Konzen has never concerned himself with the affairs of Down There (nor with those Up Here much, either.) Thus Konzen has never heard Oscar Wilde's dictum that each man kills the thing he loves. He wouldn't agree with it anyway. As Konzen has known from the start, instinctively, it's the thing he loves that kills each man. The person Konzen Douji was for centuries died without a whisper under the monkey's cheerful onslaught. Konzen has never mourned him for a minute. So why would he flinch away when the monkey attacks his body? Death wasn't so bad the last time.
Goujun knows permanence as the kami do, and alteration in a way they cannot. How else, when he has the potential to be a two-legged man or a two-winged dragon or a delicate white horse or a sturdy metal carriage? The laws of his universe allow for change, but change itself always follows a set and predictable pattern. Loose the limiter and the little creature becomes Destruction incarnate, an earthquake, a raging forest fire. That makes sense. Put a hand to the earthquake's cheek and it becomes a little creature again. That makes none, and he still can't understand it.
To Goujun the kami look like toddlers: big heads, blobby features, large bellies, short legs. He keeps that thought out of his expression: he's grown used to giving orders to children. What he doesn't know is that he, centuries older than they are, looks to them like an adolescent: barely seventeen, with a stripling's slender body and a face unmarked by experience. His men don't mind: they've grown used to taking orders from a teenager. The courtiers are another matter. The Boy, they call him behind his back, with indulgence and dismissal and, in more than one case, calculation.
Arrgh. Drabbles are worse than poems. This word? No, that word? No, this word again. And how many words was that? Drabbles are also very much not my forte, but they can be written longhand in the relative cool of downstairs, when the computer room up is too hot to sit in for long.
There's also more seal script in 3; and it's always the same hanzi, attached to those little sketches of the guys in modern clothes. I'm assuming it's the equivalent of 'Minekura me pingit', and when it's cool enough I'll check to see what 'Minekura me pingit' looks like in seal script.
ETA: pinxit. Pingo pingere pinxi pictum. 40C humidex shouldn't drive basic Latin verbs from the head but oddly enough it does. Oddly enough.