Chapter 14: Day 66
"—Are you all right, onee-san?"
Sango started, looked up from the patterns she was tracing in the road. A small girl stood in front of her, twisting the hem of her coarse dress in her hands. There wasn't a speck of her that wasn't smudged with dirt, although she was so darkly suntanned it was hard to tell. Brown eyes peered at her curiously.
Onee-san. Sister.
The girl was just being polite but Sango stared back at a loss for words. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been called that.
When the girl shifted awkwardly, Sango let out the breath she'd been holding, realizing that she was being excessively rude.
"I'm all right," she said after a moment, trying for a polite smile. The girl looked skeptical, but then shrugged and skipped away, trailing after her parents who had walked on without noticing in deep conversation. Sango watched her go, a belated flash of unease washing over her as she realized she hadn't even heard the girl approach. Gods, she was tired.
"Onee-san", she muttered. The part that had thrown her, the ironic part, was that Kohaku had never called her that when they were growing up—always using the formal Ane-ue. Or at least not since he was a baby and hardly able to walk, back in a time when their family had just been the three of them. Before her father had become leader of the village and their places in society—and to each other—had changed.
Sango sighed, hiding her head in her arms.
She was sitting on the side of the road, Hiraikotsu supporting her weight. Kirara had needed a break from flying, and so they'd sat near a busy crossroad and ate strips of salted jerky and dried fruits—a staple in any Taijya's travel kit. Kirara had wandered off in her small form to chase insects and Sango had been too tired to call her back, just staring at the people that passed by and trying to work herself up to go down to the nearby village and ask about the latest news.
She had not slept well last night, or the night before. Part of it was that she was anxious of dreaming, afraid of what she might see. But the pragmatic side of her wanted to sleep. She didn't want to think about her problems: Naraku, the shikon jewel… the group. What they were doing. What Inuyasha had thought. How easy it had been to leave, to slip away—they must have thought nothing of it. They expected her to, after all.
And yet every time she would close her eyes determined to go to sleep, the eyes of the dead woman from the caravan haunted her. Sightless, blood seeping from the corner of her eye. She had died in pure terror, not knowing if the children she was protecting would survive. A reminder of fragility, futility. A reminder that she was running out of time.
Sango opened her eyes and stood, arms dropping limply at her sides. After a moment, she hefted Hiraikotsu on her shoulder and put her fingers to her mouth. The whistle was high, short, and brief. Kirara would know what it meant—I'm going ahead.
She merged with the traffic of the road, doing her best to listen to the chatter of the people close by as they talked about the happenings in their lives. Mostly it was things that were irrelevant to her—the weather, the yield of the crops, the drama going on between the house wives, the fights that broke out between the men. But occasionally there were mentions of youkai attacks or incidents where people started acting strangely. These she took mental note of as she went about the morning scouting out the market and restocking her supplies.
She was in the middle of talking to a young man at a food stand asking about when the last caravan had passed by when she saw a flash of dark hair and green out of the corner of her eye.
"…shorted me a whole cask of rice mead," the man was grumbling, "we'll see if they ever step foot in—"
She whipped her head around immediately, tiredness evaporating. Her heart pounded. But there was nothing, just a boy and a girl playing with pebbles on the side of the road, a mother watching them from the stoop of her hut.
"I'll skin them alive the—uh, Ma'am?"
She was already striding swiftly away from the booth, moving deeper into the village center as she scanned around. She ducked between a pair of maidens carrying water basins on their shoulders, dodged a gaggle of screaming children, nearly collided with an old man pulling a bull down the street. The village square was bustling and she recognized no one.
After apologizing to the old man, who only gave her a disgruntled huff and stalked off with his ox, Sango took a deep breath and tried to will herself to relax. It had been nothing. The girl from her earlier had thrown her off. The exhaustion was getting to her. She rubbed her aching temples. She needed to sleep.
She turned back to the market street, wondering which direction the nearest inn was and exactly how much it would cut into her thinning coin purse...
…and she saw a ghost.
