She met him at the edge of the woods; he sat there by the creek almost every night, he told her, waiting for her to show. She told him to quit — sometimes she'd be gone for months, years even, but he didn't seem to care about the wait. He said he liked being alone sometimes, regardless of if she showed up. It was a habit that reminded her sorely of her father — perhaps Taro had picked up more from him than she thought.
"Mom died," was all he said this time when she approached this time.
It was two words she hadn't expected to hear. Their mother was only seven hundred at the most. She still had several thousand years on her, Koto thought — she hadn't even reached the thousand-year mark yet, unlike their father.
"Died?" she repeated in disbelief.
"She was poisoned by some plant. But I don't know how. She knew that thing was dangerous."
Koto could hear the doubt in his words, and a sickness slowly filled her. "You mean she … Pur—"
"Don't," he cut her off, shaking his head. "Just don't say that."
She grew quiet, staring down at the running creek as the entire thing sunk in.
She hadn't felt so little when her father died. Should she be mad at herself for that? Should she care more?
"Will you come home?" he asked suddenly, staring at her.
She glanced away, uncomfortable. "Taro …" she tried. "Maybe for a while."
"Why don't you stay now?"
"It's … it's just not my home anymore."
They both fell silent again until he finally stood. "Come on. Everyone misses you."
"All right," she conceded softly, trailing after him into the forest.