knot eyes and filled with sand for weight. She pointed to one that had been dressed in a flowered kimono-like outfit with rusty-orange hair. "Mom made me this when I was two, before you were born," she explained. "It's supposed to be me. Last month she taught me how to make them, so I decided to make our entire family." She pointed to each in turn. "Mom, Dad, Brother, and Sister."

Shinta hummed thoughtfully, inspecting each with a critical eye. He grinned delightedly at the likenesses. "They're great."

"You'll be next." Akami frowned disconcertedly. "But I can't find anything for your hair. Mom used some of Dad's gi to make mine, but she threw that out a long time ago. We don't have any more red."

"Why don't you buy something red?"

She shook her head. "I can't buy nice material like that--it's too expensive. And Mom won't get it because I only need a little. She told me to use a different color."

Shinta pursed his lips in deep consideration. "It's okay," he told her. "I don't mind." He held out his sleeve. "You can use this for my hair; brown is close."

His sister shook her head immediately. "No, it has to be red. All the others are correct." She rested her chin in her hands. "Besides, you're special, so it has to be extra special."

"I'm not special," he protested.

"You're the most special. Now help me think."

Shinta fell silent, concentrating on the task at hand. She could tell he was thinking hard by the strict look on his face, and she giggled. "You're so cute when you're serious," she said, tapping him on the head affectionately. "C'mon--let's go home and get some lunch."

"Okay." He helped to gather the dolls and they started back to the house.

All that day Shinta pondered over the dilemma of the doll's unusual hair color. With the tenacity of a determined child he searched the house for anything that might serve as a head of red hair. He found pinks, greens, grays, browns, blues, even violets--but no reds. It was an awkward problem; common sense told him to settle for something less, but when he saw the down-hearted look in his sister's face he decided not to give up. She deserved better than that.

The next day Shinta's mother took the children into town--except for Kyouji, who stayed behind to mind the farm with his father. "I'll buy you all one thing," she told them as they walked up and down the market. "Once you spend your share that's it, because the rest we need for dinner."

Shinta retrieved the promised amount and counted the coins. "If we combine ours," he said to Akami, "we can buy one of those dolls." He pointed to a stand where a man was selling toys. Several dolls were set out, and one was wearing a red ribbon. "That's enough for the hair, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you don't have to use your money. Didn't you want to buy a new top for Matsuriko-chan?"

Matsuriko was the youngest member of Shinta's family at age two, with her brother's violet eyes, and black hair tied in pigtails. Unlike most children her age she refused to speak, and often acted as if she had no perception of the world outside her toys. Ever since her birth Shinta had taken it upon himself to care for her personally.

"I've got some more money saved at home," Shinta replied. "She'll get it next time. Well?"

Akami couldn't help but smile at her brother's insistence. "Alright. Thank you, Shinta." She handed him her money.

Shinta grinned back, slipping through the crowds to the stand. His excitement was so great that the people around him couldn't help the smiles that crept upon their own faces. That is, except for the boy already at the small road shop. He was arguing with the owner over the price of the very doll in Shinta's sights. "C'mon, Mister, you know I don't have that much."

"Then I'm sorry, but I can't let you have the doll," the man replied. "So please stand aside so the other customers can shop." His eye caught Shinta's, and his face immediately brightened. "Oh, Shinta-kun. Another toy for your sister?"

"It's for Akami," said Shinta, lifting the money over the stand. "The doll with the red ribbon."

The other boy glared at him angrily. "Hey, kid," he snapped. "I'm buying that doll."

"There's another doll," Shinta replied reasonably. "You can have that one."

"I want that one. My sister wears a red ribbon like that."

"Don't be a sore sport," the owner interjected, handing the doll to Shinta. "You don't have enough money anyway. Take good care of her, Shinta-kun."

"Yup."

The older boy scowled, annoyed by the look of delighted triumph on the strange boy's face. He wanted that doll. Without hesitation he reached out and snatched the item, turning to flee.

"Hey!" Shinta immediately gave chase, pushing his way through the crowds of people in pursuit of the stolen gift. "Give it back!" he shouted. "That's for Akami!"

The boy turned just long enough to make a face at him before continuing, forcing his pursuer to increase his pace. Shinta ducked under wagons and slipped around the townsfolk, but none of his efforts brought him any closer. Finally he found himself in an open stretch, and he pushed his speed to its limit.

As the boy was young, it was inevitable; he tripped on a protruding rock, and at his speed was sent tumbling in the street. The pain was second to his disappointment--his quarry had escaped. Slowly, Shinta began to push himself up.

"Shinta! Shinta-chan!" He could hear his mother and sisters calling, and soon they'd swarmed over him. "Oh, Shinta, you poor dear," his mother clucked, pulling out a handkerchief. "Are you all right?"

"You're so stupid," Akami admonished gently. "You didn't have to do that. That boy was twice your size!"

"I just wanted to get the doll." Shinta finally noticed that his knees and palms were scraped and bleeding, and more blood dribbled from his nose. He stared at the red fluid, and before the pain could replace his shock, an idea leapt upon him that silenced his every complaint. His pants had torn, and he ripped off a square of the white fabric that had once covered his knee. He used it to wipe the blood from his face and hands, taking care to spread the colorful stains evenly over the material.

"Shinta, what are you doing?" his mother asked. "Are you all right?"

When the square had been completely covered he proudly displayed the piece to Akami. "Look, it's red!" he said enthusiastically. "I'm sorry I lost the doll, but is this okay? It's red, like my hair."

"Shinta..." Akami stared at her brother and the offering. here he was, after losing his money and scraped raw, offering her a gift. He was grinning even though his hands and legs must have stung painfully. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around him, and she began to cry. "Shinta, how can you be so caring? You didn't have to...."

"But is it okay?" he persisted. "Will it work?"

"Of course it will work! Now don't worry about it anymore, you little fool." She pulled back, and began to help her mother and sister in cleaning and covering his wounds. Several townspeople appeared to help, and their neighbor--Mr. Yamashita--volunteered to carry Shinta home.

That afternoon, as Shinta watched with bandaged hands and knees, Akami cut the stained fabric into strips and sowed each onto the head of her newest doll. Already the blood had dried and become a rusty brown, but neither child cared. "There," she announced proudly once it was finished. "Now I will always have you with me."

Shinta smiled back, and even though it hurt, he hugged her warmly.

To Part Two

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