He was standing to the side near one of the street vendors, inspecting their wares. He was wearing a green threadbare yukata on top of a black body suit and in his arms he carried a basket of plums and a wrapped package of meat. He wore no armor, but there was no mistaking the heavy metal chain that encircled his waist, disappearing into the folds of his robes. She didn't have to see the tell tale bulge under his shoulder blades to know it was a kusarigama, a chain sickle.
She blinked suddenly wet eyes, but he didn't disappear. Her mouth worked but no sound came out. She took a step towards him and the boy, as if sensing her gaze, turned sharply in her direction. His brown eyes met hers.
He looked the same.
But there were also little changes. His bangs were too long again—he always let them get to long if she didn't cut them herself. A strip of peeling freckled skin crossed his nose and cheeks, where he'd always burned so easily. He had dirt scuffs on his boots and the robe he wore on top of his Taijya suit looked a little frayed—father would have been annoyed to see it. But otherwise, he looked just as she had seen him when they left the Taijya village on his first hunt.
Not like when she had last seen him, looking up at her with blood on his lips, tears trickling down his eyes as he died in her arms.
There was a ringing in her ears, a numbness creeping up her face. His name tumbled from her lips, "Kohaku."
She reached out an arm to him.
Someone bumped into her, jarring her shoulder, a mumble at her from a distance. Her eyes flashed to the person who had reached to steady her, then back to the boy who looked like her dead brother.
She saw the back of a green yukata disappearing between two stalls and her heart plummeted to her feet.
"Kohaku!" she shouted, panic spiking through her, and she broke into a run, tearing out of the person's grip and skidding to the spot he disappeared. He was gone. She looked down the alley into the dark woods, hesitating only a moment, then took a deep, gasping breath.
She put two fingers to her teeth and shrilled three piercing whistles that echoed like cannon shots through the morning air. The people near her jumped, the birds in the nearby trees shrieking and and taking flight.
She only barely heard Kirara's answering roar in the distance before she was sprinting through the tangle of branches and tree trunks, Hiraikotsu tight against her shoulder as it banged off things in her path. Her vision tunneled to focus only on the signs of someone's flight—footprints, a broken twig, a bent branch, a trampled bush.
She ran until her lungs burned, the sounds of the village fading into the silence of a deep wood. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. At last, she spied a flash of a figure through the gaps in the trees, and she pivoted on her heel, dashing forward.
The forest opened into a cliffside. She burst out onto the ledge, gasping for breath, her brother's name on her lips…then looked up.
Her heart stopped.
It wasn't Kohaku.
The lavender-haired demon from the canyon was turned away from her—disembowling a deer with his bare hands—when she'd burst through the trees. It paused, head cocked, and laid the carcass on the ground carefully. Then it straightened to its full height, hands covered in gore.
The creature was easily four meters tall now, more than twice her height, its skin a dusty purple and its eyes yellow slits. It still looked reptilian, but unlike before, it had a human-like bulbous nose and huge ears that seemed autonomous as the demon tilted its head down at her. It's long arms could reach across the space between them in less then a second and crush her in its grip. From this close, she could see that its eyes were too close together, its mouth too wide with too many sharp teeth.
Her eyes snapped down. But it had five fingers. Five fingers. Cold fear rose in her throat.
"Hello," it said, in a throat that shouldn't have vocal cords. It's voice was surprisingly high pitched, like a large child.
Sango took a sharp step back, trying to put distance between them. It was pointless. Her father had always warned her. The more human a youkai looked, the more evolved. The more powerful.
But there was something wrong with this one. There always had been. She just hadn't realized what it was until this moment.
"Hellooo?" it said again. Confusion wrinkled its expression.
This one wasn't evolving. It's physical body had far outpaced its maturity. That could only mean one thing.
It had been created.
When it took a lumbering step toward her, she ducked into a crouch immediately, a hand going to her blade. To her shock, the demon's face fell at her movement. "What are you doing?" Its lips trembled piteously. "Why no answer me? Why little people always run?"
Silence.
His face twisted in sudden fury.
