* Author: blue
* Email: blueweber@hotmail.com
* Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance
* Summary: Born in a war torn era in Japan, a young girl witness the death of her family and
clan to the hands of hatred, greed and power. Taken in by a mountain shrine, she becomes a
miko of healing. That is, until a wondering and disillusioned assassin breaks through her
peaceful world. Wounded and seeking revenge, he unwittingly finds himself depending on the
aid of the priestess to help heal him from his wounds. There an adventure begins and a
story that echoes through time with magick and mystery. (Sesshoumaru/Kagome)
* Rated: PG-13 (for violence and other contents)
The Kimono She Wore
******************
.blue.
The mountain streams flows,
Breaking through the ice.
The strength of fluid steel
Carries the scent of winter
through the lands.
.Part I.
(Cleansing, A Waking Dream)
Fue adonde a mi me perdieron
que logre por fin encontrarme?
(Was it where they lost me
that I finally found myself?)
-- Pablo Neruda
("The Book of Questions")
Splash.
The cold fingers of the water droplets ran itself down her back, seeping into the
white shift she wore until it was almost see-through as it clung to her goose fleshed skin
that was roughened in reaction to the cold. She shivered only slightly now, remembering the
hours she had spent here, in this stream, and being cleansed as each new year came by. The
celebration for the coming Spring had began. Only this year it was different for
Higurashi Kagome. This year she would be the one running the celebration of new life that
has returned.
It had been nine years since she arrived at the Mountain Stream.
Her fingers felt numb as she slipped the wooden bucket into the lake. It sent drops
of icy water in every direction before she lifted it into the air once more and dumped the
content of it over one shoulder.
Small drops clung to her dark hair as she cleared her mind and tried to focus. I
must not think of the cold, she reprimanded herself as another shiver wrecked her body.
She should've been used to this by now, considering the number of times she had already
gone through the ritual. Without further thought, she repeated the ritual of cleansing
once more, turning her mind from the bitter cold of the stream and the cool breeze that
caused more goose-bumps to appear over her pale arms.
"Chiisai Kawa-sama," a soft voice interrupted her concentration. "We're ready for
you."
Unused to the formalities directed at her, Kagome hid it while behind a composed
smile and nod to the young miko kneeling at the edge of the lake. Upon seeing her message
delivered, the other bowed and then quickly disappeared back into the forest, heading for
the shrine.
Apart of her was still amazed that the late Chiisai Kawa had died and past the
shrine duties down to her. The winter past had been especially bitter and with it, it took
the aging spirit of the old head priestess of the shrine. They had to wait till the white
snow melted and the ground was once again soft enough to dig before they buried the old
miko's ashes and bones. The late Chiisai Kawa was gone now with the snow and it saddened
her greatly to think on it, weighing down her limbs with the great weight of depression.
The old woman had been the only other family she had ever known since the death of her own,
and now, she too was gone.
She wadded quietly to the edge of the water, sending ripples over the calm of the
lake that reflected the clear, crisp skies. The surface of the glass was only blackened in
the shadows of the trees, and as she approached, the last breath of winter passed through
the foliage overhead, sending chills down her spine. Picking her white shift from the
water's edge, it glistened in the sunlight that seeped into the shade, shining like newly
falling snow that had congealed onto the dark bark of an old pine. Rising out of the
waters, she parted the surface as she lifted herself up, sending clear liquid in every
which way as it cascaded over her submerged body before returning to the lake. Her small
feet touched the thick grass, and when she was finished dressing, she took a deep breath to
calm her racing heart as she finished donning on the last piece of her ceremonial robes.
Tightening the sash around her waist, she let her hands fall away. Reasoning that the
slight tremble in them was from the cold and not from her own tense, nervousness. With
that, Kagome raised her head up high to face the responsibilities of her new duties.
Chiisai Kawa-sama, she thought to herself in despair, why did you have to go? Why
did you have to leave me this title and the duties that will always remind me of you and
your motherly smiles? Why?
Even as these turmoil-filled questions raced throughout her mind and heart, her face
was composed in a mask of calm dignity. Like the thin crust of ice that still lingered on
the shadowed edges of the ebony waters, it had yet to break.
