There was nothing there, no tangible source every time she reached out with her reiki, so there was no way for her to displace the discomfort. It was only when the familiar shimmer of her barrier washed over her shoulders that it went away, spurring on her need to remain indoors.
It was a routine she'd gotten used to as the days grew colder, each morning greeting her with frost instead of flora.
"It's a good thing you don't control the weather," Kagura mused, throwing another log onto the fire. "We'd already be buried in snow by now."
Kagome was tempted to throw something at her but couldn't tear herself away from the window. Usually, she was indifferent to snow—she much preferred the warmth of spring when things began to thrive—but the image of him and the memory of spending months curled up against him while the world was blanketed in white had her second-guessing her choice.
Reiki became a siren song, dissipating at the edge of the barrier so as not to lure anything nefarious into their home. She just wanted to make sure he was alright.
Kagura glared at her as if reading her thoughts—and hearing the lie.
"No one would ever know you prefer to stay inside with how much time you spend staring out there," she said, poking her sister in the cheek.
"Perhaps all people need to change is a little motivation," their mother chuckled.
A prickle of awareness had Kagome choking on her response and throwing open the door, the sting of the cold going unnoticed as she darted out into the snow barefoot.