-1I don't see why I have to do this.

You can't let them dictate through fear.

It's stupid.

It has to be done.

Forget it.

Day one she fives him only silence her face hard and distant. Still he does not leave her because the shadows in his room are long, dark and cold. She sips tea while he memorizes the impish faces in the steam of her cup.

You're being stubborn.

Yeah like you're being real generous.

Feh, get out.

Don't be like that grandma!

What did you call me?

Day two he dozes fretfully with his head in her lap her fingers still against his old-child face. She says nothing knowing as well as anyone that dreams are not sacred and sleep is not a sanctuary. There's a cat in the garden with the eyes of a women and when it yowls the words hidden in it are enough to make the man-child weep.

It's not that big a deal, I thought you were stronger then that.

I'm not weak! It's just…girly to wear it down, yeah! Girly!

Are you calling Kurama girly?

Er, well…ah - no, but it's a good look for him, I don't look right.

You're an idiot.

Day three she finds him all, but drowned in the bath. His long, half-grown half-formed body is weightless in her arms, the tones of ivory and azure memorizing. Later she will not tell him she found him beautiful in his peaceful stillness dark, sodden curls swept across elfin planes and bluish lips. She will not tell him because she doesn't want him to think she wants him dead. She'll never tell him how he ended up dressed in dust-scented , cedar-stained robes wrapped tight in the sheets of her bed hair hard as a helmet. He won't ask anymore then he'll tell her about the songs of mermaids.

You said you wanted the training. This is part of the training.

Yeah, right… How is this training?

Don't question me dammit!

Make sense and I won't granny!

Why you little -

Ahh!

Day four he won't leave his room. When he doesn't speak to her inquiry she sighs and grips the brush she holds a little harder. His hair is badly tangled from impish hands and the troubles she tales bring tears to her own eyes. He gives her only one glimpse of his face as she leaves. She inwardly damns her eyes, both sets seeing a bruised and swollen mess overlaying a brutally young, horribly lost one burning with question: when can I stop? " Tomorrow we'll start." Closing the door on that face is a hard thing.

Geez, you hit hard.

shut up. Ready?

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Mm-hmm no one's keeping you here - leave if you want.

Geez… I didn't bring any shampoo.

Didn't think so - strawberry or cherry?

I hate you.