Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha and I do not hope to. Inuyasha is purely the work of its creator and to claim otherwise would be strange as the characters we use and have fallen in love with are in fact originally made by that one specific person. (Note - I'm not saying the name of the creator of Inuyasha because I have forgotten and in consideration of the names I think it might be, I can't be quite sure due to my confusion.)

Chapter 1: Little Wish

Everything rushed past her. One moment, she was a high school student with no passions or ambitions, full of little images and fantasies that fleeted through her head. Then she was an artist and performer and writer, given her own studio, supplies provided and paid with no deadlines, resources off hand in all directions, quality production and replication at the tip of her fingers by the press of a button, all as she attended AP and honor classes. She wasn't the brightest student, but she managed an A minus average. She wasn't aware of social gatherings and parties, more so burning with a hatred for the useless makings of obnoxious inane chatter. She was a girl of many talents, of which she would never acknowledge or admit to, but no matter how good, she was too good and art, words, the starlight lost their appeal.

People praised her and people insulted her. So many seemed to hate her, looking down on her for reasons she couldn't fathom. Was it that she truly lacked talent? Was it that she counted as an outcast? Was it that her looks were dull and pathetic? Maybe it was simply her. No one wants a girl with so many "talents" and yet no ambitions whatsoever. No cares for money or power, no cares for advancing in the world, people couldn't understand her simple wishes.

They couldn't understand that all she wanted was someone to talk to, someone to sit with in the silence and let her be herself. When she left or walked away, they wouldn't question, disturb, or even protest. They'd let her go, whether or not they felt some kind of insecurity or sadness. She could run and fly with the wings she would learn to appreciate, loving the freedom that only she managed to reach, and then when she comes down, when she lands on earth again as she always does, she can return to them, finding herself welcomed in open arms. Even if they want to protect her, to love and care for her, to keep her beside them, they'd let her go and wait with blessed patience for her return because if they were willing to wait, she was always willing to return a little earlier.

But who in the world was like that? Someone so similar to her and yet, he is worlds apart. In truth, she didn't even care if it was another she. As long as she had her companion, her love, her…life, she would be content. The person would be more than a partner, more than a mere lover or spouse. When she thought about it, she didn't think there was even a word for it. Soulmate seemed the closest, but the term felt hollow and…as if it still wasn't enough. She didn't want that. All she needed was something a little more, something that would be her only.

They would be everything in her life.

They would be her closest friend, her guardian, her support, her partner, her forever, her…rock or her tree. As still and apathetic as stone, as strong and magnificent as a tree, no one could understand why she would want such a cold person, but in truth, she was cold herself. If it weren't for the heart beating inside her, for the blood in her veins that pumped and pulsed and flowed, for the wild spirit that roared with the flames and danced with the winds and breathed with the waters, she would be heartless and she wouldn't be living. If anything, hate would consume her, sadness would crush her, and loneliness would kill her. From it all, she then created this ideal person, an ideal person she knew she would never have in this society created by man.

- - - - - - - - - -

With a click, she turned the lock and walked into the condo. Opening the door, she stared down a barren corridor with two doors on either side and at the end, opened up into a good sized living room. She glanced down for a moment, recognizing a pair of shoes that meant mother was home. As she quietly shut the door, she slipped of her shoes and called out, "What's for dinner?"

"What do you want" came the instant reply. She smiled. There were no hellos or goodbyes in this household. That's what she loved about the woman who adopted her. As close as she would ever come to her ideal person, her mother was as strong and as magnificent as a tree, but not still and apathetic like stone. Both of them were always moving. They were kindred spirits who walked out and walked back in as they pleased. That's why for them, "hello" and "goodbye" didn't exist.

"What can we have," Rin asked, shuffling down the corridor to grab her mother's attention. When she emerged into the living room, the adjoining kitchen wafted with the smell of fresh pasta, sliced fruits, steamed vegetables and roasted chicken. Standing at the counter was a middle aged woman with long black hair, tied back with a blue band and failing in its attempt to hold back the big curls of her unruly hair. The woman paused in slicing a golden apple, turning lively gray eyes to her. Rin pouted instantly. "Why ask me if you already made dinner?"

