A/N: Upped rating for themes in future chapters. Please take the rating seriously.

Day 33

Sango wiped the sweat from her brow, squinting into the dense brush. A flash of pain across her cheek made her wince. Her fingers flittered over the grimy bandage on her face but she eventually forced her hand down to rest on Kirara's head where it pressed against her hip. Touching the bandage only seemed to worsen the ache in the deep, thin cut Inuyasha had given her.

Subconsciously, Sango flexed her hand against the warm fur, feeling the skin over her knuckles pull taut. The split on her knuckles was healing nicely in comparison, and she wished she'd used Kagome's salve more equally between her injuries. She'd gone the practical route, rationalizing she needed her hand more than her face, but the latter injury had been deeper than she bargained for and she could tell now it was going to scar—a thin line peeling from cheekbone to ear.

Sango grimaced. She had her fair share of scars-her back alone had become a webbed nightmare that she was thankful she couldn't look at—but she'd never scarred on her face. It was silly, but she felt oddly self conscious about it. And she'd just been lecturing Inuyasha about taking care of himself not days ago, too.

Kirara nudged her hand, forcing Sango to look down. The youkai was laying down in her large form and stretched out with her head on her paws such that she took up the entire branch they were on, but not a leaf rustled or a branch squeaked. Her red slitted eyes blinked slowly at her with intelligence and Sango felt the reprimand for fidgeting. Amused, she rubbed a finger along the rim of a large ear and cracked a smile when Kirara's eyes half lidded in pleasure.

The smile faded from her face when she turned her attention back to the clearing ahead. They'd been waiting here, carefully downwind, for several hours. She was already exhausted and the pull to give up for the day was strong but she resisted. It was getting close to sunset and if anything happened it would be soon.

A few days ago, she'd heard a rumor of a strange bipedal youkai wandering the northern mountains, looting on caravans. While these caravans were typically razed they were never decimated that they couldn't continue limping in to the nearest village. Oddly, they always came in with a random portion of their wares missing: food stores, a crate of linens, clay pottery, once a barrel of distilled alcohols. It didn't seem like there was any forethought in what was taken, but this abnormal behavior pricked her instincts.

Sango was jostled out of her thoughts when Kirara's ears moved under her hand, straightening. She flashed a glance to her companion to see those red eyes trained unerringly ahead. Sango felt a flash of adrenaline, lifting her hand away to press steadily into the tree trunk on her right.

It didn't take long; eventually she too could hear the pound of slow heavy foot steps. The excitement dwindled into apprehension. It sounded—big.

Her suspicions were confirmed when in the distance to the east she spotted birds take flight into the sky. Sango did a quick calculation, then fisted a hand quietly in Kirara's neck. They were far enough away that youkai's trajectory should not take it past their perch, but if the creature deviated they would have to break for it. They could not engage, not if they wanted to figure out what it was doing—at least she knew this, but the thought left a sour taste in Sango's mouth. She focused reassuringly on the weight of Hiraikotsu on her back for just a moment. It was strapped tightly to her back, wrapped in cloth to muffle noise. The state of it wasn't ideal—the weapon would be heavier and slippery when thrown—but it was better than leaving it behind.

The creature lumbered into view and she swallowed.

It was almost three meters tall, with a dark purple skin that gleamed with sharp spikes in the sunlight. It stood on short, thick legs with three black clawed toes, but its bulging arms hung nearly to its knees, and its three—no, four fingered hands were the size of her head. It's own head had a strange combination of reptilian and mammalian features with yellow eyes and slitted nostrils but a human like jaw, small ears and a shock of pale lavender hair. Everything was slightly off, like the features had been rearranged incompletely, and it made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

Asymmetry, Sango thought grimly. She remembered her old Taijya instructor lecturing to her class of initiates, standing ramrod straight with his hands behind his back and only the white at his temples giving any indication of age. Look for symmetries, he had said. Symmetry was a hallmark of natural growth. Asymmetry, on the other hand, was the hall mark of unnatural growth, intent, trial and error. A youkai with asymmetric properties must always be taken out as quickly as possible, because it meant it was undergoing a change. An evolution.

Against every screaming instinct, Sango stood and watched as the youkai lumbered about. It's unfocused gaze seemed to dart back and forth between the trees, but it gave off the air of being confused. Twice it tripped and nearly fell, but always caught itself with a dizzying display of speed. There was something clutched in its hand that it pressed protectively to its chest but Sango couldn't see it with out getting closer and she had a feeling that its current clumsiness would give way to unerring predetorial grace if she got within hearing distance.