"Why aren't you being nice!" it screamed, cords of muscle bunching in its neck, spittle flying at her. She flinched, trying not to make sudden moves. Horror in her gut.
"I am sorry," she said, still edging away, a lump in her throat.
The demon's face then smoothed into something calm, and somehow that was even more terrifying.
"I can make you," it said in a loud whisper. "I am stronger now. Father made me stronger now." She watched its eyes suddenly shift, then fill with a fanatical resolve.
"Taijya," it whispered in awe.
Then an afterimage, an arm raising. Sango pulled Hiraikotsu in front of her to shield her body, bracing against the bone weapon.
The creature struck her with the force of an avalanche.
There was a terrific crack, bone splinters flying everywhere, then a punch against her whole body that exploded white hot and she was flying into open air. She screamed between her teeth. There was a loud roar nearby but it was too far away and then she was falling and through the fragments of Hiraikotsu—she could see the jagged edges of the top, now gone—she spied a flicker of a purple shadow jumping towards her with extended claws, it's eyes glowing in victory.
Sango stared into the face of death, helpless.
Then Kirara's jaws clamped hard on her chest, teeth sinking into the hollow beneath her collar bone and under her shoulder blade, and she was jerked by the flesh out of the creature's grasp.
Sango cried out, blood splattering in arcs, her free hand clamping on Kirara's wet muzzle. She could feel the mournful cry coming from the cat demon in her bones as they sped towards to the ground, a bare canyon floor.
They were almost there when the demon fell upon them.
An afterimage flickered in Sango's periphery. Sango gave a warning shout, then nearly blacked out from the pain as Kirara twisted and twined mid air. But it wasn't enough. The demon gripped one of Kirara's tails and then they were being spun. Desperate, Kirara's teeth clamped tight, hitting bone, the sharp snap of a rib in Sango's lower chest—but the cat demon wasn't strong enough, and they flew apart in an arc of blood.
Sango hit the ground, instinctively tucking in her limbs, rocks and debris ripping at her clothes and lacerating her back. She came to a stop on bare dirt, blood pooling from her punctured wounds and smearing everything. She struggled to lift herself with shaking, slippery limbs.
She looked up just in time to see Kirara hit a rock wall with a sickening thunk, shattering the stone beneath it. A high pitch animal scream, then nothing as Kirara's eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped against the wall. She did not stir.
The creature dropped to the ground in a plume of dust, eyes glowing red through the particle debris. It's eyes were fixed on Kirara's prostrate form as it took a step closer.
Fury and fear poured through Sango's beaten body.
"Get the fuck away from her," she screamed, her neck muscles seizing. The creature turned its head to her, watching with interest as she wrenched herself to her feet, a hand on her bleeding chest.
Hiraikotsu was somewhere long gone. Her chain belt with her blade and her grappling hook lay where it had tumbled off during her hard fall, equidistant between her and her opponent. The small pouch of smoke bombs she carried on her still hung from her waist, but they were mostly for stunning small youkai. The pack of gun powder she used for larger exterminations was, of course, in her pack at the inn. She hadn't planned on any of this.
Sango reached for a tear in her left sleeve and ripped the fabric off, pulling free the curved blade she normally kept strapped to her skin. Then she did the same to her right calf, wrenching a long dagger free from a leather tie. She flipped both blades in her hands, shifting into a fighting stance.
She was aware of the pulse of her blood trickling down her chest and back, the way her arms trembled as she held up the blades. She took a deep steadying breath, then pulled her taijya mask on her face.
"Come and get it," she said through a raw throat, but the demon heard her. It's eyes widened, delighted, and it gave a loud howl.
It charged her.
It was fast. In a few strides of its legs, it ate up the distance between them. Sango jumped to the side as it swung, tucking and rolling, feeling the pass of its claws above her head. She turned and immediately brought up her blades as its second arm made a pass at her. She twisted her blades away from her to redirect the blow, turning it from full on punch to a near miss, and yet even then her arms shook at impact, the metal of her blades vibrating painfully in her grip.
