Sometimes he wonders about his own beating heart, the very one he's tried to ignore for many years. A heartbeat taken for granted.
In the same meadow where the wind gave away its own heartbeat, Sesshomaru begins to remember. Her scent intertwined among the flowers, creating a soft breeze, one that now flows through his hair.
A heartbeat missed, a heartbeat he can still faintly hear.
The wind begins to pick up, lightly caressing his cheek. Even in death, her touch is still there, still soft as it was in life.
A man of his stature has no regrets. No, a man of his stature is honorable.
But the heart tells more truths than the mind would admit.
There is a heartbeat he longs to hear again.
And if he listens closely, the wind's whistle almost sounds like a whisper