Sango gripped Hiraikotsu's strap, tight enough until her knuckles pinched. She could probably take it out with Hiraikotsu. But the trees around here were problematic; a long, wide throw would be heard toppling trees long before it reached the youkai. A vertical throw might do the trick if she had a clear path, but it would be difficult. Too little power and Hiraikotsu would not have the proper spin to shear through what looked like a tough, scaly hide. Too much power and it would miss its target, biting into the earth too short. She'd need to throw perfect; the kind of throw she'd made in her prime, when her back wasn't a scabby, stiff mess that no longer moved the way it once had.

Sango flexed her back, feeling resistance and an odd thickness, and it brought a wash of slow, simmering anger. She knew without having to try that she could not make the throw—and even if she started to recondition the muscles of her back, she might never be able to throw with the precision she once had. The thought was so bitter that she had to close her eyes briefly against it. But it was true. She wouldn't shy away from the truth. Her, the strongest taijya, the last taijya, brought low by the limits of her own flesh.

Kirara nudged her hand. When she looked down, those red eyes were compassionate in a way that made Sango's heart ache with thankfulness. Amid all her loss, Kirara was still there, patient and accepting. Sango couldn't think of where she would be if she had lost Kirara too.

With something a shade too close to helplessness, the taijya and the cat youkai watched the creature continue its bumbling path into the forest and disappear.

That night, she dreamed something new for the first time.

He wanted to have tea. She'd thought it would be like the few other times he had visited her, informal. It still was informal, but it had all the trappings of a damn ceremony.

Lord Kagewaki sat on his knees with a patient grace as the servants brought in a low table. Sango, leaning against one of the maids, watched with growing trepidation as a brazier was placed at the head of it, then a tea pot set to steam. It was a beautifully crafted earthenware pot, delicate and likely as fragile as rice paper, and Sango trembled at the thought of being within a meter of it.

Soon enough, everything had been placed and the maid was slowly lowering Sango to her knees at the table. Even though she had been freshly changed, she felt every bead of sweat on her torso and arms, every chaffing pass of the robe on the skin of her shoulders. She was still reeling from her most recent changing. She wanted to curl up in a ball in a dark corner and close her eyes, not kneel formally in front of the most powerful person of this land, a person that she owed her life to. But he was watching her with those eyes the color of deep violet and a meticulously crafted expression of boredom, and she'd sooner shove her hand in a stove fire than admit to his face that she couldn't sit through a cup of tea.

So she sat stiffly, shoulders back, her face a mask of serenity as she gave a perfect bow over her knees and the flames of pain in her body licked and flickered.

"Rise, please," he said. He had a beautiful voice, silk against her ears. "Do not tax yourself more than necessary on my account."

Sango suppressed a flash of annoyance. Then why where they having tea?

The pain must have made her more transparent than she thought. On raising her head, she caught a flash of amusement on his face, but he hid it so smoothly in a gesture to one of the servants that she started to doubt herself. His expression was back to perfunctory curiosity and boredom, and she felt a flash of shame, then of defiance. Maybe he expected her to be an uncouth barbarian, a common accusation against the Taijya.

She had her pride, damn it.

"Thank you, my lord," she murmured, lowering her eyes demurely in an effort to defy all stereotypes. However, when the servant reached for the kettle and the Lord waved him off, Sango had to fight not to stare. He couldn't be serious. He, the lord of the entire region, was not planning on serving her tea.

When he reached for the tea pot, she found herself saying, "Please, Lord, if you would do me the honor."

He stilled, then sat back, studying her. She felt a flash of triumph at the new interest in his expression, even as her body screamed at her for the pointless exertion. When he gestured gracefully, she bowed, carefully repositioned herself closer to the kettle and took a small breath.

She folded her focus over and over until it was only her, the prince, and the tea pot. When she picked it up, the tea pot felt cool and smooth under her fingers. When she began to pour, it was in a smooth stream without a single tremble. The prince watched her, an eyebrow raising slowly.

"A capable woman," he said, surprising her. She had expected him to ignore her obvious efforts, like she imagined a normal prince would do. She said nothing, moving to pour the second cup.

"Not at all, my lord," she said when she had finished. "This is only a small thing I can do, to repay your kindness."

He wrapped his hands around his cup and lifted it with a delicateness that made her almost envious. He had beautiful hands, she noticed. Smooth skin with long fingers and carefully trimmed nails. She tried not to look at her own calloused, scarred hands as she lifted her own cup up in near perfect mimicry.

"It is not a kindness when it was the fault of my father—or the demon impersonating my father—that got you injured in the first place," he said carefully, watching her.

