Sesshoumaru's gaze returned to her, and he admired her callous dismissal of him, considering that she was probably more than aware of how dangerous he could be. He found himself gaining respect for her.

"Very well. I will not force you to stay. Even if I did, it would be counterproductive. But I do advise you of caution. Your blood, half though it may be, is rare and priceless. Keep it in your veins."

Of course, he was going to follow her anyway. She'd lost too much blood to be strong enough to get very far, and when she found herself unable to continue and forced to halt, he would be close by to ensure her survival. The spiders would return, and they would return after the sunset, and in numbers. A defenseless half-blood would be but fodder to them.

He stared off at the dying sun again, and let his train of thought whirl within his mind. He was not afraid of death, but at this stage of the war, his death would not just be his own consequence.

Mary rolls her eyes and runs to her hidden hut. She walks into her hut and looks around as her stomach growls loudly. She sighs and says, "Another night without food." She curls into a ball and goes to sleep. Her stomach continues to growl in hunger. Her body shakes in pain as the full weight of the soreness sets in. She winces in pain as she sleeps.

Of course, the young male followed her, though he kept his distance, every now and then pausing to check the horizon for any signs of the horde of spiders.

He remained outside a while, ever discreet. When he heard her breath even out within, Sesshomaru slipped inside, inspecting things. He scowled at her lack of provisions, and then slipped back outside. He hated to do it, to leave her unguarded now that he'd found her, but if she didn't eat she would die anyway.

And so the young lord went out on a hunt. He was in superior condition, strong, alert, and agile. It didn't take long for his nose to pick up the musk of deer. It was a simple, rather plain sort of meat, but at least it was full of nutrients.

Checking again to reassure himself that no spiders or other foul monstrosities skittered about, he struck out upon the trail. In time, he returned, a large and healthy stag in his grasp, a single, clean stab wound running through it, from the prince's own blade.

He had to confess he was uncertain as to how she preferred her meat, and so he strung it up outside to cure, claiming the antlers for himself. In the hands of a demon blacksmith, such as Toutosai, such things could be added to a weapon for superior strength and reliability. Perhaps he would visit the old man later, and see to having something created for her, once he learned her preferences.