A/N: Welcome back everyone! For once, I'm not posting at somewhere around midnight where I live! It is currently 3 PM. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as well! :D
Rin Sessys Girl: I think you can read my mind. Seriously. 0_0

Comprehension Check

Ulquiorra rose early on the fourth day of waiting for Murcielago to be repaired; he intended to play his shamisen to the light of the sunrise. It was a habit he had been unable to shake, even after leaving Aizen's group of fools once left leaderless. There was no longer any reason for him to strum the delicate strings and produce the melody he had played so often in the past, no reason for his pale fingers to dance upon the chords, but he allowed the music to flow all the same. It calmed him.

This particular morning, however, he had the desire to travel closer to the edge of the forest. It was difficult to see the coming morning from his home so deep in the shadowed woods, after all. He came to a fork in a low tree and sat in it, shamisen across his lap. He capped his fingers with the black picks that he used to play and began to pluck at the strings, forming a forlorn harmony that bespoke of things lost, things that had never been, and things that would never be.

Ulquiorra bent his head low over the instrument, watching the wires vibrate, blur beneath his gaze for an instant before coming to a standstill. The birds that roosted all over the forest began to sing, carrion crows, largebill crows, wood pigeons and woodpeckers taking wing; in the distance, a crane stood in sharp relief against the sky.

And still Ulquiorra played his haunted melody.

…..

Orihime was woken that morning by what sounded like a cursed lullaby, threading through Tatsuki's window. Having fallen asleep at her friend's house the night earlier, she couldn't be more shocked that she could hear the mysterious notes, the ones that she had been waiting for, from Tatsuki's home and not her own. Then again, it made sense; when she had gotten lost, it had been coming home from where Tatsuki lived.

"Mmmm…" the dark haired girl's voice was filled with the dreamy quality of sleepers, "what's that sound…?"

Orihime dashed out of the house, hurriedly tying her customary cloth over her eyes. She heard Tatsuki call out after her, and ignored her friend, too excited to answer. Though she could feel sunlight on her face, all was dark, as always. Her feet were scuffed by stones, but she didn't stop, following the beautiful sound like a bee followed the scent to a sweet flower. As she got closer, however, the music halted abruptly, the way the shy cicadas did if one stepped to close to their hiding places.

Orihime stopped as well, slightly disoriented without the music to follow.

"Hello?" she called softly, "You're there, right? I've been looking for you,"

There was a muffled thud as the person jumped from up in the tree branches, and a crunch as his sandaled feet broke twigs and crackled dying undergrowth. Orihime started and backed up a pace as she felt a breath close to her face; she swallowed, hoping desperately that she had not made a mistake and called upon some random traveler.

"Why would you search for me?" the murmur came from behind her, directly beside her ear. She had to contain her joy, for it was indeed the person she had sought. The quiet monotone assured her of that. She started anyway though, for she had been under the impression that the man had been in front of her, when really he had been behind. She did not often make such mistakes.

"How do you do that? Move so quietly, I mean," Oihime asked him.

"You avoid the question, woman," he replied lowly, "Why did you seek me?"

"Well…. You're a nice man, like I said before… and… I like how you don't treat me with pity just because I can't see. I don't enjoy being pitied. I want to be able to do something for someone too." Orihime's voice was strong, imbued with a slight underlying tone of bitterness that was well covered by her determination.

"I see," the voice said, retreating a bit. Orihime turned around and put a hand out, searching, catching the man's sleeve as he made to leave. "You will not release me?" he asked.

Orihime shook her head with a small smile, "I want to talk to you again."

"Not here," he responded, beginning to walk away. Orihime kept hold of the cloth in her hand and followed closely behind the man, guided by his soft, rustling footsteps and by feel. Her feet memorized the path which they walked, and she committed it to one of her most important trails, as she intended to come to the man's house again. The path was truly nothing more than a game trail, pitted and overlaid by dead leaves that felt slick and veiny beneath her touch.

"There is a step here," the man murmured helpfully, "do not fall, for I will not pick you up."

Orihime smiled, and lifted her foot a bit higher, finding the stair with her toes. "Was this here before?"

"You came around the back last time," he told her, "My home is built on uneven ground. Sometimes it floods when it rains. It does not happen often, however."

"I see…." Orihime listened as there was a rustle, presumably the cloth that covered the doorframe, before entering herself. As she stepped onto the bamboo mats, overwhelming curiosity overcame her, "Will you still not tell me your name?"

"Why do you wish to know? I shall not tell you."

"But it's difficult to just call you… you… what should I call you then?" Orihime wondered.

