Dreams entwined with only half-remembered memories. Sora awoke still curled tightly against the warmth beside her. A sudden jarring of the wagon made her open her eyes. The soldier she was leaning against smiled at her with open invitation. She kicked out at him as hard as her chains would allow. The winds still seemed to whisper, "Sorako. Sorako."
She remembered very little of her childhood after her parents were killed. She remembered only fire and flames licking at her small body, the heat unbearable, and she unable to escape. Then a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close to an equally strong chest. They carried her away from the flames and placed her on the ground in front of the burning hut. Enormous tears crept down her cheeks as she watched the ancient hut burn to ashes, waiting, waiting, waiting for her parents to come out.
They never did, and the people of the village sent her around, each family taking her in for a short time until they could no longer stand the unblinking, joyless face of the four year old. Finally they sent her to live with the old witch-woman who lived on the outskirts of the village. The old woman's hut was in deplorable conditions. The thatching had come loose and there were great gaps in the roof where sunshine or rain filtered through. Rats had eaten away at the wood of the doors and cupboard. When they were lucky, someone in the village would leave fish and rice on the doorstep. When they weren't lucky, they went hungry except for what little Sorako could scrounge from the village's dumping pit. Occasionally she was able to find a nice big bone to boil in a pot of water for broth.
When she was 15, Mori, the old woman, died. Once again, Sora was alone. She lived in the hut by herself for almost five years before anyone bothered her. Most of the villagers thought her mad, because she almost never spoke. But she was smart. She had constantly followed the village priest around, learing to read and write while he taught several of the village leader's sons.
Just a few days after she turned twenty, the village was ransacked by a rampaging army. They cut a swath of death through the village; burning, raping and killing were their game. They gathered the remaining young women and children, including Sora, into the center of the village and had them watch as their menfolk were killed and their homes burned to the ground. They were shackled into long lines and marched into the nearest large city. There they were seperated, the children sold as slaves, most of the women sold to houses of prostitution, only a few of them held back for special buyers. Sora was one of the few held back.
The soldier continued to grin at her and Sora cursed the chains that held her hostage against the wagon's side. A few of the other women groaned and moaned as the wagon slipped and slid over the rocky, mud-covered earth. It had rained the night before, making the journey even more unbearable. The air inside the wagon had become hot and humid, making it hard to breathe. Added onto the smells of unwashed human bodies and soaked wool and fursthe wagon stank.
A sudden loud CRACK startled everyone and the wagon began to jerk and roll. Everyone inside the wagon was thrown violently from side to side, back and forth, several of the women started screaming. The driver began shouting loudly at the horses and the wagon rolled to a slow stop, jouncing over rocks and holes in the earth.
The leader, Uzo, began shouting orders and soon the soldiers begain unchaining the captives from the wagon and instead chained them to each other. Once again, they began hiking through the woods, their simple kimonos sodden and mud-streaked. Soon they came upon a large palace, the home of one of the demon lords who ruled these lands.
The leader looked over the ragged group of young women and sneered. "Down, all of you, down. Sit there and don't move." Exhausted, they all obeyed, even Sora, who had become a known troublemaker. Sora wandered over and sat underneath a sakura tree that was just beginning to shed it's petals. A fine rain of them floated over her kimono, sticking where it had become dampened by mud and water. She leaned back and rested for a short while, dozing slightly, waking whenever the air stirred around her, chilling her slightly.
A movement from the castle woke her. A tall man with silvery-white hair that flowed almost to the ground along with his sakura-printed yukata robe was walking towards the group of women and soldiers. A young woman was by his side, her hair deep brown and curly, her kimona a pale coral color. The man began speaking with Uzo and pointing at some of the young women.
Sora closed her eyes, knowing that Uzo would never allow her to be bought by this man, he was saving her for an especially cruel master. He was saving her for his own lord, Naraku. While they talked, Sora took a stick from the ground and began writing in the dirt. First her own name, Sora, which meant "Sky." Then others, Keiko, Yuriko, Sayurifriends who were now sold away, never to be seen or heard from again.
A movement made Sora jerk her head up. The young woman who had come with the castle-lord stood over her. "Hello." The girl-woman said brightly. Sora placed the girl's age at around sixteen, just a few years younger than she was. Sora just nodded, tense, knowing that if Uzo saw her speaking with the girl that she would be beaten. Suddenly the castle-lord was beside them as well.
"Look, Sesshomaru-sama. She can write even better than you." The girl said, grinning up at the man. Sora lowered her gaze, staring at the ground until his clawed hand gripped her jaw and forced her to look up. She was amazed at his eyes. They were golden, like her own.