A fire splintered the chilly night air as Old Baba swept a ladle around her equally as elderly cooking pot. The once lively house was quiet. It was as if the years had finally made themselves visible in cobwebs and a few warped boards along the puncture of windows.
It was only her and the old dog now. His bones were thinner, much like his face as he aged. Had his hair already not been grayed, it would have been covered by his worry.
Such a burdened beast he was, the woman sighed. Continuing her routine, her briar-like hands reaches for a clay bowl with his owner's name inscribed on the bottom. She recalled the day they made new wares, and smiled quietly as she glanced across the room.
There were remnants of her everywhere. The tattered yellow book-bag, the lost shoe and a few photos were strewn around the dog's corner of the house. He lay sleeping with the slivers of the girl's sleeping bag, mewling at the aroma.
Old Baba's sunken eyes hung like knots on a tree. She wanted to express her feelings on the matter, yet refrained for upsetting the poor boy. Tears came as went, like the ever passing seasons. It had been two years since the girl had gone, and everyday grew longer as they went on.
Closing her eyes, she sat down and shoveled her meager dinner in her mouth. Her handful of teeth were brittle, leaving her body a bit more malnourished. The little beggar girl had drifted to the young Houshi's house, giving her a night of peace.
The beast was surely going to rise and steal her scraps, as he often did. His body seemed pale, gangly... Trying to get him to eat properly was hard enough during his healthier days, but as it were, he was forlorn and lost without what he had known.
Some nights he slept against the wall beside her, keeping distance in his closeness. This night would be no different, she mused as she sat her bowl in a watery tub.
Sluggishly, her trembling hands tugged and pulled at brambles of her hair. She used her beloved sister's comb, chipped and mottled from the lifetime of use.
Her one good eye was failing as she blinked. The boy had become her eyes more often than not. Nary did a day come when the old woman regret allowing him to live with her.
Quietly, her calloused feet shuffled to the tatami and let her quaking bones settle as a pair of tawny eyes parted.
Without so much as a sound, Baba pulled up a thin sheet and held it up for him to come if he chose. She waited patiently for a moment before the scraping of his claws on the floor indicated he was coming. The zipper on the disheveled sleeping bag dragged along, too.
He carried it like a child carried their favorite toy. It went on journeys with the Houshi for food and barter, on nights where he slept beneath the Goshinboku, and waiting by the old well.
Even in that man's body, he was a child. A fact that Kaede let die as she peeked to see his ears drooping. A frown cut across her sagging face and she cooed. No one spoke a word of his upset, or the harder nights spent closed off in this house.
As he adjusted, in plumes of red and silvery gusters, the sight of his golden locket gleamed in the low fire light.
There, against his heart, he would always have his owner to guide him. His loyalty to her was the blood in his bones. And as he lay down, the old woman gently brushed her knuckles against his crown, assuring him of safety.
The boy turned his back to her as he pulled the sheet around his body, nestled in his shroud of Kagome's bag. Morning would bring him hope, Baba sighed softly, perhaps the gods would be kind and return her to the world that was tied to her heart.
If not, this humbled beast would wait until his last breath was drawn to see what was taken from him.