A breeze touched his topmost branches, sending a tremor down his ancient spine. Sunlight scarcely touched his darkened core anymore, yet in his gnarly roots resided the deep consciousness of the forest. To the world he appeared motionless; his imperceptible movements were hidden from the knowledge of the swifter creatures. And yet he had eyes and ears – he was acutely aware of the world around him, that grew and changed as he remained, unperturbed, in their midst, his bark still strong enough to withstand the youki of even the mightiest of demons.
He was truly a study in contradictions.
He was a sapling once, weak and helpless among the giants that towered around him, obscuring his light and air – the two things he had needed the most. But he never gave up his fight for survival, outgrowing even the tallest tree until one day we watched with awed eyes the sages of the sky spread their dark prayer mats and chant the rosary of the silent stars. He watched the sunlight filter through the leaves like wisps of a green beard. He knew each stone, each mineral, each secret horde of gems hidden under the forest floor.
When the Lord of the West had fallen, he had heard whispers in the soil. When the shadow of the demon spider was rising, he could taste the bitterness of the miasma in the sky. Yet he felt equal concern as he watched over a nest of hatchlings while their mother was away. He had shielded them with his leafy boughs, and seen each vivid, colourful dream that crossed those tiny eyes.
A flash of white snapped Bokusenou out of his daydream. Sesshoumaru was approaching him. He knew what it was concerning, a while ago he had sensed it in the wind.