* * *
She concentrated her mind's eyes onto the target and let her arrow fly. It had
been two months since she had been made the head miko of the Mountain Stream Shrine after
the death of the last Chiisai Kawa. Kagome has now taken up the title and the
rigorous duties of miko-hood as well. It amazed her how life had turned out for her. Back
when she was but a girl child, she never would have dreamed that here was where she would
end up, and that this would be the woman she would become.
The arrow struck true, the force of impact caused the wooden end of the shaft to
quiver. All around her flowers were blooming and the cherry blossoms over head has budded
once more. She relaxed her stance and let her arms fall, her mind too occupied with thoughts
to care.
Still, she tried to admire the weather beaten trunks, dark and gnarled. It brought
out the striking contrast of youthful colors as young blossoms came to life. The twisted
bark, rough and cool to touch under her warm fingers reminded her of the old hands of the
late Chiisai Kawa. She could still recall those fevered nights when she had first arrived
at the temple, waking from those horrible nightmares with tears streaking down her face and
the old woman patiently waiting by her side. Those strong hands, roughened by the working
life of a miko, had gently and firmly pushed her back to bed, smoothed her sweaty brows
before ordering her to go back to sleep.
She was a weak child then, trying to escape the horrible fate that had befallen her
family and her clan.
Remembering the old Chiisai Kawa while watching the world come back to life brought
back other happy and nostalgic memories of the past. Kagome remembered the green, verdant
fields of spring filled with flowers. She remembered the first time Mother had took Souta
out into the clear Springtime day. She had to fight back both the joy and the sorrow of the
memories of him cooing under the brilliant azure skies, dozing in Mama's arms as the
tall grasses brushed against her mother's kimono and the roughly spun, brown apron that Mama
wore to prevent her kimono from being dirtied. If Kagome thought hard enough, she could
picture Ojii-san at home babbling to the village children, telling them great adventures
about the proud history of the Higurashi clan. And there, by the foothills she'd sit and
gossip with her friends after a long day in the fields, helping her uncles and cousins
plant the new crops.
So many memories cherished, and yet, many times unwanted. There was so much pain in
the past that her heart felt too weak to carry. Still she stood beneath the white shower of
spring time flowers, though all her eyes could see was the broken promises and forgotten
dreams of the past...
In her days of youth, Kagome had never realized that peace was a fleeting thing. In
those days she had always dreamt the dreams of a sheltered girl, never imagining the
impact of hatred, death, and violence. And now, she was a priestess, trying to help her
people preserve the goodness of their hearts and their worlds, protecting those under her
care from evils of both the physical and the spiritual.
So here was where she had traveled, weathering the storm of humanity for others
while trying to capture those moments in her childhood that had been so innocent.
Yet remembering past innocence both pained her and comforted her. Like adulthood, the fire
that had taken away her brother had come for her in the end. The outside world intruded
into her own peaceful one, leaving a path of destruction in her heart, scarring her forever.
The only reason she survived was because of simple luck and faith, a gift given to her by
the old Chiisai Kawa before she had passed away.
A petal drifted past her startled face as she snapped out of her reveries. She
turned her head and looked to the same azure sky, so similar to the one of her past and of
her memories. Kagome reached out her hand and caught the drifting white petal that was
snowing down over the new pink buds of cherry blossoms. She paused to watch the early
blooms of another tree waver in the soft breeze of spring.
A flower must shed its petals to bear fruit, Kagome reflected on those words uttered
to her by the old Chiisai Kawa.
It was an unending cycle that will always be painful...
*But do not despair Kagome, for even though the flower may look fragile, life begins
at her heart. And though she may sacrifice her blossoms because of the winds of age, every
humble tree knows where its roots had first been made to bloom.*
Those words brought her comfort and peace like the old woman had always done before.
Chiisai Kawa-sama, Kagome thought to herself in sadness as she clutched the white
collar of her miko robes, I miss you.
* * *
The village down the mountain had been wreaked with disease that spring, and Death
set over the people like an unavoidable stench. Higurashi Kagome, now the Chiisai Kawa of
the Mountain Stream Shrine, had gone to the pleading people who lived at the steps of the
great mountains with her miko apprentices. Her presence had calmed the hysterics as her
touch seemed to have healed those closest to death. With her, she had brought much needed
medicine and herbs, as in her hands she held baskets of hand picked plants from the
mountains where they grew in misty places, far from wondering eyes.
