Disclaimer: I do not own Noragami.

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Chapter 10:

The Path Through the Countryside

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Yato stared out into the forest.

It had been nearly a day since the girl's visit. His wound had begun to heal—it was still disgusting to look at, so he tried his best not to do so when he wrapped it; which was much harder than it sounded, single–handedly. Somehow, though, he managed, after many muttered curses and fits of peevishness.

He had not seen the girl in that time. Yato had the suspicion that she might return, though, and it made him more curious than ever.

For a while, he had toyed with the questions in his mind like a cat might with a ball of yarn—had pondered it often enough that he knew that he would find no answers. He thought over their encounters occasionally; he found nothing of significance that honestly piqued his interest.

Not quite like her, at least.

And she was befuddling—from her eyes to her personality. She was a mortal, but she was different from her ilk. Yato did not know if her charity came from kindness or stupidity, though he had a vague inkling that it might be the former.

Yato sighed, propping up his chin with his hand, his elbow resting on his crooked knee.

For a moment, he felt disappointed in himself; that his life was dull enough that he spent his time thinking about a human girl, and not even in a remotely entertaining way. Then, he just felt tired; his arm ached, as did his shoulder, though the latter wound was far more healed than the former.

(However, he was not so lackluster that he did not have other things to occupy his thoughts—his wound reminded him of the wolf–spirit that had rampaged days ago in her village. Though, he had liked to think that the brute had run off at the sight of a god, he knew glumly that it was unlikely. Then, why had it come and gone in such a brief but disastrous way, for seemingly no purpose? Yato did not know and chose—for a moment—to let that be that.)

He looked up, then, through the pine's branches and up at the solitary, gray sky—a storm was coming; this pleasantly cool front was just to lay peoples worries to rest before they were drenched.

Yato swallowed, letting out a breath from his nose—he leaned back against the tree, his chin resting upwards. A restless moment later, he glanced once more at the ground below him. He would have to find shelter, eventually. With a sigh, he slowly lumbered off his branch, landing on the ground in a crouch.

(It was only later that he remembered that the girl's name was 'Hiyori'.)

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Hiyori slowly placed the clay jar on its shelf, next to those of its kind. They were empty, all of them—she had washed them prior—mostly due to the colossal amount of herbs needed to treat the wounded in the village. She had felt some moderate guilt for giving a part of the small store to Yato-gami; though, she knew, reluctantly, that she would have done it once more if given the same chance.

Brushing off the skirt of her kimono, she glanced around the hut—it was empty; her mother was speaking with some friends of hers, displaced by the attack, and her father had left for a nearby trading village to gather more plants for medicinal purposes. Though it was possible to simply search for them in the forests and fields, he did not have the time; and with the recent attacks, it seemed far too dangerous to do so.

By herself, then, Hiyori had done her best to tidy up their home. Her father's hectic work life and her mother's resulting poor moods had left a thick kind of tension in the air, making mealtime awkward and evenings by themselves oppressively silent. Hiyori hoped to take some of the worry off of her parents' shoulders by taking on some of the work herself.

Walking to the doorway, Hiyori moved the reed mat aside, glancing out—the sky was a bleak gray. It was crisply cool out, a little blustery, and she knew that a storm would soon be in. (It was for that reason that she had not washed any of the bedding.)

She wondered, belatedly, how Yato-gami would fare on his own and in the forest, with the rain. She had left him her shawl, but that wouldn't do much—and he had nowhere to rest, alone in his tree… Hiyori bit her lip. Perhaps she could visit him—bring him some things…

Hiyori let out a sigh, stepping back and letting the mat swish back in place. If she was to see Yato-gami, she would have to do so subtly and without preamble—but if her mother returned and found that she had left the house without reason, she would be suspicious… (Though, Hiyori doubted that Chikako knew about her excursions—still, one word from Oda could change all that quickly.)

Pausing, Hiyori tapped her chin with her forefinger. What should I do—? She blinked; then, she recalled what her father had said a day ago—how her mother had wanted her to see Miyu…

Walking quickly to her futon, Hiyori took her shawl from its place by her bedding and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then, she swallowed, paused at the doorway, glanced once and only once, before leaving the hut.

She bristled at the cold—the wind pinched her cheeks and made the bare skin of her ankles spring up with gooseflesh. She bustled through the village—doing her best to ignore the wreckage—passing her townspeople with a wave or a word of greeting; though, her mind was not very present during these brief conversations.

Hiyori thought of Miyu—she hoped that the she would be pleased with her abrupt visit; then again, perhaps she should have arranged a meeting beforehand. Hiyori swallowed, pursing her lips—too late to turn back, now.

Then, she thought of Ami. Though her friends were always lingering somewhere within her thoughts, her heart, Hiyori realized belatedly and surprisingly that she had not thought as often of Ami and Yama these past few days. Worried for them, of course—but she had been so concerned with Yato-gami that her mind had simply…wandered.

