Author's Note: It has been forever since last I updated, partially because of writer's block and work, and partially because my computer suffered a power surge and all my stories were lost. Well now, equipped with new hard drive, a pizza, suitably angsty music and a fresh two liter of coke I have begun to piece together what I can remember from what was lost. I hope you enjoy this new chapter and review. Oh yeah, Bokuseno isn't mine, but you already knew that. I took liberties with the old treebecause I like him.Thank you.

Chapter Four: An Old Man's Prayer

There was a distant chirping behind the group as they walked that made Ryuhoji pirouette on his heels to track it. He tilted his head one way, then the other and growled lightly when he couldn't discern from exactly which tree the song came from. Tama had given up any attempt to try and make sense of Ryuhoji or his whims. He shuffled now, ahead of him and Sesshoumaru, sniffing the air and leading them. Sesshoumaru walked between them both with a whisper of a smile on his face as he held the reigns of their creatures. He had long since disregarded his shoes, along with riding and walked now with his eyes closed as if he was trying to capture something around him, above him, something he could not touch.

His silken golden eyes open suddenly as he turned and sidestepped Ryuhoji a moment before the Wild Pack Prince would collide into him. That whispered smile touched his features for a moment. "Have you found what you were looking for, Ryuhoji?"

The demon double-stepped and glanced up at him, sheepishly. "I was trying to find the birds that are singing."

Sesshoumaru seemed to nod, but looked passed him. "Those are frogs."

"Frogs?"

"Frogs." The honeyed eyes disappeared behind his eyelids for a moment, before the Western Prince whistled: not for long, and only a few notes, but it was enough to frighten whatever birds had been hiding behind the foliage to appear and began their chatter. He opened his eyes again, and nodded. "Those are birds."

"Sesshoumaru Prince, the nature lover." Tama muttered, glancing back at them. "Are you demon or mortal, pup?"

Sesshoumaru seemed to ignore Tama, but his fist tightened around the reigns a little more and the skin around his jaw constricted. He became that way sometimes, mostly during visits from his mother or in situations where he knew little.

Ryuhoji shot a glare to Tama as he reached for Sesshoumaru and caressed his skin. Sesshoumaru leaned a little into the touch, but inhaled and pulled away. He paused for a moment, and glanced around the woods. "How much farther, Tama?"

"Ah, yes." Groaned an old voice from around them, that causing them the freeze in their steps. Tama was first to move for his weapon. Sesshoumaru had stepped back, closer to Ryuhoji but made no motion to defend himself. The old voice saw this, and began to laugh: old, shaking laughs that shook their young bodies. "So quick, you are, pups. Oh so quick? And for what? Tell me, Sesshoumaru Prince of the Western Lands, what do you seek on the battlefield?"

Sesshoumaru positioned himself to challenge the voice as a soldier would to face a duel. When he spoke, the façade around him, of peace-lover disappeared like vapor and the hunger returned. It darkened his eyes, and turned his voice to poison. "And what would my business on the battlefield mean to you, Bokuseno?"

"Bokuseno?" Ryuhoji repeated, becoming pale. "The old one."

The barking laughter became a fierce rebuke as the magnolia tree shifted and peeled back it's covering to reveal an aged, dark face. "So eager to prove yourself bloodied and ruthless, white pup?" Bokuseno demanded. "Remember I am not your enemy. Remember also, I am the one who once sheltered you, when lost, wounded and frightened, you clung to my branches fearful of the wind and baying for your father like a calf!"

"I am not that child anymore!" Sesshoumaru countered, suddenly. The anger seeping through his body, and reddening his eyes.

The tree's answer was quiet, but cutting. "Oh but you are, Western Prince, and more is your weakness for not seeing it."

Whatever response died on Sesshoumaru's pale lips as Ryuhoji intervened. His voice was still, and respectful but determined. "What would want of us, wise Bokuseno?"

"Company." The old Magnolia murmured, shifting its dark branches and causing the birds to take to flight around them. Sesshoumaru watched as they soared above them and looked envious. Bokuseno seemed to notice, and chuckled to himself. "Come." He said gently, and then added the plea to his voice. "The night is near, and with it no progress can be made. You are tired, and I promise rest, if only for a moment."

Tama could see his Master's quiet surrender and nodded, going about the duties of making camp. Sesshoumaru looked suddenly very young as he stared up at the old tree. He seemed to want to say something but knew of no words to counter such a harsh truth.

Old Bokuseno returned his gaze sadly, as he shifted his branches again. "Come, my little Western Prince, and let me guard once more from the wind you cannot understand."

Sesshoumaru's words were thin, and almost a dream. "I will learn."

"Yes," The Magnolia moaned, creaking the old wood within. "And indeed I fear it, but you will learn. My dear Prince, the ice that is formed in your blood is well made and worthy of your bloodlines but I do fear it. I fear it."

"Do you know what is to become of me?" Sesshoumaru asked suddenly, looking up and searching his face. "Do you know what I am to be?"

