Tis' fit we understand

The wandering, dishonorable Ronin arrive. They steal. They kill. The demons surround. They eat their fill. She dreams. People starve. Offerings wither. 

Every time she thinks of speaking out, saying something– complaining, like we all don't go through the same thing, Kiyohime –it's as though all her childhood scoldings arise; She knows she doesn't have the right to. The men are working, the men have the higher death rate in this town. She is a woman. Women are meant to be seen, not heard. 

Women are jewels. All of them. Some more valuable than others. They are beautiful, coveted, and ought to be hidden, nourished by the seed that gave them life, nurtured then in the earth from whence they came, and then sheltered by the men who appraise them. The one man they are sworn to. 

She should already know. Be humble, Kiyohime, be dutiful. Be like rice, Kiyohime. Pale, soft and malleable. 

Unseen. Identical among the masses. 

Kiyohime thinks that if she is a gem, she is like impure jade, saturated and cloudy. No one should want her.

( Kiyohime always drowns at the end. )

What a tale. She works her husband’s rice paddy with the other townsfolk and her hands grow calloused. 

( Because she is still growing, barely past her nineteenth year. )

But. Taiga-san—Yoshida-san, her husband, is a nice man, and well off. He's not ugly, even at his age, just over seventy years, now, she thinks. She doesn't know how many years have passed, with her dreaming down here like this. Enough that her children aren't babes anymore.

She recalls- Yoshida-san's family has been here long, priests before the Shrine fell. It's why he’s lived so long. This ensures that their children are to be blessed, many have said. 

Her parents were pleased with that arrangement and haven't talked to them here after. She belonged to his house, then.

The dream repeats here.

Daimyo. Night. Taxes. Dream. 

She can have all the white rice she wants, after the harvest and taxes, and selling, after hours of peeling the brine off each little grain with the gossip of women in lieu of real company.

Broken shrine. Ronin, cleave, starve, fang. 

The rice paddy and the corpses swarm with insects. Cicadas scream their loneliness to an uncaring sky.

Moon, altar. Crescent, wink. Dream. Dream again.

And Kiyohime realizes. Oh. Oh. This is her sentence. This will be the rest of her life. How boring. How horrble. This is not what her longing is for. This town is nothing more than a shrinking pockmark on the world anyways. Who would stay here? Who would leave? Who would ask for sea glass over jade, however blurred?

Well, it seems one. 

The Daimyo comes with his Samurai. The Demon comes. It's a moonless storm- Too dark to see anyone die.

They arrive. A family. A husband with odd, flat eyes. Serene, a flicker of arrogance. Lithe and beautiful, much like the partner by his side. Young, not much older than Kiyohime, with a child. A messy, dark haired, craggle toothed daughter. Sweet in the face.

Kiyohime thinks she must be confused, because when Ayumi-chan first came here she had twins, didnt she? Sons. And her husband had dar hair, yes? Not white. His dressing was not that rich either.

Perhaps Kiyohime is dreaming herself with one of her daughters, it seems more viable. But Ayumi-chan had twins. Pale-haired. Hanyos– everyone knew it. Foreboding, but that just meant more fresh blood in this town.

Perhaps these warped thoughts should been a greater warning. 

But, she remembers then. The woman, Ayumi-chan, was dark like a Chīnouya under a bog. Polite, helpful, hardly lets herself, or her children outside to be seen. As was ‘proper’. But what is proper elsewhere is a luxury here. When she is healed from birthing she will work the paddies with the rest of them.

They move into the empty honjin. After the death of the previous owners, Masaki-chan gives blessings to the house and family. The children fall ill and recover within a week, and only then does the husband appear in public.

No one knows his first name. But they pity him-- they thought Ayumi-chan was a Kitsune at first. Her teeth were not blackened. A man had called him ‘Hoori’ once like the legend and his face went like a storm, wild and enraged. He is just Numachi-san then. He finds work among the town when he is not by their side. He smiles readily, mysteriously. You can see him everywhere. 

He stalls and meanders near the forests. The people are curious. He prays for hours in the broken shrine. The people hold breath. Then suddenly, the demons stop attacking. Their corpses dot the forests like warning posts. The moonless nights come, and the honjin holds the odd guests. They hardly leave town alive.

The people are very interested. And afraid. 

Kiyohime's watching the fish in her pond, it is a full moon tonight, that-night. The pond place was a betrothal gift– A place for her own respite. Beyond the paddy, past a few hills, her little pond and grove. Her husband's grandfather built it for his miko wife, to win her over. Now its hers.

She watches them now, swimming idly after what bits she tosses, the moon a foreign coin; He does not cast reflection.

“Numachi-san,” she calls him. Her voice is too high. “Have you a need to be here?”

“No more than you, Kiyohime-san. Simply admiring the view.” The wind catches in his hair, scattering silver. Not black. Not brown. Not red.

Silver, like the crest of the moon. Why did she think it white, before?

“Then, have you need of me?” A pause. One laden as her heart heavens in its anticipation.

He steps forward. “Perhaps. Not a need.”

“A want, then?”

She hears the smile in his voice. “Yes. A want.”

The wind blows without preamble here, warmth and musk, rattling the leaves of the bamboo. Disturbs her lonely reflection in the waters. Even the cicadas don’t scream. The cuckoo does not cry.

She is not scared. She’s not. She’s just– dreaming. Either way this goes, her nightmare also ends.

“Will you indulge me? Kiyohime…?”

“How bold you are to call me by my name.” She turns to look at his face, the dark eyes and strong neck, nondescript clothing, hands folded politely. Humble. “Tell me yours?”

Here, here he pauses. A smile alights on his lips, and for the slightest second mirth colors his face. Brings him to life, almost. A man.

“You can call me Mutsu, Kiyohime.”

Ah, she thinks, as he creeps closer. It's the only thing she thinks of as he descends on her. Ah.

Rin scurries ahead with A-un, practically running back to the scene of the crime. Sesshoumaru follows at a much more languid pace. You could almost call it stalking.

There's a certain confidence that rage affords, not one he is unused to nor overtly familiar with. Still, it's made itself a ready acquaintance in his short time here. 

But, he will not allow it to temper his curiosity or composure. He will get to the bottom of all this.

He wills his anger to settle, thrum underneath his skin. The entrance to the tunnel is as plain as he thought.

‘Poorly hidden, but out of the way. If one were to trip in they could easily climb themselves out.’ Exactly what Rin did not do.

Sesshoumaru crouches into the open maw, and takes a long, deep breath. 

All that effort into calming himself seems to be for naught– he can feel his talons tipping in poison at the reek.

“...It's been used recently. Hanyo. And that white demon I confronted before, though his scent is much weaker. Older.” He chuffs, pushing out the scent stuck in his nostrils. 

“Human scents as well, even fainter. I smell the innkeeper.” He stands and walks, listening to the heavy, solid fall of his footsteps resound within its empty burrow. When the thud echoed farther, he turned to where it bounced, noticing the other paths, branching.

“The girl. And-d herrrr…”

“The girl and the farmer, I can not smell them here. They must have used another network.”

Eventually, it leads to the stone wall around the hotsprings, where the rock piles high behind the Honjin. Craggly and jutting like uneven teeth, it acts as a natural fence. A maw, opened from the ground and spilling out steam.

Sesshoumaru looks back, to the still open window, and turns away from the rushing waters.

