The hour was late. Kagome lay awake, staring up towards the ceiling obscured by the darkness that had fallen long since. She'd been trying to will herself to sleep for a while now, but restlessness clawed at her soul and her mind was too loud.

For a moment, she had found peace earlier that day. Once again, little Rin was to thank, for the archery demonstration had been all by her request. Kagome had wholly lost herself the moment the smooth wood of her bow warmed against her skin. Her thoughts had faded into silence, the world had slipped away.

She should make archery practice a daily routine, now that there was a practice yard she could use. She hadn't been able to indulge in regular practice for such a long time.

Though thinking about indulgences… She should ask the maids tomorrow about the use of a bathhouse. She might as well take advantage of all the perks that life as a guest of the Nishikawa clan offered her.

A wry smile tugged at her slips. Look at her. Fifteen long months on the road, visiting various shrines, offering help where she could to the folk ravaged by the endless civil strife. Fifteen months of a life with a countless ri walked, a life that had offered very little comfort and expected a lot of hard work from her. A life of toil. But also one of freedom. A life of travel and new experiences, of seeing first-hand the lives of the people across the land.

In all these months, Kagome hadn't had much trouble sleeping. Usually, she'd fallen into a deep sleep instantly, exhausted by a long day on the road. Sometimes she'd even walked through the night, pushing against the weariness dulling her steps.

But now sleep eluded her. She lay in her very own guest room, the futon soft underneath her, the quilt keeping her comfortably warm. In only a handful of days she had become so well accustomed to this new life, serving a powerful samurai clan. Alarming, really, how quickly Kagome had adjusted to life under the Nishikawa's roof. A life of luxury… And of confinement. The walk to the practice yard today had been the furthest she had ventured since her arrival. If she stayed to teach Rin, it was unlikely she'd venture outside of the Nishikawa castle's walls until the time came for her to return to the Musashi province.

Kagome turned over on the futon, shoulders hunching as she burrowed deeper under the quilt. When she returned to Musashi, her days as a wandering miko would be over. There would be a new life waiting for her, for her to adjust to.

Maybe staying here with the Nishikawa clan was a good thing after all. Practice of a different kind so she might better settle into the expectations awaiting her. Hovering for a moment in the in-between, before she'd step down to the rest of her life.

In the dark of the night, that thought suddenly loomed large over her, so finite. Kagome's eyes burned and she squeezed them shut.

The hour was late. The lantern's flickering flame cast sharp, elongated shadows to stretch across the shouji walls. Sesshoumaru sat back with a sigh. He tossed the letters and messages he'd been reading on his desk and ran a tired hand over his eyes.

He could feel the first stirrings of a headache, worming at the back of his skull. The day had been long and he'd managed to keep himself preoccupied for the most of it – though the errant thoughts of their mysterious miko guest were as frustrating as they were unintentional.

Then again, there were worse things to dwell on. Few scant days had passed since the shrine visit and he hadn't once thought about Touran. Rin's disappearance and the miko's unexpected appearance had both provided ample distraction. Even when his father had brought up the topic of marriage the other night, memories of Touran hadn't flooded him the way they used to. Perhaps, now that two years had passed, her hold of him was fading.

Though not quickly enough. Sesshoumaru's hand balled into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm. The bitter venom still lingered in his veins. The anger still hadn't left him, even after two years. He'd fooled himself into believing it had, perhaps, but the way he'd reacted when his father had brought up the topic of marriage showed his failings clearly enough.

Sesshoumaru knew his father was right. The Nishikawa clan needed an heir. Sooner or later, he'd need to sire a son and in order to do that, he would need to remarry. But after his experiences with Touran, the mere thought of marriage sent pulses of rage through his body.

Their marriage, like many of those of their class, had been one of a political alliance. There had been bad blood between their clans, some decades ago they'd been on the opposite sides of a war. So marriage, their families decided, was the optimal way to bury the hatchet for good. But Touran was proud and loyal – and those loyalties lay with her clan, even after she had become a Nishikawa. She did her duty. She married Sesshoumaru. She gifted him with Rin.

But she had no intention of burying the hatchet.

She relished wielding it instead. Her manner had always been the perfect picture of politeness – but her eyes were cold every time she was with Sesshoumaru. Her gaze had been sharp, burning him like ice. She'd felt contempt for him she hadn't bothered to hide, every discussion between them a chance to mock him. She'd been like a panther poised to strike, her carefully crafted speech always full of fangs and claws with which to tear him into shreds.

Touran had been a great mother to Rin, but she had been a terrible wife. Sesshoumaru ran his hand through his hair. He probably had his faults too, as a husband. He'd answered Touran's goading with cold neglect. He'd raised his voice at her more than once when the fury had got a hold of him.

No. Sesshoumaru was better off without a wife.

He turned away from his desk, leaving behind the troubled thoughts and resurfaced memories.

It was time to lay that all to rest.