The Chiisai Kawa's smile brought peace to the village as did her presence, pacifying
the terror to only a small pin-pricked fear. Soon, many of the sick got better and so when
the last man healed, the mysterious miko with her warm heart and gentle smile, bowed
kindly to the people and left. Taking with her only the small amount of food that the
village could spare and refusing any other type of payment, Kagome and her apprentices
disappeared back into the mists of the mountains.
And they called her a gift from the gods, or at least, that's what he had heard.
Sesshoumaru had passed the village but a few hours ago in the dark. Clutching to
his stomach in agony while trying to ignore the pain that throbbed throughout the rest of
his body. In the dark alleys of the village he had overheard the grave voices discussing
this mysterious miko and her healing touch. Some in the village feared her even as she
healed them, but most respected the woman greatly and treated her name with reverence. They
said that she lived in the hidden shrine somewhere within the mountains, cut off from the
rest of Japan and its political world. They say she cares for all who goes to her for help
be it friends or enemies, and that she had hidden powers that neither the last Chiisai Kawa
nor any of the Chiisai Kawa before her, had.
To be truthful about the whole thing, he wasn't really interested in any of the
rumors. He was searching only for a place to hid from his enemies before he healed and
think of a plan to avenge himself on them. This place and this miko sounded like
the perfect place for him to go for whatever time it will take for him to heal. Someone
secluded from the rest of the war ridden Japan and choosing to side with neither. It was
only his luck that he had stumbled across the healing mountain as well, a place he had
only heard in whispered myths and legends.
Mountain Stream, huh? He brushed away the bang of his dirty hair, despising how he
smelled and despising the sight he probably made at this moment, as well. Carefully
avoiding the lighted windows of the huddled huts, he passed the village and moved on,
leaving a trail of his blood behind him and hoping that the May rain will wash it away
before anyone could see it. Picking up a stick during his journey onwards, he trudged
higher and higher into the mountains, feeling his body numb from the exertion needed to
accomplish the task he had in mind. He was amazed he had gotten this far, for once glad
that his distinguishable pale hair was hidden beneath the dirt and grim, though he didn't
like being so dirty anymore even if it had turned out to be an advantage. It had some use,
him being this disgusting, true, but he still hated the feeling of it all.
He slept only somewhat that night, uneasily watching the stars overhead while ever
alert in case someone decides to sneak up to him and slit his throat in the middle of the
night. He wondered if the bastard war lord who betrayed him realized that he wasn't dead
yet, and hoped that the other assumed it to be true so that when he recovered, the element
of surprise would be on his side. "Kami-sama," he choked out as he clutched to his stomach,
trying very hard to not break the blood that had congealed already to seal his wound. It
was a while before he fell into a fitful and dreamless sleep.
Sesshoumaru woke to the splattering, fat droplets of an early morning drizzle. He
rose cautiously and decided that it was time to move on. Hungry but having not the
strength to catch game, he ate berries from a nearby tree and kept going, hoping to reach
the mysterious Mountain Stream in time. The drizzle helped cover his bloodied tracks and
he was glad for the cool water that washed away some of the grim and sweat on his body.
But it didn't help his wound and his movement soon left him bleeding again.
It was a miracle he had even made it to the lake, dying of thirst he had drank
earlier at the stream that led him to the black lagoon. Sesshoumaru was ashamed of his
earlier behavior when he had splashed the water to his face like a savage, too thirsty and
weak to care to have his usual manners, though it did prick his pride to see himself act
so uncouth through the blurry reflection in the stream. When he satisfied his thirst, he
decided to go down stream, following the black waters to wherever it is that it might lead
him. He was in too good of a mood by then to care, though he knew his body had seen better
days than this. And by luck he got to the edge of a hidden lake, but it was not the lake
that made him catch his breath at the water's edge. Pushing back the darkness of exhaustion
from both a loss of blood and the pain that throb throughout his body, Sesshoumaru found
himself gazing over reflective surface, for there, under the sparkling noon day sun that lit
the silk, inky waters with drops of gold, a woman bathed.