The woman's light pink lips curved into a teasing smile as gray eyes seemed to laugh. With a shrug, her mother answered, "You know me. You ask the question as a greeting, so I will give the expected greeting." Turning back to the cutting board, Rin's mother resumed the task of slicing fruit and making a stunning image of reds, greens, whites, oranges, pinks, purples, and blues.

"That doesn't justify it," Rin replied, stepping closer to her mother. Her chocolate eyes rested on the well-arranged assortment of sliced fruits, such as oranges, mangoes, and pears. Some grapes, raspberries, blueberries, and slices of strawberries added a decorative touch that added to the picture-perfect display. "Why aren't you a cook," Rin asked.

As the woman finished, she mildly countered, "Why aren't you a singer, or an artist, or a writer, or maybe doctor?"

At the last occupation, Rin tilted her head in question. "Doctor?"

Her mother nodded. "Grab your plate." The two began taking portions of the pasta, vegetables and chicken, all the while her mother explained, "You have good hands, why not use them? You could be a physical therapist or a chiropractor, just not a masseur. Who knows what could happen in those private rooms." At her mother's huff, Rin couldn't resist a chuckle. They glanced at each other.

Suddenly they were laughing. There was no reason. Neither needed a reason. It was simply the joy of each other's company. So happy not to be alone, twelve years still wasn't enough for them to get over the happiness they felt as mother and daughter. And it made them both laugh, cry, and smile for no reason, alone or in public, in the car or at home, who cared? There was unspoken understanding in short answers and small gestures, in the silence and in the midst of family.

When they calmed and sat down on the long couch, only turning on the stereo, Rin was the first to speak. "Kaa-san po."

Being Japanese, Rin was prone to using Japanese terms and honorifics as her sign of endearment towards her family. Her mother had accepted it, but her mother was a second generation Filipino and an American, therefore Rin was expected to add "po" to the end of her sentences as a sign of respect to her mother, and anyone older for that matter. As long as Rin used "po," then her mother could accept being called "okaa-san" or "kaa-san" rather than "nanai."

"Yes, Kring-kring," her mother answered. It was a feature of Filipino culture. Adults created nicknames for kids, which was usually a simple repetition of one syllable. Rin could still recall the first day she heard her mother use it on her…

Back then, her mother lived in a small house. Her mother said to learn the house on her own; it would be better that way. In little Rin's arms, she carried a green blanket with a pattern of light pink cherry blossoms in one corner and a white teddy bear with her name on it in beautifully embroidered kanji, the only gifts she had left to remind her of her real parents. Never letting go of her blanket and bear, she began exploring the house, learning the smells, the sounds, and the sights. For several hours, a six year old Rin wandered the halls and rooms, looking at ornaments and all the foreign attributes. She was accustomed to Japanese living, not a Filipino-American's.

There were pictures of family everywhere. One shelf she found was littered with photo albums. The place was well-kept and had a certain scent going around. The walls had little decoration aside from the paintings of Jesus and the twelve apostles, as well as one ornament where a giant fork and spoon were hung. In one room, Rin was so enraptured by her new mother's many collections of souvenir spoons, expensive tea sets, and foreign alcohol bottles, cleaned and kept in excellent condition, that she walked straight into the leaves of a certain plant, one Rin is always weary to walk around. Rin found straw mats, a sacred heart, wooden figures, and saved bottles of Orange Royale and little soap dishes that held Filipino currency.

Everything seemed a little big for Rin. As she was small for her age, the barren uncluttered spaces, the towering cabinets and shelves, after a while, she felt the house had more space than needed for one person. Then she remembered that it was only one person living here. All of her mother's family were either in the Philippines, waiting to come to the US, or in her new aunt's house, a larger and more extravagant looking abode.