Sango lips thinned slightly at the memories his words brought, but she squashed them down for another time. She shook her head.

"But you are nurturing me back to health. I can not repay such a debt."

He contemplated that a moment. Something new came into his eyes then, an unfamiliar sight in the stoic man he usually seemed to be. His eyes flickered over her and she felt suddenly self-conscious. "That remains to be seen," he said, almost to himself. His voice sounded…odd.

When she looked at him, brows drawn together in question, he shook his head and continued, "Speaking of health, exactly how are your injuries coming along?"

It was her turn to contemplate her answer. It was hard to sound at ease with the increased pounding in her head. "Well enough, my lord."

Suddenly, his voice was sharp. "But not so well enough that you should be receiving visitors, even a lord?"

Her hand slipped, a splash of tea blooming on the table next to her cup. She paused, staring at it, feeling his gaze like a burn on her face, before setting the cup on the table. She moved to put her hands in her lap, and just in time—she could no longer suppress the trembling.

"You are bleeding again," he told her almost kindly and she didn't have to look to know it was true.

She looked at him then, mouth open to object, and felt her breath catch at the crooked smile he was giving her. It changed his face entirely, turning the lord into a young man, and she became suddenly aware of the angles of his face and the curve of his lips against his teeth. They were alone in this vast room and yet it was suddenly too small. Her mouth closed with a click.

"Forgive my indulgence," he said quietly, that new light back and smoldering his eyes into twilight. "We have so few guests here. I am afraid I yearned more for beautiful company than was wise, and now you are in pain."

Sango swallowed. This wasn't the lord of the land, and this wasn't the prince of the castle. The question was, who was it?

When she didn't say anything, the smile slipped from his face to be replaced with something solemn and accepting. This time, she saw the way it smoothed over his expression, like a well kept mask.

"Shall I leave?" he asked, and she had the distinct feeling she was being tested. If only she knew what she was being tested for.

It didn't matter though; she had her duty and her pride, and weakness never factored into either.

"Please stay, my lord," she said quietly, twisting her fingers into her robe. "Let us at least finish our tea."

She watched as slowly, Kagewaki's mask frayed at the edges. Then, like dawn under a lavender sky, that crooked smile crept across his mouth and she felt heat creep into her chest and neck.

"As my lady wishes," he murmured, and they sipped their tea in silence, save for the pounding of her heart.

Sango woke suddenly in the dark and she stared wide eyed until the sky was lavender and gold with a new day.

Day 35

"Hey, are you doing okay?" Kagome frowned.

Sango looked up slowly, chopsticks poised in her mouth. She had been staring numbly at a crack on the floor near the table leg and thinking it looked like a mushroom. Her head felt like it was stuffed with down feathers. She flushed a little when Miroku looked up from his cup of tea curiously.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

Kagome shrugged. "I don't know. I thought you looked really tired."

Sango swallowed carefully, then lowered her hands to the table. Even that motion felt heavy. Tired did not describe what state she was in, but she couldn't say that. If she did she'd have to explain, and how did one go about explaining that she wasn't sleeping because she was avoiding her dreams?

"A little," she admitted, poking her bowl of rice. She knew she needed to eat, keep up her strength. She forced another large swallow and reached for the tea. Hopefully the aroma would wake her and keep her from staring at cracks in the floor.

"Anything interesting we need to know?" Miroku asked over his own cup. She was distracted momentarily by the manner he held his cup, found herself mentally comparing to another man. When she realized what she was doing, she slowly put her own cup down and rubbed her forehead.

Dreams be damned, she was getting sleep tonight.

The two traded information. They both confirmed the main rumors regarding youkai in possession of shikon jewel shards, but there were a few that Miroku had not heard. Still, any information about the shikon shards did little more than suggest a direction to wander in. Kagome could sense all the shards on the periphery of her inner sight but had difficulty deciphering numbers at a great distance. A rumor was easily identified as real or fake once they had travelled close enough for Kagome to confirm.

It also seemed that the others had dropped their questions regarding the local lord, so Sango shared what little she had discovered. When she mentioned the abnormal youkai, Miroku frowned slightly.

"That is troublesome," he said, eyes staring with inner contemplation at the table. "And there was no jewel shard?"

Sango shook her head. "I cannot sense the shards the way Kagome can, but I know, just as you do, when a jewel shard is involved." She traced her empty bowl of rice with a finger. "I think the lack of a shard makes it more concerning to me," she added.

Miroku nodded. "Any idea of the source?"