They struck and parried in quick succession, sparks and blood splattering in the air as they drew slowly deeper and deeper into the mountains. Each meeting of blade to claw was a painful grind of arm bone into her shoulder sockets, making Sango bite back a shout each time. But the creature's reactions were too swift and its reach was too long. When she tried to dodge under its legs, it raked the earth before it, forcing her to jump back to gain a steady foothold. When she tried to switch from defense to attack, it jumped high onto a wall, giving her only enough time to right herself before it was assailing her from above and she was forced to dodge. Hiraikotsu could have given her the buffer room she needed—but it had been shattered and left behind, and as she retreated further and further back, the enclosing walls of the high cliffs would have made it hard to swing anyway.
It was backing her towards a drop, forbodding and certainly the end.
A feeling started rising within her, struggling to rise to the surface even as she valiantly tried to tamp it down and focus. Her thoughts started to churn, even as her body moved on instinct. She was losing. The creature was faster, stronger, it had the reach and the leverage, she was out of options, it was cornering her—
Her foot skirted a crumbling edge. Instinct had her jerk her eyes down and she saw a pitch black drop yawn before her, rocks tumbling into impenetrable nothingnesss.
The though flowered up in her, sudden and stark.
She was going to die.
She froze, terror in her throat. It was for less then a second. But it was enough.
The creature's fist hit her arm.
Her humerus bone broke like a twig, the crack loud and thunderous. Her blade went flying into the darkness. Her head jerked forward as she heard the distant pop of her shoulder socket and then she saw as the heavy weight of the arm continued to fly back at a sickening angle behind her. For a brief moment, her mind broke with her body. A white roaring nothingness filled her as she stared at her arm, limp useless flesh flopping against her hip.
She had only enough presence of mind to jerk down her mask with the hilt of her remaining dagger before she vomited immediately, dropping to her knees, acid washing down her throat and over her chin. But the moment was over before she was ready. Suddenly a hand was wrapping around her neck, hauling her into the air, and she choked as pressure closed off her windpipe, trapping bile in her lungs. Her eyes flicked wildly down to find the creature was staring at her, an ugly grin transforming its face, it's eyes so deep a red she couldn't see its irises.
And in that moment she knew. She saw her fate with crystal clarity. It was going to crush her throat and watch her drown in her own vomit, watch her struggle and twitch in its grasp, watch the light die like a sputtered candle in her eyes. And it would laugh.
And she would die.
Die. Diediediediedie.
—Arms and legs and body parts severed across the courtyard like flower petals. Her father's corpse, just a torso, its hands reaching towards her, its eyes vacant. Her brother's pale face, his expression marred by the arrow embedded in his eye—
Her arm flashed forward, her remaining serrated blade still gripped in her hand. It cut at the creature's forearm viciously, black blood spraying into the air and splashing against her neck and mask—the creature's eyes turned from gleeful to confused, pained—and it dropped her. She hit the ground on her good side but just as before, she saw the future, a new future opened to her, so much more beautiful to the alternative even in its awful finality, and she took it.
Sango threw herself forward, working arm pulling herself up against the creature's thigh, wrapping her legs tightly behind the knee and fumbling at her belt. She felt the creature scrabble at her, one slippery hand finding purchase in her hair and peeling her by skull off of it, and she screamed as she thrust the cluster of smoke bombs into its stomach and pulled the ignition cord.
A small explosion blacked everything out, smoke filling her eyes and mouth. Half of her body went numb and wet. There was an agonizing bellow, the smell of seared flesh, the loss of balance as her world started to tilt. Then she dropped a leg to the ground and—with a screech of her muscles until she could feel them snapping like strings, she hurtled them both backward and into the darkness.
Drip. Drip. Thump. Drip. Drip. Thump.
Thump. Drip. Thump.
There was a concussive force in her ear, hardly audible through the throbbing of her skull. She couldn't lift her head beyond the pool of blood in the dirt, watching it ripple with each footstep.
