Thank you for your reviews! I hope this next part proves equally enjoyable. Have fun!
-- Lm. Samiko
Stolen Seasons II
"You still carry the false animal." The Taiyoukai's words were a statement, not a question.
"He's called a teddy bear," the woman replied with a sigh. "And yes. I do." She hugged the toy closer, otherwise remaining still. Her hair hid her face from him, but from her posture and her scent, he knew she had no fear of him. Strange, coming from a human. For even with her raw miko powers, the woman was no match for him and she must have been aware of it.
"Even after our last meeting, you still carry it," he remarked. "Is it some sort of magic, that it holds such importance to you?" He could think of few other reasons that the woman, though a human and prone to simple-mindedness, would cling to such an obviously flawed object.
Another sigh, her breath joining the breezes that blew over this eastern plain. "Not in the way you mean, Sesshoumaru. He's a child's toy, really. I suppose I ought to give him up, leave him in my home, give him away. But he holds so many memories... of home, my family, my childhood... He knows all of my secrets. He listens." She smiled slightly. "Sometimes he even gives advice." She sobered quickly, but remained silent for long moments, before adding in a low voice, "And he reminds me that... I am not alone."
"Hn." Sesshoumaru let the slightest hint of derision cross his features. "To require such assurance is simple human weakness. Every living being is born alone and dies alone. That is a fact of life."
"But the time in between birth and death is filled with many moments, Sesshoumaru," the woman pointed out, turning the dark brown light of her eyes upon him. "And humans are not made to be solitary animals." She paused silghtly, as though debating her words. "Neither," she added finally, "are dogs."
"I am youkai." A simple statement. A simple fact.
"That doesn't change your essential nature, Sesshoumaru," she contradicted. "I have known too many youkai to believe that."
"It does not," he agreed, "but it gives me the strength and the sense to overcome such petty impulses."
She regarded him solemnly. "If you think the need for companionship is petty, then I truly pity you."
"I pity you," remarked the youkai as he strode past her seated form, "for thinking that it is not."
As he crossed the plain, he heard the faintest whisper of her voice. "Then perhaps I should pity your companions."