"Our ladyship has requested an outing." The chubby tanuki servant announced to his liege. Sesshoumaru was immersed in his research on the fusion of youki into weaponry, ensconced within the austere confines of his library brimming with esoteric demon literature.

"S—" Sesshoumaru let out an angry and premature hiss but bit his tongue. 'She is not my mother, neither my wife. No other woman is to be called the lady of this house'. He had initially wanted to protest but ultimately decided that he was not in the humor of arguing over sentimental semantics.

Ever the tactful servant, Taneiko deftly sidestepped his master's initial ire. With a respectful bow, he allowed Sesshoumaru a moment to gather his frayed composure before the demon lord managed to utter a more composed response.

"She's not my ward. I trust she's aware of her own physical limitations."

"Very good, sire." Taneiko bobbed his head in understanding. Then, as if merely an afterthought, he tossed over his shoulder on his way out, "We shall be borrowing the wheelbarrow from the root cellar."

Sesshoumaru arched his eyebrow in askance. What, he wondered, was that human woman planning now? Her activities seemed as baffling and unpredictable as the woman herself.

With Taneiko's diligent assistance, Kagome had gathered a sizable amount of white clay, piled atop a woven bamboo mat in the dimly lit tatami room. Her discovery had been quite fortuitous – a patch of sacred ground near the fortress, saturated with water infused by the elusive Fujinroku. A mystic plant believed to possess miraculous healing properties when channeled by a trained spiritual practitioner. Kagome saw an opportunity in this remarkable find – to repay Sesshoumaru's begrudged hospitality and rectify a lasting symbol of his lost honor.

She intended to mold him a new arm.

Akin to how Kikyou was formed of clay, Kagome believed she could channel her priestess powers to craft living flesh from the clay. The idea was audacious and fraught with risk – not to mention that Sesshoumaru was extremely averse to the concept. Nevertheless, Kagome's steadfast determination was enough to sway him, albeit reluctantly.

"Do as you wish, miko, but do not mistake my compliance for trust," he warned her sternly. She mentally rolled her eyes, too excited by the prospect of what they were about to undertake to voice her discontent at his bellyaching.

Kagome had persuaded him to join her at the tatami room. A sense of unease hung heavily between them as Sesshoumaru stood at the threshold. Kagome fidgeted with the edge of her robe, eyes darting everywhere but him. There was an aspect of undeniable vulnerability to this charge, despite the clinical nature of her intentions. She was about to sculpt him a new arm, a task that necessitated a certain level of intimacy. Yet, the thought of her husband's brother undressing before her brought a heat to her cheeks.

"Should I...should I turn around?" she stammered, not meeting his gaze.

A slow blink was Sesshoumaru's only response before he began to disrobe, the fabric of his attire rustling softly. He was unbothered by the situation, though his expression was marked by a look of inconvenience.

When Kagome finally found the courage to look up, she found herself unexpectedly taken by the demon lord's form as he undressed. His powerful physique was revealed to be marred by a poignant reminder of fraternal altercations. Despite his incompletion, Sesshoumaru held a regal aura, his presence commanding and captivating. The sight of him in his formidable clothless form stirred an unpredicted feeling of admiration within Kagome.

As he lay down, Kagome began the intricate process of molding the clay, pouring all her focus into the task.

"This might... hurt," she warned as she initiated the infusion of her powers into the clay, her brow furrowed with concentration.

The demon lord's grunt of acknowledgment was barely audible, his pride swallowing a wince as the pain began to shoot through him.

For Sesshoumaru, the regrowth was torture, each newly synthesized nerve ending sent spasms of agony throughout his being. The instinct to halt Kagome clawed at him, but he refused to concede to weakness, biting back the pain and willing himself to endure, even as his knuckles turned white from tension.

The pressure had grown near insurmountable as Kagome worked her way ultimately down to his fingertips, her energy reserves diminishing alarmingly. She lacked the strength to replicate his demon claws, and his new hand bore only human fingernails – an incongruity that stood as a reminder of the ordeal. Her powers dwindled to nothing as she finally collapsed. She fell forward, exhausted, her body splayed over the demon lord's as their ragged breaths echoed each other. The pulsating throb of his new arm would serve as a vivid reminder of this day, of the inexplicable relationship that had taken root amidst an intense trial.