"Are you asking your future?" Bokuseno demanded then moaned again. "No, I cannot tell you the exact path you are to pursue. But, I see you, Sesshoumaru, I see you clearly and terribly, and that path you mean to crave." His old eyes settled on the demon and pierced him. "I see you, the Hunger."

"Will I become great?" Sesshoumaru demanded. "Answer me. Will I be the most feared? The most powerful of all the Western Land? Am I to be the son of the Inutaisho, equaled to none?"

"You are already what you seek," Bokuseno replied. "And the power you hold within you in great, and powerful. Your hands will hold the balance of life and dead, of completion and healing. But, with that, such great…awesome things will you perform, in…your name."

"Bokuseno," He murmured, quietly. His golden eyes searching for an understanding that would not come. "Do you weep?"

"I do." The old one whispered. "But for now, white pup, be satisfied. For now, answer an old man's prayers, let the wind and such dark dreams pass beyond you. Rest…" His voice carried the age he possessed. "There will be time…tomorrow."

Sesshoumaru shook himself, but consented. He sat under the old tree's branches with his back pressed the trunk and his eyes closed. He exhaled, and remained still and quiet as the world passed around him, and the promise of Bokuseno's words sunk in.

Soon, he would no longer feel somehow held in between two worlds that were not his. Soon he'd belong. Soon, he'd be…complete.

xxxxx

Goromaru's poison dripped from his fingertips and shimmered in the candlelight like oil. The great demon lord opened his black eyes, and opened his mouth to exhale a little, watching his breath turn to ice. A low growl emitted from his throat. He disliked waiting. He glanced down, beyond his yellowed fingertips and watched as his poison began to eat away at the table and map. He smiled a thick, fanged smile before snapping his attention to the herald that appeared at his doorway. Lord Goromaru smiled at the appearance of Senshomi's crest, and rose, unwrapping his long tail from the back of his chair, and letting curl around the floor to stretch. It snapped to attention a moment later, and shivered. He was tired of waiting. His whole body pulsed for action, and warmth. It was all he could do to stand now, and resist the urge to rend the creature before into small pieces.

"The Lady Senshomi speaks?" Goromaru purred, advancing on the creature.

The herald, a member of Senshomi's own pack, retreated a little. He bowed his beautiful head, and spoke. His voice sounded like silk, and matched the grace of his movements. He was cultured, like a pearl and just as charming. Goromaru cracked his black, oily knuckles as he watched the prefect creature. "Milady bids me tell you, her son travels to the battle."

Goromaru hissed at this revelation. "Tell the lady, I am not her lap dog to be order about by her whim. My armies are waiting. Her son is not my concern."

The creature lifted his head, and shifted his eyes on Goromaru. The Scorpion shifted under such a magnificent gaze and looked away. He had had heard often of the clan's beauty, and their grace; indeed it was said that Senshomi had been without blemish or imperfection but he had never seen one of the moon-kissed up close.

And now, staring at the creature's form, at the blue of his skin, the star emblazed into his crown and the lapis lazuli of his eyes; Goromaru wanted him. Such was their power, the great Scorpion Lord reasoned; they lured you with their looks, and killed with their guile. Goromaru flexed his claws again.

"Great leader," the creature whispered. "She wishes nothing of the sort." He tilted his head, letting the waves of alabaster hair fall to a side. "In fact, she wishes for you to prepare him a proper welcome. To whet his taste."

Goromaru laughed, and clapped one scaly hand on the man's naked back. He felt the creature's warm skin crawl under his cold fingers but he paid it no mind. Let the creature think he was better. It made no difference now. He walked out of his tent, not caring for the man to follow. "Gin," He called to his nearest lieutenant. "Amass the armies, and attack at your leisure." His knuckles popped again as he reached for the blade at his hip. "Leave no living thing in the Dog General's camp."

Masami watched as the Scorpions rose to arms, and swept across the lands like a plague. He could see, even in the nightlight, the black shadow that was Goromaru's armies cross the river between one camp and another. It took a few moments before the lamps of the Inutaisho camp began to flicker in the blackness, like fireflies in their death keels. He was too far away to hear the shouting, to smell the blood as it began to spill and seep into the grounds.

But he thought he could hear the land crying out. He felt the Western Lands that had been in his family's custody for centuries shout out from this violation. It did not understand the mindless slaughter in its name. It only knew that it hurt, and begged for him to attend to it. It screamed the ancient name of his people out to him, pleading like a woman clutching her child for mercy and protection.

And silently, damning himself as he did, Masami prayed that they destroyed each other. He prayed that the Inutaisho and the Scorpions would raze and ravage each other till nothing was left of each but a stain of blood upon a rock.

He shut his eyes and wished for the end. He prayed desperately for the war to bleed across the Lands like a holocaust and would route out all that had destroyed the land. He prayed that this war fed Senshomi and Goromaru's hunger till it choked them. He prayed that the Inutaisho would be bathed in the blood that fed So'unga till the blade overcame him and dragged him to hell. He knew it would be painful, that it would be dark and long before the lands recovered from such a battle but in the end; healing would come.

And so Masami prayed for death, and war to come as he fell to his knees, clutching the earth between his fingers…

And weeping.