No, not a woman, he reasoned, for her skin was too fair in its transparent luster to
belong to a mortal. It glistened and shined, decorated by sparkling drops of dewy waters.
Her black locks fell down her back, cascading like a ebony silk as the ends emerged and
floated over the water's surface. Long lashes quivered over pink cheeks, her body glowing
from the cold as golden sunlight of spring illuminated her figure, and she shone like Venus
in the evening skies. The nymph strayed from the shadows of the forest that hovered over
the water's edge, and stooped to cup the cool liquid into her hand. Her hair shifted as a
cause of her movement, hiding her face through transparent strands of hair, the color of a
raven's wing.
Sesshoumaru leaned weakly against the trunks, his legs no longer supporting him in a
standing position and as he sled onto the soft, grassy ground. He wondered if she would be
the one to lead him into the after life. And as he watched her bathe, his vision began to
blur, and soon, all he could sense was the deep, earthy smell rising from the ground.
Hearing the soft splashing of water that she had created echoing in his ears, as if the
sound came from a distance, he wondered if she would be the last thing he would ever see in
this life. The last thing he felt though was a dew drop splashing onto his cheek from the
leaves overhead, sliding down his tanned skin like a tear.
"Tennyo," he whispered into the darkness behind his eyes that he had no more the
strength to keep open. Calling to her softly and requesting that she take him into the arms
of Kami-sama.
Somewhere he heard a gasp in the distance but his world was already going black.
Yet as he tittered on the edge of consciousness, he saw a slither of light come through his
closed lids. And she was there, bathing in the black waters as he drowned into oblivion.
There was no replay to his call and none that could wake him.
to be continued...
******************************************************************************************
The poem in the very beginning is mine.
* Chiisai Kawa is a title that I made up. At first I wanted it to be a name but then I
thought it would be better as a title. It means Little/Tiny Stream. I wanted it to be
that from an old story about how drops of water can wear a hole through stone given time.
And as my favorite book of all time pointed out, "That which yields is not always weak."
* Tennyo is Japanese for heavenly maiden, or a maiden from the skies. Sesshoumaru is
somewhat delirious at the time and thinks that he is seeing a water nymph/spirit.
blue ^-^
* Email: blueweber@hotmail.com
* Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance
* Summary: Born in a war torn era in Japan, a young girl witness the death of her family and
clan to the hands of hatred, greed and power. Taken in by a mountain shrine, she becomes a
miko of healing. That is, until a wondering and disillusioned assassin breaks through her
peaceful world. Wounded and seeking revenge, he unwittingly finds himself depending on the
aid of the priestess to help heal him from his wounds. There an adventure begins and a
story that echoes through time with magick and mystery. (Sesshoumaru/Kagome)
* Rated: PG-13 (for violence and other contents)
The Kimono She Wore
******************
.blue.
The mountain streams flows,
Breaking through the ice.
The strength of fluid steel
Carries the scent of winter
through the lands.
.Part I.
(Cleansing, A Waking Dream)
Fue adonde a mi me perdieron
que logre por fin encontrarme?
(Was it where they lost me
that I finally found myself?)
-- Pablo Neruda
("The Book of Questions")
Splash.
The cold fingers of the water droplets ran itself down her back, seeping into the
white shift she wore until it was almost see-through as it clung to her goose fleshed skin
that was roughened in reaction to the cold. She shivered only slightly now, remembering the
hours she had spent here, in this stream, and being cleansed as each new year came by. The
celebration for the coming Spring had began. Only this year it was different for
Higurashi Kagome. This year she would be the one running the celebration of new life that
has returned.
It had been nine years since she arrived at the Mountain Stream.
Her fingers felt numb as she slipped the wooden bucket into the lake. It sent drops
of icy water in every direction before she lifted it into the air once more and dumped the
content of it over one shoulder.
Small drops clung to her dark hair as she cleared her mind and tried to focus. I
must not think of the cold, she reprimanded herself as another shiver wrecked her body.
She should've been used to this by now, considering the number of times she had already
gone through the ritual. Without further thought, she repeated the ritual of cleansing
once more, turning her mind from the bitter cold of the stream and the cool breeze that
caused more goose-bumps to appear over her pale arms.
"Chiisai Kawa-sama," a soft voice interrupted her concentration. "We're ready for
you."
