In the end, Rin says it on an early summer day, just as the sun is about to set, sort of out of nowhere. It comes out wrong, too. "Kaede," is what comes out, "is unusually long-lived."
A few children are playing kemari, their distant shouting—pass! don't drop it! to me!—a familiar comfort. She recognises Kin'u and Gyokuto; Hiroshi, Kichirō and the children of other villagers. Shippo, too. She would be playing with some of the older kids, in other circumstances, perhaps even with Inuyasha and Kagome, just as she has in the past, except the idea of being seen by Lord Sesshomaru playing ball is nothing short of mortifying as of late.
It's this exquisite moment in which sunshine drapes the world—the village and the grass and the people—in the gold of jewellery or fine kimonos, a shade so precious she, too, feels silk-fine. Lord Sesshomaru makes a short, low sound in acknowledgment, and Rin notices his eyes flick towards the village below, past the slope of the hill and the scintillating streams of water irrigating the rice fields.
Kaede, bright red trousers and a frown, trudges out of the hut they have shared for years—looking for her, calling her home. Not that Rin can see her expression from here, but she knows she's frowning. She usually is, when Lord Sesshomaru is here.
His eyes are on her, now, and somehow the bark under the palms of her hands becomes rougher, the log uncomfortable. She stretches her legs, her kimono riding up her calves to show a patch of skin that she began to cover years ago. His gaze, albeit inscrutable, feels like scrutiny, and this is new.
She's just told him, as she usually does when he visits, about her days, and the harvests, and the births she's assisted with, and her progress with calligraphy and the limited training with Kohaku, and never once have his eyes shown—this.
"Have you and the priestess had a disagreement?" Lord Sesshomaru asks eventually.
Kaede is unusually long-lived, she just said. She realises, awkwardly, that it sounded like a statement of ill-wish and that Lord Sesshomaru is puzzled. He, too, is bathed in light, and perhaps her words came out wrong because she was too busy admiring how the sun caught in the silver strands of his hair. So, with renewed intent, she looks into his eyes, his beautiful, amber eyes, and she clarifies: "One should be so lucky to reach her age."
He hums again, but the intensity of his gaze does not falter. "Indeed," he says, the tone a question.
"One should be so lucky to reach her age," Rin says again. And then: "I should be so lucky to reach her age."
His eyes widen, and it would be imperceptible if she wasn't as attuned to him as she is. Something, though she couldn't say what, crosses over his face. "There is no reason to concern yourself with this now," he replies. "It is a matter of many years."
Is it?, she wonders. Yesterday, she was playing ball. The day before yesterday, she was witnessing Inuyasha be born again as Kagome rose from the well. The day before that, she was riding A-Un, and just a handful of days prior she had two parents and siblings and the prospect of a normal, mundane human life. Days into days into years into days.
In the village, the winning team, led by Shippou, improvises a victory chant. Rin watches transform into a balloon and fly high, higher, higher with Kin'u sitting on him. Kaede watches them, hands clasped behind her back, says something—Rin can't quite tell— and then looks around again. It's dinner time, and Rin ought to help.
"You used to play," Lord Sesshomaru states. "Is the game not to your liking anymore?"
"I, uhm," Rin stammers, and, truly, what can she say? I am not a child anymore, haven't you noticed? How haven't you noticed? Or: Why would I play ball when you are here? Better yet: "I have grown too old."
A pause, and then: "Inuyasha appears to enjoy it still. The priestess, too."
How does he even know? "This kimono wouldn't allow it."
Of course: "You own hakamas," because he's seen her wear them and he forgets nothing. However, the next sentence throws her off. "It's admirable to strive to better oneself."
The breeze caresses her face, has the grass tickle her ankles. A fly buzzes closeby. Rin blinks once, twice, brain slowly, but steadily, catching up. The sun continues its descent, and time goes, as it always does, days into years into a second, but she forgets: she forgets about old age; the roughness of the bark under her fingertips; Kaede calling her home. She forgets everything.
There is this instead, in bewilderment: "Lord Sesshomaru, are you telling me that I am a terrible player?"
"It is my understanding," says Lord Sesshomaru, "that the ball should not touch the ground," and air, still golden, still warm, saturates with her baffled laughter.