Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha.
Taciturn
Few are the moments she would embroider on her very heart.
The smile of her mother before she had left.
Her first hunt.
The warmth of strong fingers on her wrist when they had first met.
Her son stirs at her breast and fixes her with a stare akin to annoyance.
In passing she wonders if he can taste her melancholy, then shuffles him lightly and watches him resuming his feeding.
Melancholy? Foolish!
Sesshomaru seems pacified.
Hearts are foolish.
Gold eyes pin her, approving, as though she had finally realised something he had known all along.
So is unbridled, blind pride, my son.
His response is a huff, but his eyes respond:
A fair consideration.