At last, she came to a room that appeared to be another bedroom. There was a full-sized mattress on a wooden bed frame, a desk, and when she walked in, a closet to the right of the door. Between the desk and the bed was a rather large window that if little Rin stood on her tiptoes, she could rest her forearms on with only slight discomfort. Turning around, she spotted a black duffel bag against the left wall. She recalled her new mother mentioning that her stuff would be taken to her new room as she explored the house. Unsure, she called out to the woman. "Okaa-san, Okaa-san!"

Within a few moments, her new mother appeared at the door, donning a half apron, drying tanned brown hands on a towel. There was a quirk to the woman's brow and an amused smile on her lips. "Okaa-san, am I to sleep here po?" At the strange phrase, her mother stifled a laugh and nodded behind a lithe hand. Confused, Rin tilted her head at her new mother. Wanting to know, she queried, "Why is Okaa-san laughing?"

"Nothing, Kring-kring," her new mother replied. Then her mother walked out, leaving little Rin to make her own bed and settle in. Setting down the blanket and bear in her arms, she began working around the mattress, puzzling over who was Kring-kring. After a while, she let it go and moved to taking out the clothes in the duffel bag. Finding the shelves to the right side of the closet, little Rin tried to fold and organize her clothes just as she had seen in her new mother's walk-in closet. The folding was sloppy, but she managed.

A short time later, she picked up her bear and walked out. Walking down into the kitchen's entrance, she asked, "Who is Kring-kring po?"

Busy in the kitchen, her new mother absently answered, "Kring-kring."

Again, Rin asked, "Who is Kring-kring?"

And the reply was yet again, "Kring-kring."

Little Rin tried several more times, but received the same answer each and every time. Then she finally stopped, admitting that her new mother was too distracted to answer, so she waited, holding tightly to her bear, distressed and confused. As her new mother finished, the woman suddenly uttered, "Take a seat at the table, Kring-kring."

She realized then that the woman was calling her Kring-kring. Distressed, she burst out, "Rin is not Kring-kring! Rin is Rin, not Kring-kring!" Little Rin buried her face into the head of her bear, holding tightly, trying to avoid crying. "I'm Rin," she sniffled. Then out of the blue, she heard a fit of laughter peel out above her. Pulling away, she stared in shock as her new mother laughed joyously. Overly confused, she felt distressed again and panicked. "Why is okaa-san laughing?"

Her new mother calmed down, spotting little Rin's distress. The woman smiled gently and knelt down. "Rin," the woman said softly, "in my culture, adults usually create little names for the children they are fond of or feel close to."

Rin wasn't as confused, but tilted her head a little, wanting her new mother to explain a little more. Understanding, her new mother continued, "Names like Krang-krang, Tal-tal, or Bing-bing. When I was little, my aunts and uncles called me Tin-tin."

"Tin-tin," Rin repeated, becoming happier. Her new mother nodded. "So I'm Kring-kring," Rin confirmed. Her mother nodded, supplying, "Until you decide you don't want the name anymore or you have your debu."

"Deh-boo," Rin repeated slowly.

"Debu," her new mother confirmed, "In my culture, it is a girl's coming-of-age celebration, when they're eighteen."

"So until I decide," Rin tested carefully, "or when I have my debu, you will call me Kring-kring?"

Her new mother looked at her in consideration. "Sometimes Kring-kring, sometimes Rin," the woman paused, "do you mind?"

Rin shook her head, now smiling and hiding it behind the head of her bear. Her mother grinned, patting her on the head before standing...

"Rin?"

Snapping out of her daze, seventeen year old Rin looked back at her mother who was now laughing at her quietly. She smiled. She then pretended to pout, digging into her pasta hungrily. "Rin," she nodded her head, "What is it you were going to say?"

Slurping the last noodle, Rin shook her head and uttered, "I forgot."

"Well next time, remember," her mother scolded teasingly, "I don't want to pay for therapy. You're too young to have Alzheimer's."

"Okaa-san!"

"Kidding."