Someone was crouched over her. She stared at a pair of black boots trimmed in white leather. She could have drawn them in her sleep. There was the faded white tassle that wound around the boot and its wolf tooth fastener, the tip chipped and yellowed.
This must be the afterlife, she thought.
"You've let yourself go soft," the person said, the disappointment so palpable and so familiar that tears sprung to her one weeping eye, the other swollen shut.
She tried to apologize but could only wheeze, bubbles of blood dripping down her nose and lips. There was a sigh and then a warm hand in her hair, brushing back the bangs from her face, and though her mind swam dizzily, she felt herself struggling closer, babbling.
"What's wrong with her?" a new voice said, a boy. He sounded afraid. Sango jerked, gurgling, but the person above her only shushed her gently.
"She is dying," he said to the boy. "But do not worry. It is not her time." She felt him turn to her, could feel the smile on his lips even in the dark. A star, rare and bright. "It is good to see you again, Sango."
Day 67
A cold prickle in her back. The only thing she could feel. All sensation—pain, pleasure, fear—drawn from her body like a whirlpool tide, sucked into the center of the dark slender shard in her back. And slowly, like the creep of ice into her veins, the dark crackling energy that sunk into her limbs.
Some distant part of her remembered this. The push and pull of energies as her body chased death with life—at a price. To feed on this source, one also became like the food. And to use the jewel at death's door was always the greatest risk. The jewel could sustain the body, could feed on stimulation—but it wanted, craved the soul. To deny it, one needed to draw a line in the sand. This is you. This is me.
The more one drew from the jewel, the less clear this distinction became.
Sango slept. She dreamed of being submerged in a deep pool. From her back bloomed a flower with petals as black as night. They weaved and bobbed around her as she floated in the silence, rooted deep within her flesh.
She would never get them out.
Day 69
As if from far away, voices talking:
"It is time to take it out."
"She is not over the worst of her injuries, my lord. She could die."
"She will be bound to it forever if it is not removed." The voice was sharp. "And then she will share the fate of her people. Is that what you wish for her?"
Silence. Then, almost reassuring, he continued, "She has already lasted for longer than either of us expected. You should have more faith in your own."
"…She is only human."
A long pause. "Do you mean to say she is weak," the voice said slowly, "Or are you trying to imply that I am forgetting myself?"
The sound of armor hinges squeaking, a person kneeling. "Of course not, my lord."
"Good. Fetch the boy. I have work for you both."
The sound of armor clinking, then footsteps fading in the distance.
Someone's hair brushing her face as they leaned down, breath ghosting her ear.
"You are a problem," the voice said, gentle. "I had been cultivating that asset for a long time. He was not meant for you, at least not you alone. I don't know how you found him, but you should not have survived and you most certainly should not have killed him."
He ran a knuckle against her cheek, then murmured, a hint of regret, "I am almost starting to expect the impossible from you."
Silence, for a long time. Then, eventually, he sighed. "I did say it was time. You may not believe me, but I assure you, I am not going to enjoy this."
As if from a distance, she felt strong hands turn her body to her side. Knuckles brushing the bare skin of her arm, her back. A finger on the pulse in her spine.
"Mostly," he murmured into her hair.
He plucked the shard—
The pool turned into a sea of fire. The darkness shriveled and the voice and the touch disappeared, leaving her to thrash alone, screaming, flame rushing down her throat—
Burn, burn, BURN, BURN, BURN—
Day 71
—BURN!
Sango snapped open her eyes, trying to wrench to her feet. It was dark, dark as the cave, dark as the fall, endless. The taste of blood in her mouth was still there. It was not over. She had to kill it, she had to—
The figure of a young boy appeared in her periphery, haloed by candle light. She didn't have time to process more before there was a shout, and then shadows rushed into the room, reaching for her. Sango drew back immediately, a hiss and shout tearing from her throat as she thrashed against the hands, punching and kicking into flesh and bone.
They were trying to drag her deeper into the dark. She would not go back, she would never go back—
"Ane-ue!" The boy, arm out stretched towards her, the candle illuminating a sheen of tears. "Stop!"