Kagome's head popped up at that, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Miroku turned to her, saving Sango from explaining. "Unlike humans, youkai have the ability to evolve themselves. But to do so, they must consume vast quantities of life force." He nodded towards the chain around the girl's neck. "We don't see this as much now a days, as a youkai can transform quite rapidly with just a single shard of the jewel. But before the jewel had been broken, it usually took much longer." His expression turned troubled. "And usually many things had to die before such a state could be observed."

Kagome bit her thumb, thinking through that a moment. "So then, we don't know where that youkai is getting his energy," she said.

Sango nodded. "It cannot be from the attacks on the caravans. Those are too small in scale." A chill ran down her spine. "There must be a slaughter somewhere so devastating that no one survived to send out news."

Miroku was looking at her closely. "You did the right thing, waiting," he said suddenly. "If you killed it, there is no guarantee that something else wouldn't just take its place. We need to find the source, not the messenger."

"I can only hope," she said quietly, and after her words there was silence for a time.

There was a rustle as Shippou, yawning, moved away from the corner he and a small Kirara had curled up in. The cat opened one eye, then closed it again, settling down. Sango watched with amusement as the fox stumbled towards them and climbed onto Kagome's shoulder.

"Hi Sango," Shippou said, a little shyly, those bright green eyes blinking sleepily at her.

Sango replied kindly. Kirara's fondness of the small fox lately had sealed the deal, so to speak, of Sango's affection for the little guy. Kirara was never wrong about people.

"Are you going to stay with us today?" he asked.

Sango shook her head. "Unfortunately no. In fact, I should probably go now," she said, standing. "I want to make it to the next village before sun down and it'll be a long flight."

At that, Kirara opened both her eyes and looked at her, but Sango waved her down. She needed to get the packs first, and Kirara could use the rest. At least one of them should capitalize on it. "Til next week?"

She felt a little pang of loss when Kagome smiled at her warmly, and Miroku gave a wave of farewell. This was how things were going to be from now on. That was fine, but being alone for so long had made her miss their camaraderie deeply. Before she could let that emotion slip on her face, she gave a quick nod and turned quickly to the door.

When she had closed the sliding door, she turned and ran straight into Inuyasha.

Her nose bumped into the chest of his haori and immediately, clawed hands came up to steady her. She inhaled, smelling earth and pine needles and that something that was him, dark and clean—and she must be damned tired, because it wasn't unpleasant in the least. She blinked up at him to find his eyes on her face, and then his hands suddenly fell away and he took a step back.

"Hello," she said, unsure. She hadn't seen him all day. In fact, she hadn't seen him since she'd hurt her hand on his face.

He ignored her greeting. His eyes were fixed on the bandage on her cheek, and under his scrutiny, she found herself raising shaky fingers to touch it. It ached at the light touch, and she was too tired to hide the wince.

At her movement, he went still. His face was utterly blank and it made her nervous. She waited for him to say something but instead he reached a clawed hand forward and for a crazy moment she thought he was going to touch her. Her breath stopped.

There was only a slight flicker of his eyes at the response, from her face to her mouth. But then his gaze moved over her head and his arm continued its motion over her shoulder to slide open the door behind her with a smooth snap.

She didn't move but she didn't have to. He side stepped around her, making sure not to touch her, then closed the door behind him. A moment later, she could hear the murmuring of voices, and then the low sound of his response.

Sango stood there unbelieving for a long time, then her jaw clenched and she closed her eyes.

She wanted to spin right around. She wanted to lift the door off its track and bring it down hard on his head. She didn't move until she knew she'd controlled herself, but it was still a long moment until she finally permitted herself to move stiffly down the hall to the exit. He wanted to play that way? That was fine with her.

A friend, huh? She scoffed. She didn't need him. She didn't need that.

She dozed on Kirara's back, wind in her hair and the fur soft against her cheek. She hoped that her exhaustion would drop her right into dreamless sleep.

Sango was in the process of reaching for the wooden beam of the far wall to pull herself up when the door slid open with a muffled noise and Lord Kagewaki was staring at her.

She froze, feeling like a child caught red handed stealing food from the kitchen, and slowly peeked up at him. She watched with mortification as a slow smile broke across his face, and she turned quickly away to stare at the wall.

"This isn't what it looks like," she said quickly, then cursed at her own lie. It was exactly what it looked like.

"Are you trying to escape, my dear?" he said, and the low teasing in his voice was new and odd and made the heat rise up her neck.

"From your maids, maybe," she retorted to the wall. Gods, if she heard another lecture on taking proper care of her injuries she was going to climb up the wall. "I am perfectly capable of leaving this room on my own."

