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lxxiii — purgatory V
"Don't look now, Kagome-hime, but that warrior can't take his eyes off of you!" Sango whispered into her ear.
Kagura's full lips drew downward in a frown. "Tch! Such insolence, staring so freely at the hime. Has he no manners?"
"Uptight as usual, aren't we, Kagura," Sango intoned with a roll of her eyes.
"I am merely stating my observation," said the woman loftily, producing a fan from the inside of her kimono. She snapped it open and began to fan herself with polished movements of the wrist. "Besides, Sango, even you must be aware that—"
As her two maids conversed — bickered — amongst themselves, Kagome peeked in the direction they had been suggesting. There was indeed a man standing ankle-deep in the emerald grass, studying her intently. His fighting attire instantly gave him away as being a shinobi in her father's empire, and his features felt rather familiar to her. He had immaculate porcelain skin that had yet to be tarnished by the sun's powerful rays nor ruined by blade, and in contrast to that, coal eyes that reflected no light. The black hair that rested on top of his head and framed his sculpted face was short and choppy. His lips tweaked at her in a reserved, polite smile.
After a second's hesitation, Kagome returned the smile.
"Let us go, hime," Kagura spoke abruptly, placing a gentle yet domineering hand on her elbow, "your father, our Lord, is soon to arrive. We must have you groomed before he does."
Sango assumed her customary position at the princess's other side, also taking hold of an arm. "I wonder what land he has succeeded in conquering this time?" she pitched in.
As they more or less dragged her away, Kagome turned her head to see the warrior once more. He was there, still.
Bye, she mouthed.
At first he appeared surprised, but then the young man lowered himself into a slight bow.
"Nii-san!"
Madara set down the stick of charcoal in his hand onto the table, turning his head to greet his younger brother as the latter entered their homely abode. "Izuna," Madara said with a smile, body turned halfway to the entrance of the hut.
The straw mat made a gentle noise as it swished down upon Izuna's passing, and the young man enthusiastically plopped down next to his brother.
"I saw her," Izuna said with a grin.
Madara arched a brow but when he saw Izuna's gaze flick to his artwork on the table, he could guess what this was about. "Saw whom?"
"Her," Izuna replied with a nod at his charcoal illustration. "The girl in your drawings."
Madara blinked. Then a deep chuckle emanated from his throat. "She is our hime, Izuna. You should refer to her with the proper respect."
The two brothers laughed and conversed in good cheer before preparing for the evening's supper.
Age considers; youth ventures.
—Rabindranath Tagore
Author's Note: