The hills were rock quiet.
Shaking clean his claws, Sesshomaru sat down by the bear. Sat there and mused for days.
On the third night the kappa asked, "Mightn't we go on, milord? The body… it stinks." Abruptly he found himself staring into two slit pupils, as thin as the keenest razors ever honed.
Jaken groveled, sniveling at his Lord's boots—whose hand was raised and prepared to strike him.
"Be silent," Sesshomaru demanded, for all he wanted was a moment's meditation. "Fool that you are, get into your skull that this one has no reason to explain himself to you."
Jaken picked himself up from the dirt some 20 yards away, griping privately that after years of loyal service his lord had yet to develop milder feelings for him.
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