She knew she must, but Sango did not want to leave the place where her father and the others were buried. Now that she had found them again at last, she wanted to stay with them, to hold onto this last tenuous connection to them. But her mission would not wait.
That the other members of the group were already gone was proof enough of that. How long would Inuyasha wait for her grief to ebb? How long could any of them wait? Their enemy had already escaped this place and each day they delayed would only increase his lead.
Yet Miroku waited as if they had all the time in the world. She looked over at him through watery eyes and meant to thank him for everything—for moving the bodies to unsullied ground without needing to be asked, for his prayers for the dead, for waiting with her so she didn't have to be alone—but couldn't speak the words. So she turned back to the place of burial, because she did not have to speak out loud for the dead to hear.
I promise, she thought, I'll make proper graves for all of you back at the village one day. And I'll tend them the way they were meant to be tended.
She had nothing else to leave as an offering, so she left only a few wildflowers she had been able to collect from nearby. It wasn't enough; it would never be enough, but it was all she could do.
"Are you ready to go join the others?" Miroku asked when she finally came over to join him.
She wasn't, but she nodded anyway. No sense in delaying further. The only real way to keep her vow was to see this through to the end. Only when Naraku was gone and the Shikon jewel safely disposed of, and everyone had been avenged, could she truly lay her family and the people of her village to rest.
The monk led the way down a long, meandering path toward where the others had gone earlier. Or at least she assumed that was where they were going; she had been too distraught earlier to really pay attention to what Inuyasha and the others had done. If nothing else, it gave her time to compose herself and to do what she could to contain her grief.
After a while, she broke the silence. There was something she needed to know, and she wanted to find out without the others overhearing. "Houshi-sama…"
"Yes, Sango?"
"You lost your father," she began. "Tell me, does it ever get better?"
More than anything she wanted for him to tell her that yes, one day the hole in her heart would heal and the loss would no longer cause her pain. But she knew just from looking at him that he would not tell her this pleasant lie.
"One day it will be bearable," he told her. "Beyond that, who can say?"
There was such terrible compassion in his voice that for once she wished he had lied.