Small Packages
Her lip is trembling again and he knew it. It's not like it's easy to ignore. Her jaw and her hands are clenched tightly; he knows that the insults are about to fly. Then she will probably huddle up in a ball and try not to . . . he thinks she's trying not to cry. Certainly seems so. All alone, again, in the middle of nowhere.
He stopped in his tracks, thinking now. The pirate ahead kept walking.
"Oi, I'll spend your share if you don't move."
He'll ignore the threat and watch as Mugen melted into the twilight. He was always taught that twilight was a risky time to be out -- it had the worst visibility. Imagine, to be left alone in it. How terrible. Terrible indeed.
Oh, well, he was tired tonight anyways. Jin turned back to the camp, the path dim in the murky twilight. Soon, a fire glimmered at the end. But it was dying. Had they really walked that far away? Or had Fuu not tended to it? He brushed aside a branch. She had definitely not paid any attention to it. Her bedding was laid out, but she was not in it, rather, she was curled up on a flat rock near the river he had insisted they camp near. Water was essential. Another teaching. A night for them, it seemed.
He stoked the fire, adding more wood til the blaze was healthy. He seated himself, crossing his arms, waiting for her to stop her pouting and come be grateful, maybe, that he had opted to stay. After half an hour of silence, Jin finally wondered if she was awake or not. He rises and wondered if he should check. She did not appreciate being woken up before she was thoroughly ready. Then again, she was herself, and would probably fall off the rock and into the river.
He tapped her shoulder gently. "Fuu . . . "
She rolled over and muttered in her sleep before curling back up into a ball. Maybe, just maybe . . .
Sliding a tentative arm around her shoulders and another under her knees, he hoists her up. Fuu, thankfully, stays asleep. Ah, this was good, now to carry her to her bed . . . and . . .
He adjusts her. He has never held someone quite so small. He's used to grown women who want to do things with their feet to his back so he walks around like an old man for a week. They are big. They have big hair, big breats and big hips. They take up so much space, he finds he can never quite hold them as he would like. Besides, they are more intent on earning their pay than for sweet nothings and cuddling. Not that he's ever had any interest in that anyways.
He steps carefully onto the rock, the stone is still warm, and settles himself down, carefully easing the girl into his lap. Indeed, now he sees why men talk of doing such things with their wives. It's nice. Sure, she maybe asleep, but she's warm and he figures she wouldn't mind. At least she's warm right? And so small, it's a wonder, really. Small hands, small face and small feet. But such a large heart. Maybe that was the difference.
He smiles to himself and rests his head on the top of hers. Another teaching; good things do come in small packages.
Note: shrugs I hope someone finds meaning in this, because it's just sort of rambling to me.