A/N - Inspired by Joyce Cary.(Re-written Mir/San style for your enjoyment!)

Story: Growing Up (Joyce Cary).
Summary: Miroku realises something. His children are growing up.
Rating: K
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, then belong to Rimiko Takahashi.

Growing up
. . .

Miroku Hinori, coming home after an exorcism, found a small note from his wife. She would be back at sunrise, but the children were playing in the field. He placed down his staff, and still in his dark purple robes, which he hated wearing in summer, made at once for the fields.

He had missed his two small girls and looked forward eagerly to their greeting. He had hoped indeed that they might, as often as before, have been waiting at the corner of the dusty road, to ambush him, and walk home with him.

The field, not far from their family home, was indeed a wilderness. Except for a small vegetable patch near the stream, and one broken wooden bench that had been placed there. It had not been touched in years. Tall mounds of unhealthy soil and rotting wood had been scattered in different places, which had all served as a popular hiding places for the children that played there.

The original excuse for this neglect was that the field was for the children. They should do what they liked there. The original truth was that neither the villagers, nor the headman of the village cared for farming on such poor soil. As the field was surrounded by a row of tall evergreens, no sun had been able to reach the dry soil, therefore making it hard for any crops to grow.

But the excuse had become true. The field belonged to the children, and the headman was even proud of it. He would boast, to the few travellers that passed through of his wild field, so different from any of the others. It had come to Miroku, for him, a triumph of imagination; and this afternoon, once more, he found it charming in it's wildness, an original masterpiece among other fields.

And, in fact, with the sun just warming up in mid-May, slanting steeply past the tree's, and making even old weeds shine red and gold, it had the special beauty of untouched woods, where there is still, even among closely farmed lands, a little piece of free nature left, a suggestion of the frontier, primeval forests.

A bit of real wild country, thought Miroku, once a traveller, now knew how the life of a villager worked, and having the time to appreciate such things he would dismiss on his travels. And he felt at once released, escaped. He shouted out to them.

"Hello, Akira, Sakura?"

There was no answer. And he stopped, in surprise. Then he thought, they've gone to meet me-I've missed them. And this gave him both pleasure and dismay. The last time the children had missed him, a year or so ago, having gone a mile down the road and lain in ambush behind a row of bushes, there had been tears. They had resented being searched for, and brought home; they had hated the humiliating failure of their surprise.

But even as he turned back towards the house, and dodged a tree, he caught sight of Akira, lying on her stomach by the stream, with Kirara lying next to her. Akira was twelve, and had lately taken furiously to Kirara.

Miroku made for the stream with long steps.

"Hello, Akira, I'm home" He greeted, waving to his daughter. But Akira merely turned her head upwards, and peered at her through her thick fringe. Then she smiled, and dropped her head, as if exhausted.

"It's to hot father." She said tiredly, picking a few strands of dry grass from the dirty soil. And now, he saw Sakura, also twelve. She was sitting beside the old wooden bench, leaning sideways to sit in the little shade it gave. She was looking down, apparently deep in thought. She had always been the quieter of the two, and surprisingly the more mature, and intelligence. Miroku smiled fondly. Her bare legs, blotched with mud, lay along the ground, one foot hooked over the other. Her whole air was one of languor and concentration. To her father's, 'Hello' she answered with an equally tired voice.

"Hello father."

He said no more, and decided not to interrupt them. He thought if better if he gave them their own space, knowing, in all his experience, just how sharp a woman could be when stirred from her thoughts. It would be wrong, he thought, with these two. They were naturally impulsive and affectionate-Sakura had moods of passionate devotion, especially in the last few months. She was growing up, he thought, more quickly than Akira and she was going to be an exciting woman, strong in all her feelings, intelligent, reflective; much like her mother. Again, he admired her fondly.

"Well Sakura, have you missed me?" He teased, but the child answered only by a slight wriggle of her behind.

Miroku was amused by his own disappointment. He chuckled to himself.