"Of course you are," he said indulgently, making her almost turn around to glare at him. That is, until he stepped in and the the shoji screen closed behind him. It might as well have been slammed by the way it set her heart racing. If she'd wanted to get out of the room before, she really wanted to get out of the room now. Preferably with him still in it.

She heard him as he moved towards her and she tamped down on her flight instinct. She was not a deer being stalked by a predator. When he crouched behind her, a hands breath of distance between them that was just within the levels of normal decorum, she could still feel the wall of his warmth radiating along her back.

"Can I be of any assistance?" he said lowly, and she was entirely convinced now this was another of his games. Beneath the stoic exterior of the lord was a bored man that spent far too much time alone with the servants. That part of him seemed to come out more and more when he was around her. She almost preferred the lord; it made things so much simpler.

"That would defeat the purpose, my lord," she said pointedly, and was startled at his laugh. Rich and smooth, it rolled over her like a gentle breeze.

"You are right," he said, eyes gleaming. "But I must confess, it will be quite boring for me to watch you struggle towards the door for the next bell. I'd much rather enjoy the sun." And then, teasingly, "I won't even tell the maids."

The look she shot him was so full of hope that he covered a hand to his mouth to hide his grin. She hated when he looked at her like that, like a pet that he needed to indulge, and he knew it. He was trying to be on his best behavior, which of course only made her madder.

She sniffed at the wall. "All right. But only because I've been longing for the sun too." She waited for him to help her up.

Nothing happened. She blinked, cautiously looking back at him, to find him studying her with a more serious expression. What was he waiting for?

When her eyes met his, he smiled slightly, as if that was exactly what he'd been waiting for. Then he moved towards her, blocking out the rest of the room, and her adrenaline spiked high as his hands reached for her.

This was a terrible idea.

She felt his hands at her waist at first, the lightest of touches. They were so large, and she felt suddenly the difference in their size in a way she hadn't before. When they slid slowly around her waist, she stopped breathing and she could almost feel his smile against the back of her head.

She thought he might try to carry her, and if he tried she didn't know what she would do—probably be sentenced to death for what she would do. But he didn't; he lifted her with a considerable strength that made her eyebrows lower in confusion—this, a sick man?—and allowed her time to balance her weight on her feet. When she was steady, she nodded and he carefully maneuvered one of her arms over the breadth of his shoulders. His other arm curled around her waist and if it was a tad too tight, a shade too possessive, she tried not to acknowledge it.

He was a lord. Why would he have interest in her? This was just another one of his games.

They made slow but steady progress across the room, and soon they were out and making their way to the garden. When the first hint of a breeze caressed her face, she gave a light sigh. She was looking forward to hearing the song birds. Lord Kagewaki had been teaching her some of their names.

She expected them to stop along the closest perimeter of the garden, but when she paused he merely shook his head and pulled her forward. They continued like that, slowly moving around the space, her confusion only mounting as the flowers grew fewer, the trees thinning. They were approaching the back of the garden and she realized suddenly they were moving somewhere very specific.

When she shot him a startled look he merely shrugged. "This is where you wanted to go first, is it not? There will still be plenty of sun afterwards."

Her heart in her throat, she only nodded.

Soon enough, they were standing in front of the graves—the graves of her family. Surprisingly it wasn't at all that hard to let herself quietly grieve in front of him. Perhaps because he gave her privacy by looking away to the other parts of the garden and she could hide herself in the curtain of her hair.

She didn't cry, just stared overwhelmed at the graves, feeling parts of her flake away at the rawness of her feelings. She was nothing but a jagged wound and she knew with certainty that though she may scar, she would never fully heal.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," he said suddenly, breaking her revere. His profile was full of quiet compassion and of everything, his jokes, his teasing, his games, it was this that made her want to touch him, any part of him, his arm or the littlest of his fingers, just to feel something human and alive under her skin.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, unable to say more, afraid that her longing might bleed out of her.

She felt his grip on waist tighten, and then he turned and was looking down at her, his attention wide and infinite. "But I am not sorry that it brought you here."

Nervously, almost fearfully, she looked up at him. He wasn't smiling. But his eyes were dark, warm, full of unsaid promises and she had to look away for fear she might actually read them.

"Forgive my indulgence," he murmured, and with his free hand reached out, a finger touching the tips of her long hair.

She just didn't understand.

Sango opened her eyes to find them blurry and hot. The sight of the sun setting in jagged streaks of red and the wind against her face was almost soothing. She buried her face into Kirara's neck, feeling the cat give a soft croon in her chest, and resisted giving into the tears.

Why was she remembering this now? Worse, what more was there to remember?

"Damn it," she whispered. "Damn it."