Masahiko Inoue

Sae lay silent and closed her eyes. She let the soft regular tapping soothe her towards sleep. The faint sound of a woman's voice reached her drowsy ears. A lulluby perhaps. But no, it didn't seem to be that. It didn't seem to be a woman's voice at all. It was like the hum of wings. Undulating, like the voice of someone singing. Something passed through the darkness. A soft-hued butterfly. No sooner had she noticed one, than there were more, gathering in a great commotion. They landed all over the floor, their yellowish light brown wings erect. The wings closed quietly, opened quietly. When closed, the color seemed paler, softer. Open, the wings were speckled with black. Looking up, she saw more butterflies, clustering on the thin light cord.
Sae opened her eyes and sat up. There were no butterflies to be seen. It had been a dream, on the border of sleep.

Nanami Kamon, "A Piece of Butterfly's Wing"

It was the fifth day since I entered the land called Yamashiro. Compared to Shō in Yamato where I was born, the shadows are deep, and when you step into the shade the evergreen oaks cast on the ground you feel you might keep walking onwards within it forever.

Hideyuki Kikuchi, "The Stone Castle"

From the hill behind them, the mist-like substance welled forth, flowing against the direction of the breeze. Something so faintly colored that it could be mistaken for incense smoke rose up tall and thin. No, it wasn't just one: five, eight, ten—like living things they emerged from the narrow path and pursued Ikkyu and his traveling companion.

Ken Asamatsu, "The Crimson Cloak"