Shippou made his way toward the well, the weight on his shoulders forcing his back paws further into the snow. He knew he shouldn't be outside, especially with the threat of another blizzard on the horizon, but skipping a visit felt like a betrayal, and he never wanted her to think he'd abandoned hope.
Tears pricked his eyes, freezing against his cheeks as he pulled his feet out of the snow. He tried to find his balance to walk along the surface, but every other step had him stumbling.
He would make it.
She deserved as much.
They'd all known her leaving was a possibility, but his childish mind had never quite formed the thought that he'd never see her again. Then the meidou had taken her, the familiar scent of nagoran disappearing in the blink of an eye. Shippou had always wondered how she smelled that way, going as far as to inspect her futuristic soaps when they bathed together, but they never quite gave off the same fragrance.
It was what had drawn him to her in the first place. His mother had planted a bunch around their home, as they were low maintenance, and even his father's erratic watering kept them alive. The scent was comforting, luring him to her location even before the thought of stealing her shards had formed in his mind.
He'd honestly thought he'd found his mother again. That the traumatic images of her demise had been nothing but a bad dream. But the dark-haired human had been nothing like the graceful vixen, her odd dress and short temper giving him little comfort as he sought revenge.
But then she'd offered him refuge, refusing to punish him for his actions even when Inuyasha called for his head. Her constant protection was a balm to his wearied soul, her willingness to allow him into her strange sleeping pocket only cementing their bond. He knew she was young in human years, but he couldn't stop himself from being selfish. Not when she welcomed the contact time and time again.
He reached the edge of the well, a recent growth spurt aiding him in grasping the weathered wood. His feet still didn't touch the ground, but he no longer had to rely on hopping everywhere.
He hoped she'd be proud of him.
"It's almost been three years, Mama," he whispered, his voice disappearing into the wind. From what Kagome had said, time moved the same when she went through the well, but he had no idea if that was the case now. Three years felt like a lifetime to him, but for all he knew, it could've been three days where she was.
She started bringing mini paintings back with her after realizing that the search for the shards wasn't going to be a quick fix. Shippou was always amazed at the realism of the details. She called them 'photographs' and told him they weren't paintings at all, but he didn't understand the mechanics of what a 'camera' was, so they were still paintings to him.
He'd tried copying them a few times, the paints and coloured sticks she gifted him opening his world to the wonders of art, but they never looked anything like her photos. She always encouraged him, though, offering him soft words of encouragement and bringing back even more photos of where she hung them at home.
He could probably walk her house blindfolded with how many times she'd described it, but he'd always wanted to see it for himself. He knew Goshinboku would be at its centre, but he couldn't imagine him surrounded by anything but rolling fields, sunlight poking through waving branches.
He tilted his head in the ancient tree's direction. The only thing that covered his branches right now was snow, but even then, he was majestic, standing guard over what would eventually be Mama's home.
"Keep her safe for me, will you?" he asked, unsure if the tree could hear him from this far away. "The well doesn't work anymore, so I can't tell if she's okay." A strong breeze ruffled his fur, some of the snow falling from the lower branches, and Shippou tightened the makeshift scarf around his neck.
It wasn't actually a scarf, but her scent still lingered in the worn fabric, bringing him comfort on days like this. Maybe he'd take up Kaede's offer to learn how to braid so he could make his own. He certainly didn't have anything else to do.