"Stubborn, just like her mother." He sought for himself a clean path of grass, and settled down on it, sparing a minute to brush off his dusty robes. He would make the best of things. At thirty-two, having lost most of his childhood, he was good at making the best of things. It's a lovely day, he thought, and I'll walk up to meet Sango soon, he realised, glancing at the orangey sky. He once again felt the pleasure of the field. Nothing could deprive him of this; he had found home.

Sakura had got up and wandered away among the tree's; her legs too were bare and dirty, her peach coloured kimono, pulled up around her thighs, had a huge brown and green stain on it. She had been in the stream. And now Akira allowed herself to collapse onto her back, her dark brown hair tousled in the dirt, her arms thrown apart, and small dirty hands with black nails turned palm upwards towards the sky. His eyebrows knitted together. Sango had always thought of her daughters as children, not workers, as many of the villagers had disapproved of. Indeed, her daughters worked hard, but never to the extent that they were deprived of their own freedom. They would often play in the field, and nearly always returned home covered in dirt.

Miroku, of course encouraged this; he had decided from the day his first two daughters were born, he would grant them the childhood he never had. And, it was his sole duty to take them out to the field along with his two young sons and newly born daughter.

Akira's 'adopted' bitch, Saho, a skinny hound she had taken to years ago, came loping and sniffing, uttered one short bark and rooted at her mistress's legs. Akira raised one foot and tickled her stomach, then rolled over and buried her face in her arms. When Saho tried to push her nose under Akira's thigh as if to turn her over.

"Go away, Saho."

"Stop it, Saho." Sakura echoed in the same meditative tone. The sisters adored one another and one always came to the other's help. But Saho only stopped for a moment to gaze at Sakura, then tugged at Akira's kimono. Akira made another energetic kick.

"Go away Saho! It's too hot to play right now!" Sakura stopped in her languid stroll, snatched up a fragile stick, and hurled it at Saho like a spear.

The bitch, confused, uttered a loud uncertain bark and approached, wagging her behind so vigorously that she curled her body sideways at each wag. She was not sure if this was a new game, or if she had committed some grave crime. Sakura gave an excitable yell and rushed at her. She fled yelping. Encouraged, Akira jumped up, seized another stick and threw it, shouting.

"Demon! Demon!" Miroku was a little taken back. He knew they had been deeply stirred by their mother in the aspect of 'demons' and 'fighting.'

The two children dashed after Saho, laughing, bumping into one another, falling over together and snatching up anything they could find to hurl at her. Saho, still utterly confused, dodged to and fro, her tail still waggling excitedly. Finally, panting, she put it in between her legs and crept away, wining behind the old wooden bench.

Miroku was shocked. He was fond of the sentimental foolish Saho, and he saw her acute misery. He called to the children urgently.

"Akira, Sakura, stop that now, can't you see she's tired?" As if completely oblivious to their father's warning, Sakura found herself a large branch, and took to poking it through the holes in the rotting wood, trying to coax Saho out from behind it. Saho barked furiously. Miroku began to struggle to his feet, his limbs still aching from his three day journey. But suddenly, Akira turned around, and aimed a handful of dirt at him.

"Yield, weakling!" Sakura at once turned and cried out in joy.

"Yes! Yield weakling, yield!" She burst into a shout of laughter and could not speak, but rushed at her father with the large branch, her strong arms keeping it proped above her shoulders. Miroku braced himself.

The two girls, staggering with laughter, threw themselves upon their father.

"The monk has surrendered! Kill him!" They tore at the man and suddenly he was surprised. It seemed to him that both the children, usually so gentle and lady-like, had gone completely mad, vindictive. They were hurting him, and he didn't know how to defend himself without hurting them also. He dared not even push them too hard, in fear that he would break the thin ribs which seemed to bend under his hands. Saho, suddenly recovering, rushed, barking from cover and seized this new victim by the sleeve, grunting and tugging.