“Even if you had screamed, the waters flow naturally here. Your voice would be lost amongst them.” The child’s eyes are red. Wet. She’s learned not to drop her gaze, but still it is as guilty as ever. He can tell she wants to apologize. There's layers to her silence, but, no matter.

Rin and A-un flinch when a fist cracks against the rock, dust flying beneath his hand. He spreads his hand, and feels, listens… he stands upright.

“...It leads towards the room you fell out of. It confirms what you've said.”

“Did you see? --Otherr–”

“There are other paths behind us, yes, but it is not my effort to trace them now.” He inclines his head towards the front entrance of the inn, silent and still with the leftover tension of a life nearly lost.

“Get inside. Pack your things. We’re leaving.”

You’re not stupid. Neither are you deaf, or oblivious, however easy it is to pretend to be.

Sometimes you're pretending and sometimes you're not but this is definitely not one of those times where you are, so– so yeah.

Dead sons, avenging fathers, begging daughters. Pleading mothers. Hanyo’s, demons, husbands. Your eavesdropping has been very enlightening.

( “But some people aren’t given that choice. She’s one of them.”

“But her? I can’t forgive her. I won’t.” )

The apothecary’s words suddenly shine new light, and you share in her dogmatism. So, with your new found revelation, you move. You gather your Lord’s cloak about you and creep into the one room you never thought to trespass. And you snoop. 

There's nothing much in Numachi’s room other than her futon, her closet full of old kimonos too big for her. Not much in the way of clues. You hear a loud sound once– like something hitting a wall of the honjin– stop; But nothing else happens so you continue.

What gets you is a small wooden chest, barely to your knees, hidden deep within her closet. The latch opens easily, a little too easily, especially for the small, inconsequential flat box inside, a folded piece of cloth within. 

It must be important, to be hidden so deeply. Whatever it is, you’ll take it, the cloth looks expensive at least. Silk, probably. It's small enough you leave the box and just stuff it in your collar.

You don't take kindly to fakes, fake cordiality, fake pleasantries, fake sympathy. It was all you received when you first came here, and you learned to sharpen your discernment. Old folk who’ve tried to kidnap and sell you, demons who faked civility only to desire your flesh, shrines that denied you shelter for your ‘impurity’, people who refused to sell to you because of your haggard appearance. You’ve had a rough go. 

Usually now, you could tell between simpering leeches and humble grace. You don't usually grow to like someone unless you're absolutely sure. 

Seems you were mistaken this time.

But it has a cost to you, betrayal. Which Numachi has not yet paid. So you wait, with your Lord’s plain blade unsheathed, and then, held along the slim throat of the innkeeper when she steps in.

Her breath goes shallow, but her brow dips in a heavy frown. “Honored guest, what are you–”

“Nah ah ah. Let’s not go there. You have five seconds to start talking before I start slicing." You press, not enough to draw blood but enough for a threat. “One. Two–”

“I’m not sure how much you heard out there–”

“Conjecture. Four–”

“My husband was a demon, I had hanyo twins, he was unfaithful, he has at least three other children.” The words come out in a rush, and her eyes flutter close. “Anything else?”

“Your husband is dead, but the attacks haven’t stopped. Are your sons the demons of this town? Are they in town?”

“Among them. I don't know if they're all here.” She scoffs, and her eyes slide to yours in harsh spite. “They haven't come to see me yet.”

“Then who could they have gone to, their other siblings?”

“Honored guest, how am I to know when I have hardly stepped outside of this inn? When they have not come to see me?” She turns, but you don't let her close, tipping the edge of the blade. The motion slices her collar, she pauses, and looks at you.

“Honored guest.”

“What.”

“Did you see, at the rice paddy?” She steps forward, drawing beads of red against her throat. 

“What are you, see what–” Your backwards step was to ground you, but so turns into a retreat.

She advances, slowly but surely, with no mind to the blade you have pointed. Beads turn into a slice of red. “What about at the streams, did you see then?” Stained collar.

“The hell are you–See, see what,” you stutter. But even as you ask –the woods the stream the blur the silence– the moment reappears in your mind. She sees it on your face then, nods. Stops.

“One of them then. Oh, definitely more than one, but one of them, then.”

“So you knew,” you exhale. “You knew and you sent me there. To be killed?”

“No, honored guest. A ploy that simple would certainly have me killed by your Lord; He nearly killed me for the sin of being a mother.”

“The apothecary was right to warn me about you.” Your grip slips; You stare down this woman, trying to imagine everything you don't know she keeps hidden. Her face twists. “Why didn't she warn me about your sons then? Why they left you? Did you…?”

She waits, eyes bright, head straight. Her demureness is gone, but her politeness remains. “Do what? Oh, who knows, I'm always wrong in someone's eyes... But, you don't know, so I know you're only speculating.” Oh, that sparks your blood, that coy act. She steps back, and like a dance, you follow her, a fish on the other end of the hook. 

“Dont fret. My sons will not be coming here, and they will not harm you or your group. I swore to your Lord because I know my sons. They are good boys.”

“And are they good men too?” 

You both startle towards the open door, Sesshoumaru stands there, eyes flitting over the scene, hand on the doorframe. He looks younger, and colder, without his outer robe.

He speaks. “Or do your sons take after their mother?”

Numachi bows a full ninety degrees, almost slitting her throat if not for your reflexes. “Please do not mock me, my Lord. I raised my sons well.” He only scoffs, and speaks to you, sharp. “Hold the blade with more conviction. Do not be cowardly.” You adjust and he nods.

“We will be leaving your inn, Numachi-san. I've decided we no longer have need of your services.”

“Oh. Forgive me my Lord, but it's rather late with a storm approaching. And your vassal still seems, ah, fevered.” She rises, but keeps her head lowered, her chin laying over the edge of the blade. “Though if they're right to hold a blade, who am I to say?”

“Exactly. So do not.”

“...Shall I help you pack your things?” 

“No need.” You've already heard Rin’s footsteps pitter patter across the woodfloor, and now she runs past Sesshoumaru in a bright blur, arms full.

“You, come with me.” You don't take your eyes off her, and neither does she move her eyes from him. You back away, blade still pointed, and follow him out the room.

Halfway down the hall you lower the blade and whirl on your heel. He waits as you sheathe the sword and step beside him, moving you to walk in front, hand low on your spine. 

“Whats going on now? I heard some of it, but I-”

“I did not leave you that blade for you to wield it in such an unsightly manner.” His eyes flash. “If I ever see you hold a weapon like that again I’ll have you run drills from sun up to sundown. That woman was drawing closer and you let her.” You wince, harsh much,  but… it's not like it's untrue. 

Still, smarts. “...It's not like I had a proper mentor… with the time to show me better…” 

“I should be your prime and only example. Am I not the most exemplary figure to follow?” He scoffs while you pout.  “And there's plenty of time to train. You’re avoidant.”

“You’ve never let me hold an actual weapon to train with unless you approve its craft. And you haven't approved of one since, ever. Since the tanto.”

“Use your Bokken.”

“What will that do? And you broke my last one a month ago!”

“Should have blocked better. Use Rin’s after her drills.”

“Oh, uh, yeaahh, she… lost that in a river a fortnight ago. Tried to make a fishing rod out of it and it, uh, snapped.” 

“...” You hear him push a slow breath out his nose. His hand tenses on your back.

“In truth we ate well that night."

“...”

“Please don’t tell her I told you. Blame Jaken. Where is he actually?”

“The point being, you will train more. Especially with the awakening of your spiritual energy. ” He moves his hand, makes a quick whipping motion towards you, and like a string of gossamer, something pulls you back towards him, his chest to your back. 

