“Every now and then ..Soft as breath upon my skin I feel you come back again And I believe…”

((Diamond Rio “I Believe”))

Michaelangelo grew stronger each day. Now, I could even tempt him with a bit of food. His normal appetite had not yet returned, but it was a start. He was also becoming quite restless. His brothers and I tried to keep him entertained while he rested in bed, but it was not enough for my normally active son.

“Maser, m’mored,” he murmured around the thermometer in his mouth.

“Hush, Michaelangelo,” I said with a small smile. “You cannot talk with the thermometer in your mouth.”

He smirked a little and promptly took the thermometer out, declaring, “I’m bored! I don’t wanna stay in bed anymore.”

I took the thermometer from his hands. He had not yet a temperature in two days. Even still, I did not want to take chances until he was healthy. I gave him a stern look that did not come close to covering my amusement. “Bored enough to discuss your sneaking out of the lair?”

The small turtle blinked at me and scooted down into the blankets. “No.” He coughed a little trying to look as sick as possible.

I smiled slightly. “I did not think so.” I patted his head, knowing I had no intention of reprimanding him. He had learned his lesson, and even if he had not…I was much too relieved to be angry. Michaelangelo must have realized that too, because he began his whining again.

I sighed listening to him with only half my attention. Michaelangelo’s mysterious benefactor worried me a bit. True, the boy had been delirious with fever at the time, but I could not help but be concerned that a human knew of us and where to find us. Michaelangelo was not at all worried. To him, the man was a hero straight out of one of his comic books. His brothers scoffed at the idea and were positive Michaelangelo had made the whole thing up or had imagined it. As for myself, once Michelangelo’s fever had broken. I had taken to sleeping in the living room. No one had come near our home, and even the three sewer workers from that day were not seen.

“Master?”

I turned at the hesitant call to see my remaining sons crowded around the door to the bedroom.

Michaelangelo brightened immediately and sat up. “You guys come to play with me?”

Raphael folded his arms. “No. Well…not really.”

“We thought we could try to cheer you up a little though,” Donatello added.

Leonardo held up a small book. “That is if Sensei’s up to a little story telling.”

My four children looked at me expectantly and I nodded reaching for the book. It had been one of the few things I had taken from my master’s home. It was a book of ancient Japanese tales. The turtles enjoyed hearing about the stories of the samurai and other tales of heroism and honor. I found it a good way to teach them of Bushido and the heritage that lay behind their training.

Leonardo handed me the book and he and his brothers gathered on the bed around Michaelangelo. I opened the book to a random story. They had already heard several of them, but I tried to find one they had not heard before.

Michaelangelo gasped suddenly. “Splinter! Splinter!”

I turned to him quickly, concerned. “What is it, My Son?

“That’s him! That’s him!” He coughed pointing to the book. I patted his back gently trying to ease the coughing fit.

“Calm yourself, Michaelangelo,” I insisted. “Who..is who?”

His brothers all watched worriedly as my youngest son grabbed a small photograph from the book. I had not seen it before. Michaelangelo held the picture up to my face. “That’s him! That’s the guy who helped me!”

I blinked at the picture, my eyes focusing on it. It was a picture of my beloved Master Yoshi. “Michaelangelo, that…that is not possible.” I took the picture from his hands. “This…”

“No Master,” Michaelangelo interrupted. “This is him! I know it is. This is the guy!”

“Do you know him, Sensei?” Leonardo asked.

I held the picture and nodded slowly staring at it. “Hai, Leonardo.”

“Splinter, who is he?”