Kurama sits calmly on a park bench, his arms folded across his chest. He radiates serenity and his verdant eyes are deadly still. A bird flutters down; his eyes follow it as it alights on the sidewalk that is clogged with trash and used gum. The blackbird preens, then snatches an insect and flutters away.
In the tree above Kurama, a voice says, "This land is dying; dying at the hands of its very inhabitants.
"These residents contaminate the air, erect cities for their own selfish purposes, seek to control and dominate the world around them. And yet they are paltry, weak things that break easily and heal slowly."
Kurama watches the blackbird take its catch to a small oak tree and flutter toward a nest.
"…so tell me why you live among them, suffer their horrible presence. Demons, at least, do not pollute their own homes," the voice says.
The blackbird has chicks in the nest. It leans down and places the insect carefully down the throat of one of its young. The blackbird then swoops back toward the grass, scoops up another bug, and carries it painstakingly back to its chicks. Only when every chick is fed does the blackbird find food for itself.
"Well?"
Kurama leans back and a light smile skirts across his effeminate features. Kurama says, "Despite all the faults of this world, there is one thing…" his voice trails off cryptically.
Silence from above, waiting. After a long silence, the voice snaps, "What then?"
"Love. The protection of a parent. Nurturing. Things you do not know; things I would not have been aware of, had I not come to the Human World."
"There are orphans here, as well."
"True. But there is, in addition, always someone who may care."
The voice gives a snort.
"Don't scoff. You desire affection as well." Kurama knows he is treading on dangerous ground. The owner of voice has killed others for saying less. True to form, the one in the tree growls, deep and low in his throat, and a shudder goes up Kurama's spine. He turns his gaze to the tree.
A shadow in the boughs of the tree vanishes. There is a brief flare of energy, then it, too, disappears.
Kurama sighs, stands. He picks his way gracefully across the ill-kempt grass of the park and comes to stand underneath the blackbird's nest-branch, observing the mother blackbird as she settles next to her young. The mother blackbird looks down at him and chirps.
Kurama smiles.
