A/N: A drabble. See what you will. I don't own Inuyasha.

Of Sticks and Stones

He built her a home from stone, like wolves do. She smiled and prodded the cackling fire and wrapped herself in a fur. Yet like a lingering stench her unhappiness pervaded the echoing cavern and he could not please her.

So he built her a hut of sticks, like humans do. He pounded and sawed and shaped, until a quaint little house resided in the pretty little clearing. He presented it proudly, and she gasped and kissed him full on the lips and stepped in to prepare their cot. Yet when the sky was black her tears collected and soiled the dirt floor, making the house unsuitable.

Then he built a bed of meadow grass and flower petals for her, like lovers do. He lay her down on it; taking, taking, taking from her body and reveling in her gasping moans. But it was not for him she gasped as she stared passed him to the overwhelming sky, and so he could not find release.

Finally he built her a web of blood and flesh and fur from his very hide. She caressed his shoulder and lingered a kiss on his jaw, because it was his heart she held in her delicate, unforgiving hands. But she looked at him, finally, and he didn't have to create any more homes; she built for him, this time.