She froze. Then an arm wrapped around her neck, closing off her windpipe, and she grappled with the arm, stars dancing in her eyes—
Day 72
Fever set into her skin, deep in her brain. She lay on a sheet, the every rattle of her breath a fight to the death. The boy put a cold cloth on her head, his small hands gentle on her skin.
The only thing she remembered, the only thing that drew her again and again from the black depths, was the song he hummed her through out the night, the one from her childhood that chased the demons away.
Day 74
Sango woke up to the sound of birds singing.
She was in a room, sparsely furnished. It was dark. One wall was entirely made of shoji screens, hastily covered with blankets to prevent light from seeping in. There was a bowl with a washing cloth beside her head, and next to it a jug of water and a cup.
Her body ached. Twisting on to her side sent flashes of white in her vision, but when she looked down at herself—she was naked, save for a breast band and under things—she could see no open wounds. Just bruises—more than she could count, black and red and yellow and mottled, spread across her frame in haphazard, overlapping patterns that made her eyes swim.
With gritted teeth, she dragged an arm to the cup. To her relief, it was filled. But bringing it to her lips was another matter. She ended up half dragging herself to meet it, her split lips aching as she mouthed dryly at the rim and tipped the cup towards her.
It fell over, splashing her face and neck and the floor, but she'd gotten two glorious mouthfuls and so she just pressed her forehead into the damp tatami mat and tried to breath through her aching ribs. Tried to process.
Several minutes later— or was it longer?— there was the sound of wood scrapping open. Sango looked up to find a young woman standing on the threshold of a hallway, staring at her, mouth agape.
"Ma'am!" the girl squeaked, then quickly rushed to her, helping Sango into a sitting position. Despite the girl's attempts to be gentle, Sango flinched at every touch—there were no longer places on her body that didn't burn.
"Where—" Sango croaked, then paused, shocked. Her voice hardly came out more than a whisper. Like she had been screaming for hours. Days.
The young woman seemed to understand what she was going to say. "You are in Yamato lands. You've been here for several days."
"Where—" Sango tried. "Where are the—"
"Your entourage?" the woman shook her head. "They left, all except two. They stayed to take care of you." The girl cocked her head, thinking. "They went out this morning. They have not returned."
When Sango tried to get up, the woman rushed to dissuade her. "Please! Stay. Rest. As long as you need to recover. The inn has already been paid, and if you left before—" the girl bit her lip.
Sango paused, looking at the young woman. She was dressed in a nice kimono, well used but well cared for. Her hands were without callouses. This was no maid.
After a moment, she whispered, "Water?"
Relief flooding her features, the girl rushed to comply.
Day 76
Her caretakers did not return that day, or the next. On the third day, when Mina—that was the inn keeper's daughters name—came into change out the bedding, Sango asked about her belongings.
The girl hesitated. "You did not come with any. However, there was something left for you."
Later that night after dinner, Mina brought her a long, bundled package. As Sango stared at the bundle wide-eyed, something pitying flashed in the woman's face and she patted Sango's knee very gently before leaving to give her privacy.
Sango stared after her, at the closed shoji screen, then back to the package. She opened the cloth wrapping with trepidation, already knowing what it was and yet finding her mouth dry and her eyes oddly wet.
It was a sword, a wakazashi, and a dagger. Just like the ones she had carried with her her whole life, except for the detailing on the handles, which were white on the sword and a jade green on the dagger.
Between the sharpened blades nestled two other objects. The first was a whistle, hand whittled and sanded til its edges were smooth save for the carved waves that had been patterned down its length. It had been cut from the heart wood of a Jubokko tree and been carried on a leather cord, passed down for generations until it had been buried with its last owner.
The second was a piece of tattered parchment, its edges frayed. On its surface, a familiar scrawl in black ink.
Sango stared at the parchment for what felt like hours, until the candles gutted themselves and she was left with only the sliver of moon peaking through the gaps in the covered windows.