"Call me by no name," the man said lowly, "as I said before, it is unimportant. What difference does a name make? A name does not change the nature of things, nor does it do any good to have a label, to have a sense of identity coupled with a name. Attachments are for the weak; the weak cling to things and give out what they call their 'heart' freely. But what becomes of them when the thing they love most is torn away? What becomes of their heart? That is why, if one has nothing, is nothing, then it is true happiness."

Orihime pondered his words for a moment, "Are you perhaps a Buddhist monk, mister?" she asked him. She knew Buddhist precepts were based around the fact that worldly attachments tied the soul to the earth… or something like that. She herself was Shinto, so she paid little attention to the other religion.

"I am not," he said shortly.

"Will you at least allow me to know what you look like? I cannot see, but if you allow me to feel your face…" Orihime wanted to know something about the mystery man that held her attention so. He was an interesting person, she thought, with thoughts that she could not fully grasp.

"Will you be satisfied that way, woman?" he asked softly, and she nodded. Orihime started slightly as cool fingers caught her own, slender but strong, and icy to the touch. Her hand was the pressed against equally cold skin, a smooth expanse that would have been the edge of his jaw. Orihime then took over herself, exploring his face with her fingertips. She felt half lidded eyes that slid shut beneath her touch, that bespoke of a melancholy look that would well fit his personality, the straight bridge of his nose below the sharp 'v' formed by his eyebrows. She ran her fingers through his hair, and was surprised to find that the silky locks were left free, much like Ichigo's was, but it was longer, and less wild. She found that he wasn't all that tall; her fingers then wandered across his cheek and encountered a low ridge that she easily recognized.

"Is this a scar?" she asked him, feeling an identical one beneath his other eye. They ran from his bottom lid to the edge of his jaw. She imagined that his pain must have been similar to her own, when suddenly he caught her wrist, pulling her hand away from him and leaving her question unanswered.

"I will never understand you humans," she thought she heard him mutter amongst a rustle of cloth, but she could not be sure, so she did not inquire, "You said that you wish to speak to me; do not expect it to be a particularly inspiring conversation."

"I will be happy if you simply listen," Orihime said with a small smile.

"So be it," the man replied, the man with the scars and the nice voice that was void of pity.

"You know how I said I don't like being patronized?" she began, "I don't… I can understand that people worry about me, the villagers especially, and I appreciate the fact that they think highly enough of me to find me worth worrying about, but… they treat me like I can do nothing for myself."

"And you do not tell them that this bothers you?" his voice was low, and she detected a note of confusion. Orihime shook her head.

"I fear that if I do, they will be offended… you see, I love the village people a great deal. I have known all of them since I was very small, and they have done so much for me. When my parents left my brother and me in the mountains during the famine, the village took us in. And when Sora died, they provided for me… they still do."

"I do not understand."

"What is there to understand?" she queried, "It is simple compassion and gratitude."

"Compassion…" he mused quietly to himself, thinking that such a thing was entirely useless. But the woman had not sought him for his opinions, so he kept silent.

"Do you have anyone that you love like that?" the girl asked suddenly, her face turning toward him. Ulquiorra gazed at her with an empty stare.

"I do not," he responded, not even having to think.

"No one? You've never had anyone that you would die for? No parents, or siblings, or friends?" she looked surprised by this, though he did not understand why.

"Loyalty and love are different things," Ulquiorra intoned lowly, "In answer to your question, the only one I have ever served is dead; even when serving him I rarely took into consideration that I might die in his service. I simply acted."

The girl looked thoughtful for a moment, "That's sad," she said.

"What is?"

"That you have no companions!" she truly looked miserable for his sake, a completely unfathomable reaction. He shook his head, not understanding, and instead decided to close himself off.

"I dislike speaking of myself," Ulquiorra said, "You said that you wished me to listen; I am no longer volunteering information."

The girl brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her forearm, "All right," she sighed, "then I will tell you about the village!"

Orihime spoke for a long time, telling the man of everything that went on. How Ichigo was a blade smith, how much she enjoyed his company, even though he loved some other woman named Rukia, a noble. How Tatsuki and Chizuru were forever warring over her, with Tatsuki chasing Chizuru away only for the other girl to come back after only a few minutes; How Asano, a stable hand, wanted Tatsuki, but the girl either did not notice or refused to accept his feelings; how Kobayashi the papermaker once started a fire in Ichigo's forge by accident. She described the village by feel and by emotion. The sun moved across the sky, and still the girl with the fiery hair continued.

Ulquiorra listened, and did not understand.