The energy, feeling, is unfamiliar. Your hair crackles, literally, audibly [what the freeaaakkk] and the gossamer feeling crumbles away.

He shakes out his hand, clicking his tongue. “You must learn to train this, this new thing. Otherwise you'll spark at every unfamiliar thing.” You can hear him sneer, almost. ”Would have been useful against the wench back there.”

“Hey–I don't tolerate derogatory remarks against women. Insult her character, not her gender.”

“You have time to joke, then pack.” He nudges you, a little more forceful than a nudge actually, into the room you shared with him. You look at the mess you left. How obvious.

“I told you to do something. You're half-fevered, not helpless.”

“ (: ”

Might as well tease him some for the inconvenience. 

You sigh loudly and place your hand on your cheek dramatically, falling back on the messy futon. He looks at you like he’s daring you not to.

You dare. “Look. Our honeymoon has been cut so short, and only when we got to the good part so late…But I guess we did do things a bit backwards hm?”

“What is a honeymoon?”

Ooh anachronistic blunder. Save the day genderneutral girl. “I mean, we have the kid, the pets, and consummation before marriage, and, not even a house! Do you have a house? I haven't even met your mother! Or or or~ Your brother, hm…? What were we even thinking–”  

S  l  o  w  l  y , a hand lays over your mouth, fingers slotting down one by one. You can't meet his eyes–you shut up immediately, grinning beneath his palm.

“...”

“...” If you speak, you will break out into giggles.

Your name is a sigh pushed past sharp teeth. “...Just pack your damn things.”

Jaken is mad.

Extremely mad.

And cold and wet and hungry and annoyed and an entire slew of other things. Luckily he still has all his limbs and his staff, and he is on his way to meet his Lord.

Following that snake was fruitful; After a while of sneaking after him Jaken broke off. He was not intent on being caught by that demon, or being led to another den of hungry, grabby hands. His siblings, that demon had said.

Multiple demons, multiple scents…that spiced signature. More than just the amount of blood there. He was there. The rice boy. Alive or not he was there, and somehow….

Somehow he was connected to those demons, by blood. Relation. There's no other way for that spiced scent to permeate so thickly there. It was everywhere. But what did that mean for this town's demon? What of the rice boy's siblings? How were they all connected?

Was the Takashi-boy working with the demons, or was he one? Changed into one? Or was a betrayal the reason for the scent of his blood to bloom so thickly there? 

Thankfully, now, all Jaken can smell was the green of a thriving mountain, and the scent of rain, gathering clouds, charged lightning. A storm was coming; swift and strong. The kind that drowns the world for a day or two before leaving the world stiff and blue like a cracked robin’s egg.

The Lord would often sense these storms, and direct them to skirt around it. A-un’s scales and mane could absorb lightning– the demon  could shoot bolts of it out of his mouth for his Lord's sake–  and before the two humans came along Jaken would cling to his Lord's tail or A-un’s mane, praying that a bolt would not strike him. Sometimes he was not so lucky.

He has to rely on his sight to guide him back, since his lungs and nose are still itchy from all the sulfur. The dark isn't the issue.

‘Oh, oh surely my Lord has left me…I have disgraced him by allowing myself to be so unreliable…’ Jaken sniffles as he walks towards what he hopes is civilization. ‘The humans are now his priority, with his mate and mock-child…now they too have usurped me! I am abandoned!’ He throws himself to the ground in a fit of despair, letting tears roll fat and fast.

‘Jaken, you stupid, stupid fool…how could you ever compare?’ The child with her bright attitude, outperforming any cheer and encouragement he might give his Lord….A-un with his speed, fighting capabilities and ability to carry luggage…

Even the human…despite the advantages of the pleasures of the flesh, Jaken can admit, they are not…stupid. Certainly dense as a rock, entitled, spoiled, rude and unmannered, but not stupid. 

You’re adaptable. You have some modicum of intelligence that Jaken isn't quite sure what to measure against, because some of the things you ramble on about you do because you know Jaken could never understand. Like planes, or micro-waves. Wind-mills and L-E-D lights. Polyester. 

But, isn't a man who speaks a language none understands, simply a lonely fool?

'Oh,' he thinks, the thought suddenly alighting in his mind. 'Then, perhaps they're just like me…? Foolishly, but earnestly trying to impress our Lord in what meager ways we are allowed…we are more alike then I thought! And the tears flow fresh once more.

‘I’m sorry! I swear…I swear if I get out of here and ever reunite with them again, I will be a better person. I'll never look down on those two again, because that would be to question my Lord's decision! I'll be kinder! More capable! I promise!!’

A grunt answers his prayer.

Familiar. Jaken shoots up, and he is awarded the sight of A-un, without a muzzle, looking down at him. A flash of teeth, a flash of panic, youkai energy rising weakly, but Jaken recognizes his scent.

“A-un…?” A snort from one head, a gruff from the other.

His eyes well with tears once more. “I take everything back!!! Thank the heavens, A-un!! You've come to take me back, haven't you? Haven't you?! Did the Lord send you to me? Of course not, the Lord is surely demanding my presence! No doubt those two are causing him all sorts of grief!” A-un rolls his eyes and nods in some semblance of agreement, not keen on entertaining Jaken, it seems. But that doesn't matter right now, the sight of him is a sweet one.

“Well, let's get to it then! We must return swiftly so that we may serve our Lord, for I have news- hey. Hey, where are you going.” A-un starts walking, briskly, in the opposite direction he was going. Jaken follows, and the only reason he doesn’t lose sight of him is because of his tall height.

“A-un? Let me, allow me on your back! We must lessen the time it takes to get back- is that rain? Oh no, A-un, it's already dark, come back here you pest!!” Jaken breaks out into a run, following the demon steed back to wherever he was leading him. But Jaken doesn't doubt him for a second.

He’s still really, really annoyed though.

If the Fifth month comes, Even your song will pall, Cuckoo. But while it’s fresh Could I hear your voice?

The dream continues, but now, Kiyohime's in love.

Or, at least, she supposes she is. Was. It is not as consuming and enveloping a feeling as she thought it would be, which makes it easier to ignore the longing pains when they come.

“How I have missed you, Kiyohime…”

“How glad I am that you are here.” But a fickle lover doesn't prove to heighten her hopes. So, she learns to tempers them.

Anyways, Taiga-san is there. And her husband likes to hear her sing. She likes the way her voice fills the quiet, so she sings. She is dreaming and she is young, twenty-one, with no children, so she sings.

She cleans, she makes food, tea. Taiga-san repairs the shogi door. He checks her for fever and she waves away thoughts of hands cooler than his own on her skin. This touch is kinder, so why begrudge it?

She does not begrudge her husband. Hardly women get the dreams they dream of, and life with Taiga-san is a kinder existence than most. In a better life, they would have servants to work the paddies, instead of aging neighbors. The Daimyo would come to their lavish home when he comes over for tea, and laugh over sake with her husband. Perhaps he’s bringing his wife and Kiyohime would hold a tea ceremony, as she had done once with the late innkeeper.

Perhaps then. Kiyohime does not dream of what has not happened.

Instead, here, she is the pretty, dutiful wife of an old rice farmer, and the mistress [or meal?] of a naga demon. When he kisses her, she dreams that the sweet taste of a fruit she could never afford masks the iron in his mouth. His thick tail slides between her legs and his weight pins her. When he touches her, he worships her; She forgets her dull mundaneity and feels like a princess, corrupted.

