At nightfall, his skin begins to burn and itch, and then prickle with such a ferocity that his flesh is actually bubbling from it before he realizes.
If it weren't for the fact that there aren't enough auras from other beings here to disguise the faint presence Miroku would never have known. There are demons in the shadows, spirits in the night that cower there and slowly eat the living.
From Kilala's back, Miroku can see oft to the horizon. The sand village is behind him, almost buried.
As the days came and went, they took to scouting through the sand for Sango. Looking for dropped belongings, footprints. Shades of her former self in the shadows of the buildings.
Venturing as far as they dared into what threatened to loom up so well and swallow them whole. Never letting it out of sight, the village. That small scattering of petrified wood mostly consumed with sand. More a tomb than a city.
But, Sango had left her weapons behind. She couldn't have gone far, could she?
They have no physical form, but he can feel them scratching at his back and skin, under his clothes, in the spaces without light before the idea comes.
And Miroku is telling Shippo to build a fire through the fabric of his own robe even as he's pulling it over his head. Who can barely stop clawing frantically at the flesh of his arms to comply.
There are sutras slapped on every poor shanty in what passes for a village on the edge of the desert. Strange sorts of prayer papers, with a red eye on each sheet, gaze firmly fixed on the sands.
The Medicine-seller passes through the town in the space between dawn and dusk, and lets himself into the inn through the back door. He pours himself a cup of tea, and waits.
Come morning, he slips out as easily as he came, leaving the innkeeper startled and deeply confused by this strange man who wears a heavy kimono in the swelter of the sun.
"You should not worship him," the Medicine-seller warns before he leaves, satisfied for now with what he finds. "He is no true god."
They have little firewood, but their bedrolls burn slowly through the night - a poor substitute - thanks mostly to Shippo's inexperienced, sweat-laden efforts at controlling the flames. But it still burns, and come morning most of the fabric has been sacrificed.
Miroku bundles the rest as best he can into tight rolls, the cloth heavy with the putrid smell of burning.
Around noon of the next day they come across two withered trees, almost dead from the heat and offering not an inch of shade.
The sun has left them all so worn and damaged, that with one good kick to each Miroku is easily able to bring them both crashing to the sand, where they are snapped into pieces.
Kilala is persuaded to resume her full form, and the petrified wood is torn down and piled on her.
Now that he knows they are there, Miroku can feel the faintest traces of demonic aura - so soft it's almost not there at all - lingering beneath the shifting sands.
Shippo mentions once, a few days later, that he can almost hear voices, but there is no one around beyond them and he can't make out any of the words.
The desert is haunted.
After a week, Miroku has used up all of his sutras exercising the spirits, and has to make more out of scraps of bark.
There are so many he has no hope of banishing them all, but he begins to see a clear pattern in their appearances. They always arrive from one direction, due east. And as daylight strikes, the trendils of darkness worm their way to the safety beneath the sands, and head back into the rising sun.
They are like worms, slithering away from him without a fight when he sweeps a blazing branch around their campsite. The embers flickering off into the air and landing on the night with faint whisps of smoke as something burns.
The spirits do not like the light. Of course.
But Miroku wonders what they are haunting so venomously that they would risk being burned so painfully every day for.
He will never know; the spirits either don't seem capable of, or just aren't inclined to real speech - he can't tell which. And the one person who could give an answer he will never ask.
Which is just as well, because Naruto will never remember.
Note: Say hello to the Medicine-seller again. I don't think he'll show up after this, though. I know that most stories have pairings, but unless I specifically say there is a pairing, don't expect one.