Her scent was muddled when he returned. Hackles rising, the deer slid from his shoulders, landing beside the fire instead of at the miko's feet.
She was wearing the monk's clothing.
The violet outer robes were fastened tightly over one shoulder, goosebumps breaking out on her skin as the miko picked at the dark fabric.
Unacceptable.
"Thanks, Miroku. I should've been more careful." She unconsciously rubbed her arms. "My robes should be dry in the morning."
The kit met his gaze, then crossed his arms. "Wasn't your fault, Kagome. You wouldn't have spilled the stew if Baka-Yasha hadn't been pouting."
Sesshoumaru's jaw clenched before his haori was dropped over her bare shoulders.
