I sometimes wonder if I am like Koga.
Or at least, like what I think of him as. I don't know him as well as Kagome. Or even as well as Inuyasha. Even Shippo, captured by him along with Kagome, probably knows the prince of wolves better than I do.
But I think sometimes, that he and I are alike because of whom we love. In the beginning, at least, he loved Kagome for her strength, her ability to sense the shards of the sacred jewel.
Inuyasha once commented that I would have to love a strong woman, because she'd have to give birth so many times.
But when I think about it, I wonder if strength can always be measured in physical terms. True, the woman I love is strong.
Strong enough to wield Hiraikotsu, made of demon bones.
Strong enough to challenge Inuyasha to avenge her fallen kin.
Strong enough slay almost any demon in a single swing.
Yet that isn't all of Sango's strength. Far from it. She is strong enough to take whatever life throws at her, be it her brother's blade or a youkai's fangs. She is strong enough to kill and to heal.
But, especially nights after Kohaku has come to call, I see the despair burning behind her eyes. I see the sorrow; I see the fight to keep on living. I see her weaknesses, and I see her conquer them every time.
I love her strength, her power. But more than that, I love her inner will, the fire that makes her Sango.
To see that blaze extinguished is a nightmare to which my curse cannot compare. Her strength comes at a price—I can't protect her. She will fight because it is in her blood, her fiery blood that no man—not even myself—will ever tame. Or ever want to.
Burn bright, my Sango.