I do not own InuYasha or any of the characters created by Rumiko Takahashi

The Path Home

The sun was setting.

InuYasha walked up the old familiar path. Although the shadows were deepening, he didn't need any light to find his way home. How many times had he taken it? He had no idea. Years now. He knew every bump in the road, his bare feet familiar with each stone and root that crossed it.

He stopped and ducked under a place where a branch hung low. He had caught his hair in it more times that he'd liked to admit when he was in a hurry, and he had always meant to trim it, but never got around to it. A little further on, he reached that one place where a deep buried stone pushed up. It forced the path into an awkward swerve around it. He had tried to dig it up once, but it went deep into the earth, maybe part of the bedrock, and he gave up.

A bit further up the hill, he reached the place the local stream came close to the footpath, a place where he had dug a deep hole and lined it with stones to make fetching water easier. The water there cascaded down from a spring higher up the ridge and always tasted sweeter than anybody's well water. It was a comfortable place where he kept the shrubs that wanted to grow there cut down, and was shaded by old, tall trees. He smiled at all the times he had found Miroku waiting to talk to him there, staring at the water, listening to the sound of falling water, or sitting under a big tree nearby. His friend had told him time and again that it was more peaceful there than any place by his house. Considering the size and makeup of his household, InuYasha was inclined to believe him. The hanyou's ear flicked as he gave it one more glance, then turned to his destination.

Walking a few steps beyond, he stopped, and rested his hand on the last tree that edged the clearing ahead of him, the place he was headed to, and he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The scents revealed a lot to him. There was the scent of newly cut wood, a tree he had brought in recently to turn into firewood. Drifting a bit from the back of the clearing was the scent of fermenting miso, not his favorite smell, but one he could live with. There was the smell of the garden and its compost pile, a dark earthy smell that spoke of permanence. These, like the faint scents of deer and rabbit and other small animals were just background to what lay ahead. Other scents were stronger. He smelled smoke, the smoke of a fire that was cooking dinner. He could make out the odors of rice and rabbit even from where he stood.

That scent woke up a hunger he didn't know he had, but it was what else he smelled that had him open his eyes and quicken his step. Above all else was the sweet scent that had brought him out of total darkness, aided him through the disaster and near death, who had been there when he learned to trust, to be a friend, to hope.

He hurried along the path, past the washtub still filled with the day's laundry water, past the empty water buckets waiting for him, past the toy fort his son had built. He was about to lift the doormat, when it lifted, and the reason for any of his knowing of the way here stepped out.

"Oh, good, you're home!" Kagome said, a warm smile on her face. "I was hoping you'd make it back today. You and Miroku have any problem?"

"Just a rat youkai," he said. "Bouzu didn't even need me to do anything, really. Except carry back his payment." He stepped up and wrapped his arms around her. "Would have rather been here than there."

She pecked him lightly on the lips. "Dinner's almost ready. Bring in some more firewood?"

He nodded and let her go. With a contented sigh, he headed for the firewood stack. Another thing she had taught him. Home was where she was. And every step of the way was worth it.