Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one whose capacious robes leave much to the imagination.
On the Eleventh Day of Christmas…
The travelers pushed hard all day, making camp just a few hours from home. Miroku's eyes drifted out of focus as he gazed into the crackling fire. Kagome was chattering on about the Christmas festivities she would share with her family the next day. Sango's low laugh alternated with the rumble of Inuyasha's comments. Shippo's soft snores and Kirara's purr only added to the contented blending of sounds. Miroku shut his eyes and smiled dozily. I like this feeling of belonging. He had a place among these few. They depended on each other. He was alive. He was loved. This was worth hanging onto. This was worth fighting for. I will not give up just yet.
Miroku was fairly certain now who was leaving the presents. He just wasn't sure why. Nothing yet today. The monk's head had just nodded forward when a sudden plunk snapped him awake. Confused he looked around the circle of firelight. Everyone was still talking as if nothing had happened.
Shaking his head to clear it, Miroku looked down into his lap. Nestled in the fabric of his robes was a sheath, not much bigger than the palm of his hand. The knife he normally used for cutting paper for sutras had been traded for food several weeks back, but this blade would make a fine replacement. The audacity of this gift's arrival made him feel as if he were being gently teased. Miroku tucked his present away and closed his eyes with a smile.
End Note: 250 words.