Unused to the formalities directed at her, Kagome hid it while behind a composed
smile and nod to the young miko kneeling at the edge of the lake. Upon seeing her message
delivered, the other bowed and then quickly disappeared back into the forest, heading for
the shrine.
Apart of her was still amazed that the late Chiisai Kawa had died and past the
shrine duties down to her. The winter past had been especially bitter and with it, it took
the aging spirit of the old head priestess of the shrine. They had to wait till the white
snow melted and the ground was once again soft enough to dig before they buried the old
miko's ashes and bones. The late Chiisai Kawa was gone now with the snow and it saddened
her greatly to think on it, weighing down her limbs with the great weight of depression.
The old woman had been the only other family she had ever known since the death of her own,
and now, she too was gone.
She wadded quietly to the edge of the water, sending ripples over the calm of the
lake that reflected the clear, crisp skies. The surface of the glass was only blackened in
the shadows of the trees, and as she approached, the last breath of winter passed through
the foliage overhead, sending chills down her spine. Picking her white shift from the
water's edge, it glistened in the sunlight that seeped into the shade, shining like newly
falling snow that had congealed onto the dark bark of an old pine. Rising out of the
waters, she parted the surface as she lifted herself up, sending clear liquid in every
which way as it cascaded over her submerged body before returning to the lake. Her small
feet touched the thick grass, and when she was finished dressing, she took a deep breath to
calm her racing heart as she finished donning on the last piece of her ceremonial robes.
Tightening the sash around her waist, she let her hands fall away. Reasoning that the
slight tremble in them was from the cold and not from her own tense, nervousness. With
that, Kagome raised her head up high to face the responsibilities of her new duties.
Chiisai Kawa-sama, she thought to herself in despair, why did you have to go? Why
did you have to leave me this title and the duties that will always remind me of you and
your motherly smiles? Why?
Even as these turmoil-filled questions raced throughout her mind and heart, her face
was composed in a mask of calm dignity. Like the thin crust of ice that still lingered on
the shadowed edges of the ebony waters, it had yet to break.
* * *
She concentrated her mind's eyes onto the target and let her arrow fly. It had
been two months since she had been made the head miko of the Mountain Stream Shrine after
the death of the last Chiisai Kawa. Kagome has now taken up the title and the
rigorous duties of miko-hood as well. It amazed her how life had turned out for her. Back
when she was but a girl child, she never would have dreamed that here was where she would
end up, and that this would be the woman she would become.
The arrow struck true, the force of impact caused the wooden end of the shaft to
quiver. All around her flowers were blooming and the cherry blossoms over head has budded
once more. She relaxed her stance and let her arms fall, her mind too occupied with thoughts
to care.
Still, she tried to admire the weather beaten trunks, dark and gnarled. It brought
out the striking contrast of youthful colors as young blossoms came to life. The twisted
bark, rough and cool to touch under her warm fingers reminded her of the old hands of the
late Chiisai Kawa. She could still recall those fevered nights when she had first arrived
at the temple, waking from those horrible nightmares with tears streaking down her face and
the old woman patiently waiting by her side. Those strong hands, roughened by the working
life of a miko, had gently and firmly pushed her back to bed, smoothed her sweaty brows
before ordering her to go back to sleep.
She was a weak child then, trying to escape the horrible fate that had befallen her
family and her clan.
Remembering the old Chiisai Kawa while watching the world come back to life brought
back other happy and nostalgic memories of the past. Kagome remembered the green, verdant
fields of spring filled with flowers. She remembered the first time Mother had took Souta
out into the clear Springtime day. She had to fight back both the joy and the sorrow of the
memories of him cooing under the brilliant azure skies, dozing in Mama's arms as the
tall grasses brushed against her mother's kimono and the roughly spun, brown apron that Mama
wore to prevent her kimono from being dirtied. If Kagome thought hard enough, she could
picture Ojii-san at home babbling to the village children, telling them great adventures
about the proud history of the Higurashi clan. And there, by the foothills she'd sit and
gossip with her friends after a long day in the fields, helping her uncles and cousins
plant the new crops.
So many memories cherished, and yet, many times unwanted. There was so much pain in
the past that her heart felt too weak to carry. Still she stood beneath the white shower of
spring time flowers, though all her eyes could see was the broken promises and forgotten
dreams of the past...