She blinked, stilling in the middle of the street.

When had that occurred? Hiyori did not know, but the prospect was frightening and left her guilt–ridden. The thought that her friends and their conditions could simply escape her notice was…terrible. She felt wretched for it. How could she? Were her own problems that she wished to deal with a viable excuse to ignore her friends? When had she started to drift farther away from them?

After I met Yato-gami? Hiyori felt her hands tremble. Could that be? Had his appearance suddenly made her simply notice less? Was it so? She stared. When had she begun to care more about a boy in the woods than her own friends?

—But, no, she told herself firmly. That was as unfair as it was untrue—she had not begun to care any less for Ami and Yama and their plights. She had simply become more preoccupied and absentminded; but she cared for them no less than she had before. Perhaps Yato-gami's appearance had made her less attentive, but it did not effect her feelings for her friends.

If so, then she would simply try her hardest to be there for them more. She would do it, too; for their sake's.

Hiyori nodded strongly; then, hands curling tightly into balls, she set on her way once more.

Though Ami's house was a ways out, it was not so far, and as she rounded the bend from the village she saw it, sitting on the hill by the forest. She could see smoke rising from the chimney, too; and her heart rose at that, because Hiyori knew that someone, then, must be home.

She made the hike up the hill briskly, holding her shawl close; the wind blew her hair—tied back—nearly loose, it was so strong. As Hiyori walked to the doorway, she ignored the tremor of anxiety in her gut and called out: "H—Hello—?" Then, after a moment of silence: "Is—Is anyone there?"

Then, the reed mat pushed open, and Miyu stood before her.

Hiyori blinked, staring. Ami's mother looked weary—not tired, but overworked, as though the strenuous things that had been happening weighed on her shoulders more than anyone else's. When she saw Hiyori, her eyes widened and she blinked. "Hiyori!"

With a forced and embarrassed smile, Hiyori bowed, saying with sheepishness: "Hello, Miyu."

Miyu returned the gesture belatedly and said: "What a surprise, to see you here, of all days."

"Oh, I— Let me apologize," Hiyori said. She looked at her. "I should have sent word, but I was passing by, and, I figured you would like some company…" She trailed off. Then: "But, if you would like, I can leave…?"

Raising a hand to her, Miyu said, belatedly: "Oh, no, it's—" She swallowed and then, smiled, f. "—it's fine, dear. You can come in." Then, she moved the mat aside, allowing Hiyori to pass by her before following suit. The mat fluttered to its place, and the hut was closed off from the cold light of the bleak day.

"You may sit down, if you would like," Miyu offered, moving towards the hearth, by the shelves, which were stacked above it.

Hiyori nodded belatedly, saying a quiet: "thank you," before kneeling to the floor, settling there. The warmth from the fire felt wonderful against her cold skin, and her ears and nose burned from it. Rubbing absently at her hand, she looked around the dim hut. Her gaze found Ami, resting, heaped under blankets, by the wall.

She was pale—thin and gaunt, her dark hair resting by her face. Her arms, tucked beside her, were sticks; her wrists were bony. Hiyori felt guilt so strong it made her feel ill; sadness so aching it made her cringe. She could almost not bear to see her, this way. She was so different, from only a few days' course of time, than she had been on that spring afternoon.

Once more, Hiyori felt as though she were kilometers away from it all—from the girl that she had been days ago; from the memories of her friends; from comfort and safety, the feeling of home, truth, and sure–footing. She felt lonely. Looking away from Ami, she stared at her hands, folded in her lap.

"—yori? …Hiyori?"

Blinking, she looked up. Miyu was staring at her, holding two clay jars in either hand. "Oh, I—I'm sorry."

Miyu's eyebrows were furrowed. "No trouble," she said, evenly; then: "Would you like tea?"

"I—" she knew she had no stomach for it; but she felt that it would be rude to decline. "—Yes, please. That would be wonderful." She moved her lips to make a smile.

Looking at her, then away, Miyu nodded silently after a moment. She turned away, busying herself with preparing the tea. Hiyori listened to the sound of the clamoring as best she could, rubbing at her arms, hoping to rid herself of the gooseflesh that had sprung up on her skin.

After some time, the tea was done. Miyu poured both Hiyori and herself a cup, handing one dutifully to her.

"Thank you," Hiyori bowed.

"No trouble," Miyu said, once more, returning the gesture before taking a sip from her cup. The tension seemed to leave her and she nearly slumped as she sat.

Hiyori set her cup down carefully beside her, listening to the clink it made as it lay on the floorboards. She swallowed, looking at the cup and then at Miyu.

Then, a gust of wind rattled the hut—the flames flickered in the hearth, and the woven reed mat fluttered restlessly.

