Chapter One:

Rescue

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the original Inuyasha! FEH!

Author's Notes: I rewrote the original chapter one. It wasn't going the way I wanted, so here is my second attempt. There is a hint of the myth of the Bermuda Triangle in here; my theory is that it will transport you through time.

'It's been nearly ten years... I've wandered the Earth alone... watching life pass by... waiting... waiting for her to return to me... my Kagome...'

He stood transfixed at the ocean's edge, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. There were bodies strewn all over the beach. Last night's typhoon had left it's legacy.

Had these sailor's known about the treacherous rocks that were at the edge of this piece of Japan? A fatal hazard for ships. It was understandable that all that was left of it was pieces and fragments here and there. The ship must have been torn apart with ease. He stood by each body. They were men dressed in clothing the likes of which he had never seen. This confused him but he did not dwell excessively on it. He examined each, hoping to find a survivor, but they all seemed to be dead.

He was surprised to find that the last person was female, although she was laying on her stomach. He knelt down next to her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. He was again surprised that she was not as cold as he had thought she would be. He easily rolled her over and received an immediate shock. For a minute he let thought he was looking into the face of Kagome, and a cry of anguish left his lips.

"This cannot be! Please don't let it be you Kagome!" he murmured. He took a deep breath and took another look at the girl. He was frantic in his search for a clue that it was someone else, to the extent that he went over her features several times before realizing that it was indeed not Kagome. The angles in her face were too sharp, her cheekbones too high, and her lips were fuller. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but felt sadness that this girl had perished, even if he did not know her.

Then something happened that he could scarcely credit. He thought her mouth had moved. He waited, holding his breath, and she let out a soft moan that was filled with the anguish of a thousand tormented souls. It was enough for him.

"You are alive," he said, picking her up from the beach, an action that caused her to let out an even louder moan, "and you shall remain so, you hear me?"

He ran as fast as he could to his cottage not far away, isolated, where no one could find it. It was the closest place. Once there to took her to his room and lay her upon his pallet and bent anxiously over her. His pulse clamored wildly, for she was so still. So silent. Fear surged within him. Was she dead then after all? Swiftly he laid his ear on her chest. Ah, she still lived! He could hear the beat of her heart; it lumbered slow and steady.

Slowly he drew back to look at her. Her long black hair, which would reach near to her ankles were she standing, was dripping wet. Her clothing was sopping as well. That would not do, he realized. Why, if she remained in these soaking rags, she would surely sicken further. Without a thought, his hands moved to her body. He pulled off the reversible pink and forest green jacket and the white shirt beneath that. Her boots came next, followed by her blue jeans and her underclothes.

At last she was naked. He was surprised at what he had done, but this was no time for modesty, neither his nor hers. His gaze traversed over her, his mind fleetingly registered her slim, yet curvy body, but focused more on the injuries. Indeed, it seemed they were countless. There was a lump at her temple; clearly she'd suffered a blow to her head. Her face was scratched and bruised. Various cuts and bruises marked her body all over. The worst was a jagged cut that went all down the length of her side. It began just under the left arm and went almost to her waist, raw and bleeding. As the ship had been flung and shattered against the rocks, it would seem that she too had been cast as well. Had she been awake? The brine of the sea against her wounds must have been sheer agony. Her right knee was smashed and bleeding. If she lived, would she ever walk again?

He ran to the kitchen and retrieved a large bowl full of warm water and a cloth. Lightly his fingers skimmed over her body, his golden eyes fixed on her face for any sign of reaction. In truth, he would have welcomed it. But there was none. If he caused her pain, she gave no sign of it. Even when he scrubbed the gritty sand from the open wound on her side and her knee she neither flinched nor winced. Nor did she move when he rubbed a healing salve into her wounds.

Something twisted inside of him as he bathed her, and then wound a strip of cloth around her wounded knee. It frightened him to think that his might have been Kagome, for he knew he would have not had the presence of mind to take care of her. Yet he seemed to find it almost as painful to care for this stranger.

Only when he was finished with all of this did he see to the task of drying her hair. It took a long while to complete, and he then pulled a blanket up and over her. It was then that he stepped back to look at her.

"What brings you to this lonely stretch of Japan?" he wondered aloud. "Do you come from some foreign shore?" He paused, thinking she looked Japanese, but he could be mistaken. "Well, whoever you are, you must have a name..." he was unsure why he was saying these things, maybe just to keep his thoughts in order. "Michiru? No... Oh, perhaps Raiha. Yes, I believe your name is Raiha."

She breathed... yet did not awaken. She remained so motionless she might have been dead. As the hours wore on, many times he checked to make sure she was still alive, assured by the steady drone of her heart. Throughout the day and night he was there beside her, except once to hang her clothing up to dry. The hours marched on. He sat beside her until his muscles grew stiff and cramped and his eyes burned with fatigue. He talked. Of silly things. Of whatever came into his mind.

He rose and moved to the window. Opening the shutter, he peered outside. Impatiently he brushed aside his hair that was getting in his eyes, then started across the floor.

"It's cold again today, Raiha."

There was a subtle movement beneath the blanket and he was stunned for a moment. Why, she had moved! Or was it that he had sat to heavily upon the mattress and made her body shift?

There was no time to wonder, no time to think. Her arm swept the blanket to her waist and she began to thrash.

"Raiha, no. Be still or your side will begin to bleed. Do you hear me Raiha? You must be still." He reached for her bare shoulders to pushed her down. It was then that it happened. Her eyes flickered open.

"Raiha," came a pleaful mutter. "Please, desist from calling me Raiha!"

"What am I to call you?" he asked quietly.

She reached up and gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled his face close to hers. So close he could clearly discern the flecks of gold in her eyes that were a clear vibrant green. He looked into them and it was as though a part of his soul had been captured.

"Kumori," she whispered. "I am Ame Kumori."

And then she slipped back into unconsciousness.