“...Kiyohime...” he breathes, sighs, moves into her.

“How glad I am to be here with you.”

He is white hot bronze melded around her flesh, and she cannot escape. A bell ringing out her name. 

It is when years and months have passed in this memory softened spell, her husband growing kinder and the woman growing wary-er, when she realizes her situation. It is the quickening- a pressing against her ribs, another pulse besides her own.

Ayumi-chan stops her wild dash to her pond, her stream and bamboo grove. She is breathing, gasping harder than Kiyohime’s panicking, and though her eyes are as wide and wet as the ocean, her voice is as calm and steady as her outstretched hands.

She doesn't know why Ayumi-chan is here so late, when the moon has not shown his face. Kiyohime sees her sons sleeping strapped to her back and front, faces pink in the wafting heat. 

“You will go to Jugonshi-san. She's the only one here who knows how to birth children–them too,” she demands, not suggests. Her boy’s hair is threaded in silver and when one yawns, Kiyohime can see the baby point of a fang.  

“It will be…easier for you, as we are, but still. You never know what could happen with children such as these.” Toddlers. Hanyo’s. She stares even as Ayumi-chan hands her a slip of paper, clasps her hands around it when she tries to open it.

“Purify them too. They might live more ordinary lives with her help. Masaki will help too.”

“They?”

“There's slim chance you'll birth only one. Or, humanlike.” Ayumi-chan doesn't pay heed to the strangled sound that slips her lips. “I will keep him away–say it is for your health. Do not invite my husband back, Kiyohime-chan, oh, please do not.” 

She turns to run back, run away, but doesn't show her back, and Kiyohime suddenly sees her, brought into focus–her neat hair, her dark eyes, her pink painted mouth. She is beautiful. And her boys, her swaddled boys. Her husband.

How can he? How can he do this to her? To Ayumi-chan? Ayumi-chan is so cold and lovely–Kiyohime, with her young girl longing, does not deserve this.

“He’s so foolish. And a man. A soft hearted man but a man nonetheless. Oh, Kiyohime, I've worked and lost so much to fix this, to fix him, do not call him back, he'll come if you call. He has enough to fret over.”

Jugonshi-san is a relatively familiar face, though the woman herself is unfamiliar. But, she has been here longer than Kiyohime has and has saved many; She takes her slip, and prescribes her a weekly herbal blend. She tells her to pray, and she does. Masaki-chan places talismans over her house and gives her a special one to carry. Yoshida-san joins her in her prayers. Quickly, the months pass and her belly grows. She does not go to the grove or pond.

To her, Mutsu’s absence does not go unnoticed-neither does the longing glances he sends her way when she sees him in public. He looks at her as if she were drowning. Ayumi-chan drags him away, her sons strapped to her, wide eyed and uncannily pretty. Yoshida-san urges her to stay indoors and asks Masaki-chan for more talismans. 

Next year, in the fifth month, when the carp streamers outside her door swim in the breeze and the sun is soon to rise, she gives birth.

She gives birth to twins. Sons.

She knows immediately she cannot keep them. Not both.

“Should have expected–Naga hardly birth or sire one child–” Jugonshi-san, the doctor, wipes her down and hurries away the bloodstained cloth. For a day and night, she has labored as Kiyohime labored, and nearly Kiyohime has felt too weak for the ordeal of birth.

Ayumi-chan was there to keep her awake. A harsh voice and eyes full of anger, yes, but she helped nonetheless. She will not help with this, Kiyohime will not ask her to.

"At least it's only two. A blessing to be sure.” Ayumi-chan. Brow furrowed, relief or disgust? She moves away too quickly for Kiyohime to decipher.

Kiyohime gives birth to twins. Sons. Her firstborns. They lay on her breast and drink her milk, and the scales are still soft and peeling. She plucks them. The vernix peels away carefully. She goes slowly, and when morning comes her son cries with full clear lungs, skin pink and warm against her own.

Meanwhile his brother stirs against the sound and curls into her, still pebbled in silver. There's no use in peeling him. She can't hide him. His tail wraps around her arm when she tries to pass the babe over to Jugonshi-san. He’s so small, and he doesn't even cry.

“What is his name?” Jugonshi-san’s voice is the softest she’s ever heard it, or will.

“I…dont know….I didnt plan for two–”

“Oh, oh! Kiyo!” Ayumi-chan bursts into frame again, her eyes bright in the early summer sun. Her sons sleep back at the Honjin– Mutsu is watching over them. It was his compromise. Taking care of one brood for another.

“...I just thought, if you've made the choice, if he cannot be with you…” She shrugs, sheepish and young looking. “Kiyo would be nice.”

“And how would that be spelled? Kiyohime is already a… highminded name. He doesn't need something that grand or heavy.”

“希夜.”

The women turn to her, but Kiyohime’s face is already turned to the sunrise. Her husband has fallen asleep, he could not keep vigil as he hoped for under the herbal tea Jugonshi-san gave. She has a few hours yet, and birth weak or not, she will hold her children.

“Kiyo-mizu. It matches mine in virtue. 希 for hope. Hope that he will grow well and proper. 夜 for the time between sunset and sunrise. With this birthing time, and his fathers lineage,” she gasps, oh it's hard to keep the tears at bay, “With you, I hope he won't be alone?”

“Never.” Jugonshi-san finishes sweeping up the silver scales, like coins for fairies. “And his brother?”

“...His father wanted Inadahime, if a girl. Takashi, if a boy. So that will be his name.”

“He will not be unknown to you, Kiyohime-san. I will raise him, as my own. And I doubt…his father would allow him to roam unchecked.” Jugonshi smiles, white and straight, and Ayumi-chan draws away, salt spray on her lashes.

She speaks to Kiyohime. ”Rest, for now, Kiyohime. Dream a different dream, and then it shall be when you wake.” Her side is cold where her son used to be; Ayumi-chan pulls her cover up and tucks her sides in.

“The worst part of a dream is waking up from it. So don’t. Not from this.”

Hiroya never really liked the sea.

He's seen it. Swam in it. Tasted its salt and smelled its rank. But despite being the son of two very specific mikogami, he never felt particularly inclined to the water.

Mother never liked the sea either, despite her parentage. But, she was still mortal, and mortals fear mortality. Makes sense. But, then again, neither did Ren. Despite his name. His name suited him perfectly; A silent bloom, wise and impassive. Hiroya’s name suited him as well.

Neither did the moon compel them, though he's not sure how much he can speak on his brother's behalf, on this matter. But, it never did. Despite the blood. Despite their father.

{ Hiroya remembers being shorter than his twin, for a time. When Ren was nine and still with his milkfangs, Father pulled them out of his mouth one by one, once, twice– three times, to ‘encourage new growth.’ 

‘Betas need harsher training than Alphas. Especially if they're boys.’

That was a choice. A cruel one. Hiroya had let fear stall action, as Father dragged a crying Ren to the hot springs, so he wouldn't wake Mother up. She was already spent, from the Kagura, his dealings, her heavy fever.  It was towards the end, when Father started going mad.

So when Father told him to stay put, Hiroya did. Alpha instinct– bend to your superior, child. That too was a choice.

‘Ren’s just spending time with father.’  He hid in the childhood tunnels he dug with Ren, to hide from the sounds his demon ears could still pick up. ‘I do it all the time'.

Didn't make him feel any less like shit though. }

Hiroya sighs, curled up on cool rock, head in his arms. He wants to hide here in the dark for a while. From this situation, these people.

But he can sense his brother slithering closer, like a liquid facet of silver, quick and bright with Yokai energy. Rushing. Takashi’s always felt the need to rush everywhere like he’s making up for some lost time.

“Takashi.” His brother doesn't stop, slips past him with a whisper.

“Takashi-” He reaches out and grabs his arm, but Takashi shakes him off.

“What are you doing? Why are you touching me?!”

Hiroya will not groan. “I need to talk to you. And your sisters. Where are the twins?”

“That's what I'm going to do. The storm is too heavy to check the traps now.” As if to emphasize, thunder bears down on the mountain, and the thing slumbering below rumbles, and turns over.

They wait, until the shaking stops. Even if their blood races, their faces are too pale to show it.

“Mother would be calmer with all of us by her side now.”

“...I suppose that doesn't include Kiyomizu, this time of month. Might I again suggest–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence Hiroya,” he snaps. “Of course not. Why would she want you there?”

“...I apologize then. I misspoke.”

“As often is the case with you.”

Hiroya doesn’t understand the nuances between younger and older siblings. He was born a pair afterall. And while he’s often at the forefront, Ren is his counterforce, the anchor keeping him close to shore. Alpha and betas work well together, especially family. Not like Alphas, so prone to butting heads. Takashi’s such a wonderful example.

Takashi is covered in scars. Over his arms and chest, his neck. Other demons, wild animals, the odd ronin. One over his temple– from Father. Even his face now–red and angry, the scar runs from his ear to throat. If he had sustained the injury while transformed, like this, it would have healed too quickly to scar. The only place left unblemished is his upper tail– pristine and silver-sharp.

“Why are you staring like that?” Another scar lies on his hand, where missing fingers used to be. “Answer me Numachi.”

“The demon that gave you those scars will soon come here. He has a job left unfinished.”

Takashi scoffs, tilting his head back. “He’s already had his blood. And we covered our tracks. He’ll never find the tunnels.”

“But his imp has, and now flees to his master.”

“Because you let him free. And, well, anyways, we are here.” He spreads his arms. “Or at least most of us. Where is your brother? Is he not coming?”

He crosses his own. “For once you want Ren here?”

“He’s the more tolerable of you two. So, he is not? I suppose he is safer in his mother’s house.”

Hiroya, he pauses. “...What do you mean to insinuate, Takashi-kun?”

“I’m not insinuating.”

Bullshit. “Are you not to blame for the same thing?”

Takashi flushes, incensed immediately. “I’m not a beta.”

“Still immature, so watch your tongue.”

“He hides within that honjin. This was my father’s abode before–”

“That honjin, was never my mother’s home,” Hiroya lets his mask slip way, fangs large in his mouth. “Same as this never being yours either.”

“...Not our Mother’s homes…” Takashi mulls over his next words, working his jaw side to side like he was grinding the words before releasing them. “Yet you insinuate this will soon be my mother’s grave.”

“The Inu Lord Daiyokai has discovered the existence of these tunnels. Ohatushime and Yoshida-san used them when your father–” now he’s being petty, “decided to confront that Lord.”

A dozen emotions cross his face. Anger, fear, spite, worry, fear again– “For what? Why would he even go there–”

“That Lord has hair like us–well, not exactly like us. But your hair was found there, and easily mistaken for his. Enough for Yoshida-san to draw a conclusion to your ‘murderer’. Yoshida-san decided to take your sword, and he did not plan to come back. Thanks to your sister, and no doubt my mothr, they escaped with their limbs and their lives.”

“I’m going to kick Kiyomizu’s ass,” Takashi mutters. His claws drag through silver hair. “Had to make a scene.”

“That scene is what kept you alive. If that Lord knew of your heritage and alive-ness, he'd be racing here. As it stands, we’re safe until he finds us. Which he will. If we stay.”

“And what of my mother? Do we leave her? No. Knowing about the existence of the tunnels is not enough to know how to traverse them.”

“But the Lord’s child has also discovered a tunnel way by the Honjin. I led his imp servant from these channels myself before he scampered and found his own way out. 

“He had an incentive, all he needed was the drive–” Hiroya’s claw drags a harsh sting across his scalp as he drags a hand there. “Which you've given him.”

But Takashi was raised as an eldest son, an alpha; he does not handle accusations well. “Well, so why did you lead the imp out the mountain then? If you had just killed him and be done with it–”

“You fool, he had his Lord’s yokai signature. If we killed him that would be a direct trail into the deepest heart of our secret. Even then, he had the staff of two heads, Drowning or fire, which would make your mother angrier? Which would have us any less dead?” As he speaks, Hiroya slips off the rock to glide over to his brother's side, voice rising. He taps his temple. “Think, little brother.”

“Don’t call me that.” Again, he shakes off his touch. Takashi’s expression curdles, sour.

“He knows my human scent. If he tasted my blood that's a stronger trail too.”

“Yes, yes, we know of how you laid your hand on his vassal to earn his ire. Now, we’ve given him enough hints to solve this mystery. Scents to track and the prize of blood at the end.” Hiroya tips his chin towards the deeper end of the channel.

“Any good hound loves the hunt. And war hounds go into a frenzy when held in anticipation for too long.”

For a moment, there was nothing between them but the sound of breathing, as they listened to the heartbeat of the one who dwelled below.

“We can't just leave her.”

“You’ll die if you stay. You'll all die.”

Takashi slinks back, tension coiling in his tail. “Then that's a chance I'm willing to take.”

“For all of you? No, no, call your sisters here or I will, and we can put this to a vote. If you decide to stay, then fine, I cannot save you. But I doubt that’ll happen.” He smooths past Takashi, feeling the charged energy between them begging to snap, crackle.

“Go get the twins. I'm getting Kushinadahime.”

It was already dark when you three stepped out the honjin; Sesshoumaru picked up the two of you and flew some hundreds of kilometers up towards a raised cliff, embedded in the face of the mountain; He placed you two in a long burrow of a cave there, dry, just as the sky cracked open in torrents.

“We’re high enough away to escape any danger. Both of you will stay here.” He set you on the dry, and, absurdly soft, moss? Leaves? That lined the floor inside. It looked meticulous, intentional; it might have been a nest for some creature long abandoned. Or, killed.

“What is this place?” Your voice bounces off the walls, clear. “Where are we?”

“I cleared most of the demon nests on this mountain your first night there. They were numerous but weak.” So killed then, yeah…

A woven cover of vinery covers the open entrance, made by something with hands, but you still see the silver sheets fall outside. A crack of thunder startles your heart, and his eyes flash to you before he sets to work, building a fire. You and Rin just, kinda, stare at the man.

You've never seen him like this before. Not frantic, not antsy, but, hasty.

“Will you stay here?”

“This storm should pass in three days, at most. We’ll leave no later than the second.”

“Will you stay?” You say with more emphasis. He looks to you, no cooler than the rain. “No.”

“No?” Rin’s little voice echoes.

“A-un will return with Jaken and you will stay together. When I return, we leave.”

“Then where are you going?” You step forward, and the way he glances at you makes the air feel like a damp cloth, smothering. Your hand rests above your breast– where your stolen prize rests.

Slight for slight. “You’re leaving to go fight the demon of the town aren't you?”

“It’s not something you need to think of. Rest here. Treat this as ordinary.”