Slowly, crumpling the parchment in her fist, she set the blades by her mat and picked up the whistle. She ran a thumb over the grooves on its surface, brought it to her lips.
She blew on it, long and hard till her head swam. It made no sound. Not that she could hear, anyway.
Then she fell to her side, curled in to herself and closed her eyes, the whistle pressed tight to her chest.
Day 78
She had been waiting for two days on a hill outside the village, the highest vantage point she could find. On the second day, Mina had handed her a small wrapped bundle of food with a hopeful smile and Sango had only hesitated a little in taking it.
She was still unsure of how she felt about being pitied by this young woman. She had a feeling Mina had drawn conclusions based on Sango's injuries that were not actually true, but Sango had never bothered to correct the notion. Even a few weeks ago she would have balked at the thought of being looked at as powerless, beaten. Now, Sango merely chewed on the thought as she picked her way up the rocky hill, feeling as though she were an outsider in her own body. She was more frustrated by how out of breath she felt, how long it took to crest the hill, the way the pain simmered like a pot of boiling water beneath the surface as she gingerly set herself down on the grass.
Though the bruises were healing, they had not faded. If anything, they looked worse. Her eye was purple, there were dark bands on her throat, her whole back and hips and legs were mottled with fist shaped bruises larger than any humans. And she was lucky. If not for the…healing…she would have fissures up and down her body where her skin had split under the force of blows. She would have broken bones that would never properly heal. She would have…well, she would have died.
Her hand drifted to her waist, to the slip of parchment stashed there. She fingered its frayed edge, looking out into the horizon, waiting.
Two hours later, he found her.
She was expecting to see the burning golden glow of twin tails soaring above the canopy of trees. Instead, she saw a glimmer of silver ricocheting in the distance, growing faster as it zigzagged its way in her general direction. She watched it, heart rising in her throat, as it grew closer and closer and then suddenly, as if catching her scent, veered abruptly towards her and dashed forward at break neck speed.
Inuyasha landed in a graceful leap at the bottom of the hill. But Sango didn't look into his face. Instead, her eyes were glued to the makeshift sling on his chest, where a bandaged, broken Kirara struggled to free herself, mewing piteously. She couldn't breathe.
"You're alive," he was saying quietly, breaking the moment. It wasn't a statement but it wasn't quite a question either, and her eyes flicked up and away at the undecipherable look on his face.
Unable to respond, Sango merely pressed her fist to her chest as Inuyasha walked up the hill and knelt before her. She stretched out shaking hands and he gently placed Kirara in her arms.
She was so frail. Kirara's body shook as the cat youkai frantically rubbed her skeletal, thin face into Sango's neck and something was grating itself inside Sango's chest, over and over again.
Numb, Sango reached her free hand out towards Inuyasha. He must have hesitated, because it was a few solid seconds before she felt his hand against her palm, the barest of grips as if he was afraid to touch her more than that. The gesture would have been distant even between strangers. Mouth tightening, she grabbed his forearm and firmly tugged him closer, catching him by surprise.
He nearly fell on top of her. He cursed, hand clamping on her arm, and she couldn't help stiffening as fire licked up her flesh at his grip. He must of have noticed, cause he immediately tried to pull away.
She refused. She refused to let go of his arm even as he tried to tug it from her.
"Sango," he said finally with frustration and other things she couldn't name. "I'm hurting you." But she just shook her head and finally, with a sag of his shoulders, he relented. He looked away even as he leaned closer, one arm wrapping around her back and his hand curling into her shoulder, Kirara nestled between them. It wasn't really a romantic gesture and yet Sango trembled at the intimacy.
She leaned into the crook of his arm and breathed in the scent of him, earth and loam and familiar. She struggled to say something, to tell him what had happened, but the words wouldn't come and she didn't know why.
"You're alive," he said suddenly. Gruffly. Not it's going to be okay. Not you're all right. And her throat seized. It wasn't exactly comforting, and yet it felt like a lightning bolt striking her shields, all pretense shattering.
Traitorous tears fell as she clung to Kirara and to him, muffling her sobs into his shirt.