Turning Point
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Unohana stared ahead as they walked, doing her best to ignore the blazing reiatsu flaring up more often than not behind them, or the way her somewhat battered escort kept tripping over their own feet (with winces of pain and embarrassment) each and every time they tried to resist the urge to look over their shoulders at the imposing man following them. They could all practically feel the restless contempt radiating from him, but the fact that he was there at all meant other things were being kept away. Somehow, that had to be good. Right?

Childish laughter suddenly broke the mood (well, at least for Unohana) and the shinigami smiled to herself, feeling the light, airy spark of spirit suddenly detach itself from the barely at rest screaming murder hovering behind them.

"Pretty!" was the declaration, the child somehow scurrying up to and then overtaking her, drawing a sudden sharpening of attention from behind which Unohana ignored, focusing her attention entirely on the child instead. She tilted her head to the side invitingly and the second afterwards, small arms were reaching up for her trustingly, a drilling sensation at the base of her neck firmly settling in as she picked up the child.

"Ken-chan be good!" The admonishment was met with a fearsome glare and a snort of displeasure, though still, the big man followed them, covered in blood and apparently not caring in the least, the healed to a scar gash running down his face only adding to the effect. Unohana repressed a slight smile, wondering at her ability to be amused by the whole thing. She had no doubt as to why she and her company had gained an escort, in the shape of a single man who apparently tore Hollows apart with his bare hands, and bore no zanpakuto of his own.

Neither did any of the others, to a man, for that matter. But all knew that the fact that they might draw the attention of something hungry and deadly was why they were protected by this man, who actually scared them more than the Hollows did, not that they'd ever admit to that fact. But the mission was important, keeping face somehow was also important and the child merrily going from shinigami to shinigami was everyone's saving grace, even when she tugged at hair a bit too enthusiastically, or shrieked in delight directly in someone's ear at the discovery of a new bit of string.

Winds shivered around them and the wind blew through dead branches in an eerie, low wail. And nothing attacked them as they left the more dangerous zones and eventually made their way to the safer, better patrolled areas.

"Che. This is disappointin'." Every single shinigami in the expedition paused at that, and the implied threat in the man's voice. As Unohana turned around to face him, she overhead the "leader" of the expedition topple forward slowly, torn between his unwillingness to move and the fact that he'd been interrupted in mid step when the man had spoken. The tinkling of a small bell broke the silence, and Unohana rested her hand on Minazuki's hilt, lifting her chin slightly in an unconscious gesture that wasn't quite defiance. In the calm and steady stream of strength which flowed from the zanpakuto, she was reminded of her own and both interweaved and mingled smoothly. Her posture steadied and her clear gaze met the towering man's own in just as unyielding a fashion, her reiatsu not repelling the miasma of reiatsu whipping around Zaraki Kenpachi, but not allowing it any purchase or ground to use to push her back, either.

"Che," was the sudden, darkly amused declaration. Kenpachi suddenly reached down to pick up Yachiru, one handed, and tucked her over his shoulder, the child scrambling to get a good grip with a cheerful babble as he turned around and started to walk away. "Yer clear, now. I'm going back in there, to see if I can find any other of those things. Maybe there's one of those worth fighting," he said, though there was an ugly undercurrent to his voice which made it clear there was far more to this than mere sport. "And it ain't like you'd be any fun to fight at all."

Unohana blamed her imagination for the next words the wind carried back to her, despite Minazuki's later conviction that they had indeed, been spoken out loud and meant for her to hear them.

Not yet, anyway.

Minazuki glowed smugly in the back of Unohana's mind, satisfaction radiating faintly through their threaded reiatsu and the feeling that somehow something had been going on, on a level the shinigami hadn't ever sensed, followed Unohana for many years to come.

But she knew, from that moment on, she now had a different measure to live up to.