In her days of youth, Kagome had never realized that peace was a fleeting thing. In
those days she had always dreamt the dreams of a sheltered girl, never imagining the
impact of hatred, death, and violence. And now, she was a priestess, trying to help her
people preserve the goodness of their hearts and their worlds, protecting those under her
care from evils of both the physical and the spiritual.
So here was where she had traveled, weathering the storm of humanity for others
while trying to capture those moments in her childhood that had been so innocent.
Yet remembering past innocence both pained her and comforted her. Like adulthood, the fire
that had taken away her brother had come for her in the end. The outside world intruded
into her own peaceful one, leaving a path of destruction in her heart, scarring her forever.
The only reason she survived was because of simple luck and faith, a gift given to her by
the old Chiisai Kawa before she had passed away.
A petal drifted past her startled face as she snapped out of her reveries. She
turned her head and looked to the same azure sky, so similar to the one of her past and of
her memories. Kagome reached out her hand and caught the drifting white petal that was
snowing down over the new pink buds of cherry blossoms. She paused to watch the early
blooms of another tree waver in the soft breeze of spring.
A flower must shed its petals to bear fruit, Kagome reflected on those words uttered
to her by the old Chiisai Kawa.
It was an unending cycle that will always be painful...
*But do not despair Kagome, for even though the flower may look fragile, life begins
at her heart. And though she may sacrifice her blossoms because of the winds of age, every
humble tree knows where its roots had first been made to bloom.*
Those words brought her comfort and peace like the old woman had always done before.
Chiisai Kawa-sama, Kagome thought to herself in sadness as she clutched the white
collar of her miko robes, I miss you.
* * *
The village down the mountain had been wreaked with disease that spring, and Death
set over the people like an unavoidable stench. Higurashi Kagome, now the Chiisai Kawa of
the Mountain Stream Shrine, had gone to the pleading people who lived at the steps of the
great mountains with her miko apprentices. Her presence had calmed the hysterics as her
touch seemed to have healed those closest to death. With her, she had brought much needed
medicine and herbs, as in her hands she held baskets of hand picked plants from the
mountains where they grew in misty places, far from wondering eyes.
The Chiisai Kawa's smile brought peace to the village as did her presence, pacifying
the terror to only a small pin-pricked fear. Soon, many of the sick got better and so when
the last man healed, the mysterious miko with her warm heart and gentle smile, bowed
kindly to the people and left. Taking with her only the small amount of food that the
village could spare and refusing any other type of payment, Kagome and her apprentices
disappeared back into the mists of the mountains.
And they called her a gift from the gods, or at least, that's what he had heard.
Sesshoumaru had passed the village but a few hours ago in the dark. Clutching to
his stomach in agony while trying to ignore the pain that throbbed throughout the rest of
his body. In the dark alleys of the village he had overheard the grave voices discussing
this mysterious miko and her healing touch. Some in the village feared her even as she
healed them, but most respected the woman greatly and treated her name with reverence. They
said that she lived in the hidden shrine somewhere within the mountains, cut off from the
rest of Japan and its political world. They say she cares for all who goes to her for help
be it friends or enemies, and that she had hidden powers that neither the last Chiisai Kawa
nor any of the Chiisai Kawa before her, had.
To be truthful about the whole thing, he wasn't really interested in any of the
rumors. He was searching only for a place to hid from his enemies before he healed and
think of a plan to avenge himself on them. This place and this miko sounded like
the perfect place for him to go for whatever time it will take for him to heal. Someone
secluded from the rest of the war ridden Japan and choosing to side with neither. It was
only his luck that he had stumbled across the healing mountain as well, a place he had
only heard in whispered myths and legends.
Mountain Stream, huh? He brushed away the bang of his dirty hair, despising how he
smelled and despising the sight he probably made at this moment, as well. Carefully
avoiding the lighted windows of the huddled huts, he passed the village and moved on,
leaving a trail of his blood behind him and hoping that the May rain will wash it away
before anyone could see it. Picking up a stick during his journey onwards, he trudged
higher and higher into the mountains, feeling his body numb from the exertion needed to
accomplish the task he had in mind. He was amazed he had gotten this far, for once glad
that his distinguishable pale hair was hidden beneath the dirt and grim, though he didn't
like being so dirty anymore even if it had turned out to be an advantage. It had some use,
him being this disgusting, true, but he still hated the feeling of it all.