"Oh," Miyu said, surprised. "Such a blustery day." Looking at Hiyori, she said: "It must have been cold coming over here—such trouble for you."

"No—there was no trouble, really." Hiyori said, emphasizing politeness.

Miyu smiled. "Oh, well; good, then." She took another sip of tea. "I do appreciate the visit—I can get lonely here, by myself. And it's worrisome and tedious, looking after Ami by my lonesome…" She swallowed, staring over at her daughter. Then, she let out a laugh, though it sounded choked; she placed a hand on her cheek. "But, of course, you must know what it is like, in your own way. You must miss her terribly, too."

Forcing a placating smile, Hiyori felt as though she was slowly and deliberately being strangled. With trembling fingers, she gripped the cup and took a slow sip; she tried not to choke as it scalded its way down her throat. "I—" she said, then: "—yes. I—I do…very much." She looked down at the cup, resting in her hands on her lap.

Eyebrows furrowing, Miyu frowned, leaning forward and reaching across the space between them to place a hand on Hiyori's arm. "Let me apologize, dear," she said: "I know how hard it must be—I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No," Hiyori murmured, forcing a smile. "No, it's—it's fine."

Miyu retracted her hand, looking down at her cup. "I—I have been missing company, lately. What with caring for Ami, and the patrol searches being widened—Hatō's hardly ever home…"

Hiyori, sipping on her tea, felt her breath catch in her throat. She let out a spluttering cough, nearly dropping her cup and placing a hand on her chest firmly. Blinking, she let out a rough breath.

"Oh, Hiyori!" Miyu exclaimed worriedly, leaning forward. "Are you alright, dear?"

"—I—" she gasped, but then looked at Miyu, ignoring the burning in her throat. "—Did you—Did you say that they were widening the area for patrol?"

Blinking, Miyu retracted her hands, saying: "Why, yes, I think. Your mother told me so. They want to guard the village against that wolf–spirit that attacked, she said—that's how you got that mark on your head, isn't it?" She said, pity in her voice.

Hiyori brushed the strip of cloth, pressed against her forehead and temple. "I— Yes, but—" She shook her head, then asked, trying to reel in her shock and earnestness. "H—How far are they going to be searching, now?" She swallowed, her hands gripping her knees.

Miyu frowned. "In the fields; perhaps to the mountain's base to the east; in the forest…—"

Her eyes widened. Hiyori stood quickly, knocking over her cup in the process—tea spilled across the floor. "I—I'm sorry, Miyu, but I—I have to go—" She stumbled to the doorway.

"A—Ah, Hiyori—!"

Pausing, her hand on the the doorframe, Hiyori turned. "Thank you for the tea—!" She blurted, before fleeing out of the hut. She did not look back; she heard Miyu call something to her, but she did not turn back to answer or ask. She had to see her mother.

Hiyori stumbled down the hill, doing her best not to fall. Please, please don't fall, she begged silently.

Then, she raced to town, her feet thudding against the ground hard that she felt it jar up to her chest. She breathed heavily—and though it hurt, though she might've liked nothing more than to rest, she kept running.

Hiyori could hear Miyu's words, interspersed with her own footfalls: "The patrol searches being widened… In the fields; perhaps to the mountain's base to the east; in the forest…" She winced, and willed herself to run faster. She had to get home—she would speak with her mother about it, make sure that it was true; and then she would tell Yato-gami. She had to—if they found him, it would not bode well for either of them.

Dashing through the debris of the marketplace and other huts lining the road, Hiyori almost fell from relief when she saw her house. Her head–wound throbbed, her lungs burning and her legs aching. Still, she fought a cry of thankfulness when she saw that smoke was coming from the chimney; her father was still away, she was sure, so it must be her mother…

She burst into the hut. "Moth—"

"—Oh, my; why are we in such a rush?"

Then, Hiyori blinked. She stared.

Chikako sat by the hearth, looking at her anxiously; she knit her hands together worriedly. Across from her sat an elderly, wrinkled woman, her kimono clean and large, with gaping sleeves and many folds.

Hatsue, the village elder.

Hatsue—the one who had seen her go to the shrine.

The old woman tilted her head to the side. She smiled, then; it was forceful. "Hello, Hiyori," she peered at her from underneath sagging eyelids. "Do you mind if I have a word with you?"

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Yato gazed out at the bleak sky. Oh, it would rain, yes—he was sure of that. He let out a sigh.

After a great deal of searching and exploring—and contracting a mild case of poison ivy; or oak, or some other deadly variety—he had found a cave to weather through the downpour in. It was unsightly, but Yato figured that there were not many slightly caves.

Then, he heard a rumble of thunder, arching across the valley, through the forest. He scowled distastefully at the bleak sky.

Yes, he thought.

There was going to be quite a storm.

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A/N: ...But, just because I update doesn't mean there can't be a cliffhanger. Surprise (and sorry)!

Reviews are still appreciated!