“Nothing about this is ordinary- you don’t think I haven’t noticed how fucking eerie that town is? The whole new moon thing? Takashi warning me not to be off on my own, by the streams next thing you know, he’s dead. Or the apothecary warning me about Numachi-san? You know, she kinda alluded that Numachi? Murdered her husband whose apparently a demon I guess-”

“Not by herself. She poisoned him before he could leave her. His son finished the job.”

“So you knew. Wait, son-?” Your mind whirls, and then you remember—

( “What? She’s a widow. Her husband died.”

“By her own design. Why do you think her sons left her?” )

Indignation flares hot in your chest.  “She had her own kid–?!”

“No,” Flames crackle to life, lighting the cave. The day was already draped in gray, and now the night is as heavy and cold as wet velvet. Almost no light pierces through. “Her partner was unfaithful. Another of his progeny killed him. Illegitimate." 

“O…kay...Yeah, I heard some of that…earlier.” You nod, exhale, almost a chuckle, but it doesn't reach your chest. 

As much as she is bad news, staying at Numachi’s inn made you feel…sheltered. Leaving that so abruptly while you still feel under the weather is not doing you any good. 

So you're actually feeling kind of frantic now. Antsy. Crackling. Like embers.

Or lightning. “What’s the plan?”

“I've defeated all the lesser demons surrounding here. Now, I confront the numerous demon spawn, and kill the one deep within the mountain.” He turns storm-ward. “Its youkai signature has grown stronger this close to the new moon. It’s similar, yet more dominant then the demon I met in this town. That proves relation.”

“Relation?”

“Either parent and child, or demon and thrall.”

“It can't be the demon husband, right…? He’s dead.”

“Perhaps he’s still alive. Perhaps it's his demon mistress and her brood. Or mayhaps the children have long left. Possibility that another demon rose to power after their absence and made thralls, or incarnations.  Either way, those here will have to contend with me.”

That reassures you, and confirms a few things. Staying idle was never something your Lord favored, and to be surrounded by, hm, ‘lesser’ folk ( his view, you’re not a classicist all right…), it's easy to see the reason for his foul attitude. You know this place has him lowkey fuming under the surface with all that's happened.

But still. “Look, I know you want to go back and go murderham on them there, that's the whole point we came here. But this place just seems a lot more trouble than it's worth-?

"I’m not getting good vibes. Why don't we just…wait for A-un and Jaken to get back, and we go?”

“No. I will not leave an objective uncompleted, or my curiosity unsatisfied.”

“No–? No.” Your hands slap to your sides. “...I can't try to convince you otherwise?”

“No. And this isn't something you have the license to either.” He rises, towering, noble, sharp. He moves forward, and in a sweeping motion adjusts the patterned haori, draping it across your shoulders once more. He smooths it, adjusts it as he speaks. “I came to conquer the mountain, so I shall. The multiple youkai signatures suggest a brood, so for both of your safeties, you will remain here.”

You pause for breath, trying to still your pulse. “...Then what's your plan? Go in, guns blazing?”

“I still require information on the innkeeper's husband and bastards. If he's dead, then they're most likely guarding his corpse, and have been offering the villagers to appease his vengeful spirit. If that's true, I only need then to shatter the old bones. If they're alive I'll just kill them all.”

“The apothecary told me the people here were hoping you’d slay the demon. I know you’re no detective, but I'm sure they’d be eager to speak on–”

“I will not pay heed to what is surely drivel. This town has given me more grief than I've asked for,” and here his sclera pinken, “and should I demand it, they will obey my will.”

Dramatic much…?

“That’s, fine? What about the people in that town?”

“What about them?”

“...If the demons are formidable enough, then the battle might escalate and there might be casualties.”

“If the fight drags on, which it will not.”

This ceaseless confidence of his is astounding, no doubt. “No doubt…the demon there is stronger than the low tier fodder you've culled.”

“No doubt of their demise either.”

“...”

“I will fight the demon outside of their mountain,” does he add this, because he sees the look dawning in your face? “To reduce the risk of a landslide. The battle will be quicker won once I remove the advantage of home turf.”

“So… No doubt you’ll win, no matter what?”

He sneers then, without humor, vain, full, proud, face blooming with unrestrained emotion; For once, it brings him to life. You're shocked by just how youthful he looks- like a guy. Incredibly handsome, cocky beyond belief and horribly arrogant, with ample reason yeah, but, a guy.

“Who do you think you're talking to?”

“...I'm worried.” 

“Don’t be. I will return. Those townsfolk neither are your concern, and I assure you, you are not theirs. Do not waste your energy for the people who do not care for you.” He steps away, and through hands you've unknowingly lifted, white strands sift through your fingers, soft and cool.

“Seeing the moonlight spilling down through these trees, my heart fills to the brim with autumn.”

His hand comes to your face, brushing your hair away to better see your eyes.

“The autumn night Is long only in name— We’ve done no more Than gaze at each other And it’s already dawn.”

“Wait here. And watch the child, lest she runs off again? I will return.”

Rin jumps when you whip your head towards her, holding her hands against her belly as if to hide how she holds them. Her smile seeks to hide her guilt, cheery, but shaky at the edges.

“Girl? What did you do?” 

“Go forrrr…w-walk.”

“That’s only a problem if you're Alucard. What happened—?”

But when you turn to look, Sesshoumaru is already gone- and you're alone with each other.

“Did he just...”

“Gone~! Gone gone gone,” Rin sing-songs, skipping away before you could probe her some more. You scowl at the rain.

“...You’re just gonna dip out on me like that?!” 

Of course, you don't get an answer.

You grumble. You reach beneath the fabric of his outer haori, into your collar, and wrap your hand around your boon, that small cloth you stole from Numachi’s jewelry box. You thought it was nothing, but inside, pulsing and warm against your palm, your heart calms under its gentle glow. Rin comes up too, to ogle at the thing, and for a moment you just watch the pink light reflect off her eyes.

You grabbed it on a whim, but you feel it's more important than that. Why would it have been hidden otherwise? You’re surprised Sesshoumaru didn't notice. That should mean it's nothing dangerous then, right? 

Inside, barely longer than your pinky nail, a pearlescent shard shines pink in your palm.

In Naniwa Th’ enduring bridge of Nagara Was made by human hands, they say. My body now: To what should it be compared?

Months pass like water filling lungs, swift and burning. Laughter fills her house, but not as loud as it should be. Her son’s voice should have been twinned, and so the sound rings in her heart like a bell; Joyous, but aching. 

Yoshida-san is in love. He talks and carries Takashi everywhere, proudly telling folks of how healthy and bright he is. He is young again, and eager to work. He allows no visitors, so that Takashi might not catch any sickness. He rubs her feet and presses cool, damp cloths to her forehead at night. He loves the boy, obviously. That makes the guilt easier to bear.

Jugonshi-san, bless her old heart, delivered news like she does a report. Those immobile weeks after birth were most unbearable.

“I have not milk from my breast but the cow’s milk does good for him.”

“All ten fingers and tail. Pretty silver hair.”

“Started wriggling around– don't worry I don't let no one see him. The floors are clean too.”

“He really likes his spices.”

“Sheds scales like a dog does fur.”

“Chewed through my table leg with those early fangs of his. You think milk fangs would be soft but…”

When she is no longer bedridden she thinks to visit him, but Jugonshi-san knows her and hides him; she would snatch him up, hold him tight to her breast and not let go. Her shop is conveniently empty when she tries to visit.

And… Ayumi-chan doesn’t speak to her. Masaki-chan doesn't know. Or if she does, she never says anything either.