Miroku glanced over at Kirara, laying on her back, paws in the air, staring at them lazily.

"Girls," He shouted over their laughter, trying to catch his breath.

"Call her off Akira," He said, trying to warn Saho off. Akira didn't seem to hear him, and he sighed. She was too busy jumping on his stomach, and Sakura was busy pulling at his collar, trying to strangle him. It was of course a futile attempt, yet he stared up at her face with amusement, seeing so clearly his wife's beautiful features within hers. He made a last attempt to throw the child off, but again her strong arms held him tightly, her hands twisted in his collar. His forearms which were currently holding him up, gave way underneath him as Akira sat down upon him again, her feet pinching the side of his stomach. He suddenly let out a cry, and his arm, which was still in possession of Saho, yanked forward. Saho gave a startled yelp, and snapped at the man's hand violently.

Akira was now lying across his legs, Sakura on his chest; she still held his collar in both hands. But now, gazing down at him, her expression changed. She gasped.

"Oh, Saho's bitten you! Look Akira." Akira, rolling of her father's legs, came to her knee's.

"So she has, bad Saho!" The girls were still panting, flushed and staring at their father's pained expression with confusion. They both looked at each other, grinning.

"What if father's poisoned?" They shrieked excitedly.

Miroku picked himself up and dusted his robes. He did not utter any reproaches. He avoided even looking at the girls in case they could see his anger and confusion. He was still shocked. He couldn't forget Sakura's face however, so much like her mother's with that warrior's aggression, and her eyes, glinting with mischief. It seemed Sango had taught them more than enough of her warrior's tactics whilst he had been away. Understandable, he thought, seeing as he had not been there to keep them company instead.

He straightened his robes one final time. Akira had disappeared; Sakura was gazing at his hand, which bled a little, and soaked through his sleeve. When he turned away, she caught the sleeve, and he turned, to see her, staring, shocked at the deep red stain on her hand. He frowned, and looked down at his blood soaked sleeve. He handed her a cloth and she wiped of her hand.

"Better clean it all off or you might end up getting that dreadful poison in you!" He joked, and turned around to walk away. She caught his arm suddenly.

"Oh, Father, where are you going?" She asked. Miroku took another look at the now reddish sky.

"I'm going to meet your mother-she must be on her way back."

"Oh, but you can't go like that! We have to wash your bite!"

"It's okay Sakura...it doesn't matter."

"But Akira is getting water, and it might be quite bad."

Akira soon cane from the stream with her hands cupped full of water. She called out indignantly.

"Sit down, father, Your injured." Miroku sat down, finding the situation both suspicious, and amusing. She was playing the stern healer. And in fact, Miroku, though still in a mood of shock, found himself obliged to submit to this new game. At least it was more like a game. It was not murderous. He sighed. Even though the children did not understand why he was so upset, he had to teach them to be less aggressive. His daughters, he decided were to become graceful and stealthy, training alongside a trusted weapon. Not with their bare fists. He remembered Sakura fisting his robes, her little arms strongly holding his head up. His sons were to become fighters, trained with both hand combat and weapons. His daughters, he decided, were much too beautiful and much too fragile to submit to the life of an aggressive fighter.

"Sit down at once Houshi," Sakura ordered, sounding so much like Sango did back when they were merely comrades. Miroku found himself smirking as she roughly pulled up his sleeve. After Akira had poured the cold water over his wound, Sakura at once got to wiping away the rest of the blood and dirt, and wrapped the same cloth Miroku had given her earlier, to cover the wound. Shortly, Sango, hand in hand with her two younger sons, and youngest daughter, tied to her back, had been away for a few hours with her closest friend, Kagome. They had arrived back and spotted them in the fields. They now stood, watching in admiration and amusement as Miroku, still settled on the ground, struggled to see what what going on through the attack of skinny arms and fast hands that nursed the small scratches and nips around his finger tips. Sango smiled lovingly at her husband as he suddenly noticed her, and he returned it. Hands on hips, she sighed.

