Chapter 3: Day 17

Two days later and she awoke to the sound of cicadas and a persistent buzz, almost like a beehive was near by. Her hand moved silently to her blade. Kirara gave a little murmur in her throat, still in her large form, eyes slitted and red in the dark. Sango put a hand on her chest.

Something was creeping around the brush. It was being careful. She could hear only the barest stir of leaves and a hypnotic, insect-like hum. Sinking further into the curl of Kirara's body, Sango very slowly moved her head so it appeared she was resting on her side. Eyes narrowed, she peered across the camp.

It sounded like a colony demon. They had some of them up north, closer to the mountains and where there was plenty of room to create their elaborate honey comb caves. Some toxin in their saliva turned stone a pearlescent color. There was a saying amongst the Taijya that if you entered a cave as white as the moon, leave immediately. That, or bring a torch.

The problem with these demons was that like ants, they sent out scouts to retrieve human prey to bring back to the nest. Their throats produced a hypnotizing lullaby that kept prey peaceful and still as they were carried off. Worse, they preferred children.

The sound of this type of demon was one of the first things Sango had learned as a child. Her father, newly widowed and carrying for the sickly Kohaku, had taught his three year old daughter how the cicadas always clicked feverishly, how the smell of sweet grass always grew thick in the air, and how she should always come and get him whenever she grew sleepy. They had made a game of it then, but now Sango remembered how tired and pale he always seemed. She wondered how many nights he spent at her bedside after putting Kohaku to sleep, keeping vigilance while she slept.

A rustle of a tree branch drew Sango's attention to the west. It seemed to be circling, making occasionally clicks. Sango glanced at the fire, then at Kagome and the kitsune sleeping against a nearby tree. Her lips thinned—she had never liked how this group seemed content to sleep out in the open. She hadn't mentioned it before—too busy keeping her distance, the line drawn between them clear. Now, she would have to be swift. A roll to the left, towards the fire where she could grab a lit branch. Insect demons hated smoke. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, Sango readjusted her grip on her blade and prepared to signal Kirara.

"It's back, isn't it?" came a whisper.

Sango stilled, tensing. Her eyes darted to the left, where the light of the fire cast a faint shadow on the monk's features. He was reclined against a tree, posture relaxed and affecting sleep, but there was a curious tilt to his head that was too thoughtful. He also seemed to be addressing something beside him.

Sango waited a breath and was rewarded when there was a slight thump and Inuyasha appeared, crouched at Miroku's elbow.

"No," he grunted back. "I killed the other one—" Other one? Sango thought, alarmed, "—but these bastard like to hunt in pairs." There was a pause. "How are the wards?"

Miroku tilted his head a little more, eyes still closed. "Holding. It knows we are here, but it can't tell where. The repulsion charm should be enough."

Repulsion charms, Sango thought. She had heard of those, but only at expensive establishments which could be lavish with their wealth. While her father had never invested in any, he had said they were quite powerful. And that a monk that could perform one was worth far more than the thousands of mon it would take to even get a small ward.

There was a moment of silence between the men. Inuyasha picked up a small branch off the ground and began delicately carving it with a nail. Sango shuddered slightly at such a careless act, thinking of how those same claws this morning had shredded youkai flesh like rice paper.

Miroku cracked open an eye, stark blue even from this distance. "Do you know why they are following us?"

She saw Inuyasha glance up at her, amber eyes like torches, and she quickly closed her own, heart beating fast. He grunted in the affirmative and made a gesture she did not see, but knew well was directed at her.

He was blaming her? How typical. She slitted open her eyes and watched him turn back to his tree branch.

Miroku studied him a moment. "I thought they are attracted to children," he said finally.

She watched Inuyasha shake his head. "It's not the children," he said quietly.

Sango couldn't take it anymore. She sat up abruptly, pushing her bangs from her eyes. "And how would you know that?"

Miroku jumped a little, eyes flicking open to look at where she and Kirara lay. Inuyasha however, began to grumble and glower at his stick. He knew I was awake, she thought.

"Sango," Miroku said, but she ignored him and fixed narrowed eyes on Inuyasha. He stubbornly refused to look back at her.

"Well?" she demanded.

After a moment, he turned cold eyes on her. "Not that it is any of your damn business," he said. "But I used to run into a lot of them as a kid."

"And?," she said shortly. "We all have. That hardly means—"

"It's the smell," he interrupted.

"Smell?"

He scowled at her expression. "Fear gives off a scent on its own. The biyosho drink it the way you do water. They use it to spin their cocoons. That is why if you get touched by one, you can't control your fear anymore. It consumes you."

Like she would ever let such a thing touch her. "If that is true, then why children? Why is it always the children?"

He broke off a protruding stem off his branch, face closed. "Children feel more helpless. They give into their nightmares more easily," He wasn't looking at her, but he might as well have. "Their fear is more…"

He didn't continue, but Sango knew where he was going. "Potent?" she spat.

He sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"You are right," she said quietly, getting to her feet. Her fingers trembled. "I wouldn't."

She drew her blade, feeling the delicious thrill of metal against metal sheath. She saw Miroku grip his staff and felt a surge of betrayal—he was a human, but he would defend this hanyou first. But Inuyasha didn't blink an eyelash. He stared at her hard, amber eyes hot and swimming, and even across the distance she had to stifle her rising pulse.

"Excuse me," she said frostily. "But I am going to go kill that thing so that it doesn't get bored and go steal someone's child." She turned on her heel swiftly and stalked into the brush. When Kirara tried to rise as she passed, she waved her down. This was her kill.

She was tired of being afraid.

The nightmares hadn't ceased. The ones that had plagued her every night since she'd awoken to the feel of dirt on her face. Ever since, she had awoken with terrible, gut wrenching fear, and even now she could feel that insect hum like a caress on her senses, enticing her.

He said it like it was nothing. Being helpless. Afraid. But these were real, terrifying feelings to her, things she couldn't tolerate if she wanted to move forward even another day. She had gotten used to biting her tongue and wiping at her face and thinking, its morning and I'm alive.

But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. And she was sick of pretending it would one day.

She found the youkai, slithering anxiously against a line of ofuda. She cut it down with a single stroke and torched it, staying to watch it burn and crumble like dust.

She remembered how terrified she had been as a child of this thing and yet knowing that she could not let Otou-san know, because he would worry. Because he might start crying again. Now faced with it, it seemed almost pitable. Pathetic.

When she returned to camp, the fire had dwindled low. Miroku was asleep, or feigning it, and Inuyasha was nowhere to be seen. Feeling exhausted, she buckled down next to Kirara, curling into her mane. She almost didn't feel the scrutiny of eyes somewhere in the dark.

There were still nightmares though. There might...always be.