She turns to her only hope. And he answers.

“His tail has shed its birth peel. Still soft for demon standards–but you should see the light that reflects off him, Kiyohime. He shines.”

“His fangs are early, but they are milkfangs. He’ll keep gnawing at things to help them fall out and strengthen the next pair that come in. Here are a few.”

“He has a trail of hair from his nape to the top of his back that meets in a swirrl, just like you Kiyohime.”

“She doesn't feed him any meat or blood. He might grow to be a bit weak...but he is healthy. I’ll give him what I can.”

She calls, and he answers. Each morsel makes her heart feel less hollow. In return, she tells the moon of Takashi, how bright and quick to laughter he is. That same curl of hair on his back. Same sweet face and crooked smile.

Yoshida-san carves him a miniature bamboo sword that he waves and clacks around–he can't even walk yet, sitting on his bum and crawling to her. And oh, just how many times the boy feeds in a day– Mutsu has her lie down, kisses her clothed breasts when she complains of his teething. Then, he’s kissing her all over.

Kiyohime does not stay away. She lays with him. She returns to her pond. The bamboo stalks are young and hardly any cover, but the night is loud and dark; He returns to her embrace.

“I was human once.”

“You were?!”  

She supposes it's not unusual–many humans have been corrupted from their own woes or dark youkai energy. Its happened to her, now, deep in these bowels of silver and sulfur.

He smiled then, face mushed together in her hands. “I was a priest. That's why the wards surrounding the town don't work on me. Such weak things have no bearing on a mikogami.”

“Mikogami….” He sat up as she rose, and in her hands, his face was as round and pale as a lady’s. “You were a child of the Kami?” 

“Am. As our children are. My father, Tsukuyomi-no-mikoto, extends his blessings. Takashi is loud and boisterous, and Kiyomizu is clever and alert.” Now it was his turn to clasp her face, rest his cool brow against hers. “Most importantly, they are healthy… They laugh as children should. When they are old enough they will have many journeys together.”

No one can leave. “Its too dangerous–” She can't leave.

“Not with me around. Or their brothers. Hiroya, with his silver quick wit, or Ren with his seeing, inquisitive nature. They won’t be alone.” 

His other sons. In the moments like this Kiyohime remembers she has a home to get back to, and so does he. However sweet his words are, she doesn't have the right to entertain them. 

Ayumi-chan does not lower her eyes, dark and accusatory, until Masaki-chan yanks her down by the arm to get back to work, the top of her head bleached brown under years of high sun. Kiyohime remembers when Masaki-chan would wear her hair in twin braids, the two of them risking the town's edge for the flowers that bloom there. Now she, too, does not look at her.

Months pass. They hold an erabitori- selection ceremony for Takashi, a little late but many show. From among the objects he chooses the tanto. Everyone laughs or cheers even as she rushes to take it out of his eager, clumsy fingers. Jugonshi-san tells her Kiyomizu chose a drum she made out of an imps hide.

Her eyes burn. “Why didn't you invite me?”

Jugonshi-san tilts her head. “I said I would raise him as my own. I thought you wouldn't want to involve yourself.”

“Is that why your hair is silver?” Kiyohime runs her hands through his hair, fine to her fingers. 

“Becasue your father is a Kami?”

“I suppose. But my hair is actual silver.” He runs a hand through, and the strands tink against his nails. “That's why I never cut it, despite its length.” To his tapered waist he was aman, and well past his scaled hips hung his precious hair. 

“I can't. Not unless I cut it. Nothing else is sharp enough for the blend of yokai and divine energies.”

“Ah.”

He’s curled into her, tail about her legs, warm from her body heat. “But, when I look past the murk of my past life, my earthly father has–had white hair.”

“Your father must have been the Kannushi then, and your mother a miko.”

“As you are.”

“...What?” He leans, and bears down on her.

“As is your Jugonshi-san. When this was a mining town, the young women became Miko to avoid marrying a man who would die for silver in a few odd years. There were so many that not all could be trained properly, but they had some prowess for sure. When the demons attacked and the mining stopped, the shrine was destroyed and many of us were eaten before the barriers were placed. Now, none can leave without risking death.

“In the decades after, the untrained miko hung up their garb and settled into wifehood.” As he settled back down, resting his ear over her heartbeat. “That's why the demons haven't left. The spiritual blood in your veins proves you to be the descendants of miko. A delicious treat and power to demons.”

“...Is that why you came to me? Because you think I’d taste delicious, demon?”

He grins against her skin. “I already know what you taste like Kiyohime. But if you wish to allude…”

Months pass. Yoshida-san’s joints scream in pain when the weather turns humid, so she takes over his affairs in majority.  

Kiyohime no longer sings as often, perhaps humming to rock her son to sleep, so Yoshida-san bellows with whatever air is left in his lungs, horribly flat and off key. It makes her laugh, anyway. 

When Takashi starts walking Yoshida-san starts teaching their son to read– as his father taught him, who was taught by his father, who was a priest within this town.

“Before the shrine fell. Married a miko and inherited some overgrown paddies when he retired.” He grins, as Takashi gnaws at the rice cake in his hands. “It's enough to feed us now though, right?”

She receives a visitor at her pond, during the day. Hiromi–? No, no, Hiroya. Ayumi-chan’s oldest. He has his father’s face, rounder and sweeter, with a cloth over his head protecting him from the sun, and stares. His eyelashes scatter and reflect light like the peak of the mountain, sharp rainbow rays.

He looks too much like her own son. And she despairs to think this is the only way she can gues what Kiyomizu must look like. Would, like like, one day.

“My mother said she won’t come work over here anymore, but she'll be back when it's time again.”

He can’t be more than four, five. “Time again for what, little one?”

“Father told her. He said he smelled it." and le leans over, closes his eyes to sniff as well. "But you just smell like flowers. And milk. Oh. Hello Takashi-kun.” Sweet boy, Takashi only giggles against her legs when the boy bows to him, proper and polite.

“Just like last time. She’ll come when you're ready, Yoshida-san. Please stay healthy.”

He runs, and then he turns, breaking her heart with a but a few words. “I talked to Kiyomizu! He says he's waiting to meet you!”

Kiyohime knows. The boy runs and she knows. But everyone is watching him, and everyone is watching her. Her belly grows, and this time, her daughter– Kushinadahime is born when the winter rains chill the earth. Jugonshi-san scoffs at her name before Ayumi-chan can.

“What is wrong with Inadahime? You don't think you’ll curse her with a name like that?”

“Naming her ‘princess of the rice fields’ would be too bold. A daughter is a blessing to rice farmers but she would bring misfortune with a name like that.” Kiyohime sniffles as she plucks away the scales. Her daughter twitches in her arms with each pluck. Takashi sleeps with his father. Taiga-san.

"'Princess of the rice fields' is too much, but the name of the wife of Susanoo-no-mikoto is better?"

“At least with this name, the Gods may laugh in irony, and grant her either courage or aid.” For the future. For what might come.

What will. This time, Ayumi-chan does scoff, wiping her bloodied hands on the towel before dropping it.

"A name like that burdens a child, and how fitting you chose such a fate for your daughter and not your son. Kiyomizu has hope but Kushinadahime must have courage? Pah.” She turns her back. 

“A name is a precious thing, Kiyohime, and I see your intentions. Leave me be, and do not seek me again. I will not help with the next, Kami forbid. Hopefully there's still time for you to pass before you ruin anything else.” She rushes out, and the shogi slams behind her.