"All you children-amusing yourselves while we work all day." Miroku noticed the large bag of washing Kagome had in her hands, and understood why she had been gone so long.

As Kagome offered to clean and change Akira and Sakura, Sango helped her husband up, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

"Welcome home, husband." She simply said. He beamed, and turned to take one of his sons by the hand.

"I'm glad to be back, I missed you." He replied, earning one of her reserved smiles. Her special smiles. Miroku bit his lip. The smile she saved for him, and him only.

Apparently, Sango had a few of her lady friends visiting. And at tea, the girls now clean and changed into clean kimono's, handed round tea and offered food. Their home was fairly large, built for many children, Miroku thought happily, so there was enough room for the women to fit in. Miroku stared in admiration as his two girls passed the older women, stealing glances every so often; obviously envying their 'supposed' superiority. However, the girls never looked once at him, being so pre-occupied by the older women, and he felt slightly ignored.

The women were talking together, in hushed voices, sharing stories and old tales. Sango of course, being the most popular among them, being an experienced fighter and a hero. Every so often, she'd steal a quick glance at him, a thin blush spreading across her cheeks as she spoke of him, and then she turned, and the blush was gone. Akira, sitting by one of her brothers, Kirara on her lap, cared not for the stories, and instead took to feeding her some of the burnt fish. Sakura however, sat at her mothers side, listening intently to her tales, also sharing shocked and awed glances at her father, when ever his name was mentioned. He listened with sudden interest as Sango told them the tale of how he'd proposed to her. She fiddled nervously with the hem of her skirt as a few of her friends giggled as she told them. Miroku bowed his head and smiled, remembering that day as clearly as ever. When she had finished telling the tale he looked up to find Sakura looking at him, a mocking smile playing across her lips. He pulled a tongue and smiled when she gasped and turned back to her mother.

Miroku began to feel all at once a sense of stuffiness. He wanted urgently to get away, to escape. He'd always been a refined man, and preferred quiet conversation with his wife, and the soft laughter of his children, to the chattering voices of the village women. Yes, he needed male society. He would go to the woods. Probably, InuYasha would be there, resting on his preferred tree; the one with the huge leaves that always sheltered him from the rain. Kagome, seated next to Sango had left him for the night; a perfect opportunity to catch up with him. He would pass an hour or two with him, wait until it was dark, and then return, perhaps even drink a little with him. Sango would not mind. She never did, and instead took it upon herself to settle the children in bed, so that he could come home to quite hut.

When he had finished his meal, he stood up, and made his way out of the hut, with a quick smile in Sango's direction. She cared not that he'd left her. She had come to discover over the years, he preferred his own company to others. Well, with the only exception of his family. As Miroku turned onto the road he'd not long been walking along, he suddenly heard footsteps, and turned to see Sakura. She stopped, looking at him.

"Oh, I couldn't catch you." She panted. Miroku smiled gently.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, father. I wanted to look at your wound." Slowly, Miroku kneeled down, holding out his arm. She peered at it for a moment, and poked at the cloth that now served as a bandage. She inspected the fastening and looked up, almost triumphantly.

"I just wanted to check it was still fastened tightly. I wouldn't want you falling ill." She said. He acknowledged her speech for a moment. No matter how much she mirrored her mother, she reminded him so fondly of himself. She was so well spoken, so reserved, secretive, and intelligent.

"But your wound is fine. Yes, it'll be okay." She looked at him with an expression he didn't recognise. What was the game? Medical...mocking? Was she going to laugh? But the child frowned. She was also struck by something new and unexpected. She frowned when she noticed him staring at her dumbly, before she tossed back her dark hair.

"Goodbye father." She jumped up and ran off, back towards the warmth of their hut. The man walked slowly towards the forest. No, he thought, not quite a game-not for half a second. She's growing up-and so am I.