He slept only somewhat that night, uneasily watching the stars overhead while ever
alert in case someone decides to sneak up to him and slit his throat in the middle of the
night. He wondered if the bastard war lord who betrayed him realized that he wasn't dead
yet, and hoped that the other assumed it to be true so that when he recovered, the element
of surprise would be on his side. "Kami-sama," he choked out as he clutched to his stomach,
trying very hard to not break the blood that had congealed already to seal his wound. It
was a while before he fell into a fitful and dreamless sleep.
Sesshoumaru woke to the splattering, fat droplets of an early morning drizzle. He
rose cautiously and decided that it was time to move on. Hungry but having not the
strength to catch game, he ate berries from a nearby tree and kept going, hoping to reach
the mysterious Mountain Stream in time. The drizzle helped cover his bloodied tracks and
he was glad for the cool water that washed away some of the grim and sweat on his body.
But it didn't help his wound and his movement soon left him bleeding again.
It was a miracle he had even made it to the lake, dying of thirst he had drank
earlier at the stream that led him to the black lagoon. Sesshoumaru was ashamed of his
earlier behavior when he had splashed the water to his face like a savage, too thirsty and
weak to care to have his usual manners, though it did prick his pride to see himself act
so uncouth through the blurry reflection in the stream. When he satisfied his thirst, he
decided to go down stream, following the black waters to wherever it is that it might lead
him. He was in too good of a mood by then to care, though he knew his body had seen better
days than this. And by luck he got to the edge of a hidden lake, but it was not the lake
that made him catch his breath at the water's edge. Pushing back the darkness of exhaustion
from both a loss of blood and the pain that throb throughout his body, Sesshoumaru found
himself gazing over reflective surface, for there, under the sparkling noon day sun that lit
the silk, inky waters with drops of gold, a woman bathed.
No, not a woman, he reasoned, for her skin was too fair in its transparent luster to
belong to a mortal. It glistened and shined, decorated by sparkling drops of dewy waters.
Her black locks fell down her back, cascading like a ebony silk as the ends emerged and
floated over the water's surface. Long lashes quivered over pink cheeks, her body glowing
from the cold as golden sunlight of spring illuminated her figure, and she shone like Venus
in the evening skies. The nymph strayed from the shadows of the forest that hovered over
the water's edge, and stooped to cup the cool liquid into her hand. Her hair shifted as a
cause of her movement, hiding her face through transparent strands of hair, the color of a
raven's wing.
Sesshoumaru leaned weakly against the trunks, his legs no longer supporting him in a
standing position and as he sled onto the soft, grassy ground. He wondered if she would be
the one to lead him into the after life. And as he watched her bathe, his vision began to
blur, and soon, all he could sense was the deep, earthy smell rising from the ground.
Hearing the soft splashing of water that she had created echoing in his ears, as if the
sound came from a distance, he wondered if she would be the last thing he would ever see in
this life. The last thing he felt though was a dew drop splashing onto his cheek from the
leaves overhead, sliding down his tanned skin like a tear.
"Tennyo," he whispered into the darkness behind his eyes that he had no more the
strength to keep open. Calling to her softly and requesting that she take him into the arms
of Kami-sama.
Somewhere he heard a gasp in the distance but his world was already going black.
Yet as he tittered on the edge of consciousness, he saw a slither of light come through his
closed lids. And she was there, bathing in the black waters as he drowned into oblivion.
There was no replay to his call and none that could wake him.
to be continued...
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The poem in the very beginning is mine.
* Chiisai Kawa is a title that I made up. At first I wanted it to be a name but then I
thought it would be better as a title. It means Little/Tiny Stream. I wanted it to be
that from an old story about how drops of water can wear a hole through stone given time.
And as my favorite book of all time pointed out, "That which yields is not always weak."
* Tennyo is Japanese for heavenly maiden, or a maiden from the skies. Sesshoumaru is
somewhat delirious at the time and thinks that he is seeing a water nymph/spirit.
blue ^-^