"Mama, where's Papa?" Sesshomaru was all of five years old (by daiyokai standards, of course), amber eyes glittering with hope and curiosity as he gazed up at his mother sitting on the courtyard porch. To him, she was the most beautiful demoness the world and he was proud to have her features; however, Sesshomaru couldn't help but wonder where his ever-absent father was.
"Where is he, Mama?" the child persisted.
Sesshomaru's mother stared down at her son for a long time before answering. "He's out attending to business."
"Oh." The explanation was too broad, the curiosity was not sated. "What kind of business?"
"The kind which involves the conquest of great lands and purging of lesser beings, such as humans. Someday you'll be capable of power akin, Sesshomaru. Sesshomaru?"
The little daiyokai hardly caught the tail end of his mother's lecture. A butterfly with wings the color of ripe summer oranges demanded immediate investigation.
Sesshomaru chased after it, gently picked the flower it landed on, and cried, "Look, Mama!"
As he proudly displayed his trophy, Sesshomaru felt a sudden rush of wind and gasped as a flurry of wings were strewn into the air before him.
"Pay attention when your mother speaks."
"But…that…" Sesshomaru's heart felt shredded like the butterfly. "It was pretty, Ma—"
"It was an insect. There are a million more where it came from." She flicked some of the creature's remaining juices off her talon. It dashed across her son's face. "You needn't concern yourself with such trivial beings."
"Trivial?"
"Weaklings, Sesshomaru. They do not survive for long, and it is the strong who are permitted to reap the benefits of life. I am the mate to the Western Lord because no one else could compete. I am strong. If you allow yourself to become distracted by the weak you shall join them."
Sesshomaru didn't quite grasp the full concept, but if obedience would please his mother he would see to it. He smiled and nodded up at her, not understanding what the skyward rolling eyes meant, promising he'd do what it took to be strong.
She side-stepped him, muttering something about childhood ignorance, while he figured wiping the dead bug's fluids off his face would be a good place to start.
Little things were a waste of time.