Taiga-san won't wake from that with what she fed him. He won't wake until his daughter is pink and plucked. Her son will crawl to her side beforehand, and she’ll feel a little less empty. 

Jugonshi-san pulls a face after Ayumi-chan, but not in distaste. “It is bad manners, and foul business to involve yourself any deeper with that demon, Kiyohime.”

“How is Kiyomizu?” Jugonshi-san pauses, then averts her eyes.

“Do not lie to me–”

“I wasn’t going to. He’s with his father and brothers.”

Kiyohime sighs. She wants to sink into the floor. Her baby is so, so warm, with a rabbit pace heartbeat, wide startled eyes. She kisses her wrinkled forehead.

“So you know about him.”

“He's a demon, Kiyohime. He's not mindless, but you still cannot trust the man very much.”

“Demonic is his form, not his nature. I can't leave him be. He used to be human, you know,” she offers, like a bargaining chip.

“Eactly. Used to be.”

Kushinadahime is hers–looks just like her, laughs just like her. She sleeps easily throughout the night and feeds gently, and Taiga-san holds her in his arms any chance he gets. Takashi sits in her lap and she tells him stories of wandering Samurai looking for a new master. She tells him of Lord's leading battles and Daimyo’s betraying orders for greed. She tells him of oni and kitsune, of a demon Lord with pale hair who is kind to humans, with a lady in elegant furs, with a son by his side all with the same white mane. A little brother waiting for him to grow older and stronger, to protect both him and his sister. Her son’s eyes gleam like the stones she used to collect at the streams.

Mutsu cradles her daughter, one on her bum and another under her head. He buries his face against her round baby belly and though they both laugh, Kiyohime’s heart jumps in her throat.

“A daughter…how lovely. And strange you have only birthed one…But that just makes her all the more precious. What is her name?”

“Kushinadahime.”

“Ah… you don't think that's a bit ironic?”

“She’s just eaten.” His eyes don't flit to hers, focused on the bundle in his hands. The cicadas scream. “Please give her back. She’ll vomit if you make her laugh too much.”

“Alas. Everything is a hazard to babes.” Kushinadahime’s laughter dies down, and Kiyohime hustles forth to take her. She tugs, gently but Mutsu does not release her from his hold just yet.

“As she gets older, send her to that old woman. She knows the traditional ways, and can help teach her. Her miko lineage will make her strong.”

“Why are you focusing on strength? You mentioned it with the other two as well.” 

“Is it such a strange thing?” She tugs her daughter again. Finally, he lets go, and she lifts her daughter to her shoulder. “You should worry about the demons that could kill them, or the humans who would detest them for their father.”

He smiles blithely. “Who could detest a mikogami?”

“You don't very well look like one,” she mutters, then goes very silent, as he has. 

He goes silent, and his hands fall to his sides. The silence bothers her, but she can't very well turn her back now and leave.

He’s still a demon, afterall. “...You didn't answer me, Mutsu.”

“...So they’ll protect each other. So they won't be caught unawares. Like I was. They won't always exist near me. And they’ll wander away from your side too, Kiyohime," she scoffs. 

“Ayumi shelters them, but they can't be sheltered forever. This…this place isn’t far enough…it's not far at all. They must capitalize on their strengths to protect each other. It, He.” He exhales. He closes his eyes, and raises his curled hands to his head, slow.

“The dreams, Kiyohime. I think he’s returning, I know it, Kiyohime–” his eyes flash open and he reaches for her but she cringes.

“He? Who?”

“The one who turned me. The one who killed me. Kiyohime, he, I swear he’s…” His breath stutters, and her heart with it. 

“He’s evil, I swear. He's the one that burned Ayumi’s shrine down, I swear, it was him. He follows. And I must be vigilant. So will they.” His fist covers his mouth, before he lowers it to his side. Earnest–and scared. That's what he looks like now. But he’s no man.

She exhales out her nose. Kushinadahime drools over her shoulder and her little fist. Her fangs have not come in yet. 

“Why haven't you killed the demons around the mountain then Mutsu.” 

He flinches. She doesn't run, but she almost does. She’s too weak to, much less travel to the pond in the dead of night, fortnight after fortnight. “What has happened to the missing townsfolk the others whisper are sacrificed? To you? Why?”

Half moon, new moon, mask and shadow. It damns all the same.

Now he scoffs. “You only ask me this now?”

“I ask it.”

“Then the same reason you don't tell your husband of their patronage,” he smiles, tender-eyed, tepid. “Self preservation.”

“My boys told me that the Lord Sesshoumaru has left Numachi-san’s inn.” 

The apothecary– though, that's not what anyone really calls her –says as she covers her pot, barely simmering, sweet smelling.

“He took the child and his consort on up towards the mountain. The steed went some other way.”

Within the shop, Ohatushime sits on a stool too low for her. It's easy to rest her chin on her knees here, breathe in the scent of herbs and ink and weird poultices. The scent from the pot is so soothing, she could fall asleep here--

Immediately, Jugonshi-san hands her a piece of cloth. Without needing to be told she presses it to her face.

Her pulse pounds steadily. She feels it in her temple. Outside, it is early into the night, and it pours, rain beating the ground like drums. It’s heavy, but she's weathered far heavier storms in her life. 

“Isnt that a good thing? He’s killed many of the demons around us. With him gone they’ll lay low for a while, or, the stronger ones will follow to challenge him.” And die, is the unspoken truth they know.

I guess that would give a few of us a shot at leaving this dump of a place.

“You underestimate the intelligence of demons. You forget, they are not a spiritual calamity, but a species, much more attuned to energy than most humans,” she pats down her collar, as if checking to be sure of something. “They are neither born good, nor evil.”

“Like humans?”

“Ohoho, I'd say humans are born with an affinity for good! And of course, there are demons in the truest sense of the word, hungry and desperate and doomed, but the ones in the mountain’s veins, and that Lord, are not of the latter category. Keep that in mind.”

To that, Ohatsuhime does not respond, but she cannot disagree.

Surely, that Lord craved her father’s blood, for the sheer disrespect of challenging him. A typical response; A mere rice farmer, speaking against the Inu Lord Daiyokai? Ha.

His eyes were filled with blood, talons long and teeth bared with every hushed word of malice. Her brother, [oh, the thought of him burns] her brother too had spoken out of turn. And now he’s dead. 

Dead as dirt.

( He had spoken of the Lord of the Western Lands, tales mother told him and Kushinadahime– Lord fathers with long tails of white fur accompanied by an Inu lady and a younger Lord with the same noble air. Once Takashi had learned of this Lord’s arrival, his eyes shone with a wonder unlike any she had ever seen, so she too held admiration in her heart for that Lord. )

Her hope died with her brother, in the pools of blood that was left of her him, and in the quiet hours she had been left by her lonesome here, without her sisters, so soon and fresh in her grief.

“Why did Father go to the Lord? He knows he can't confront a Lord like that without losing his life. What about us? Was he truly that angry?”

Her voice is mellow, but matronizing. “He’s grieving, Ohatsuhime.”

‘So am I!’ She wants to scream. 

She doesn't blame him. She doesn't blame her sisters for leaving, or her brother for dying. She's grown to hope for everything and expect nothing. She is a youngest daughter after all. 

As if she hears her, Jugonshi-san chides her, “This is not ordinary grief, Ohatsuhime. This is a father grieving not only his son and heir, but his firstborn. I hope you never know that kind of pain. It's the kind that makes you want to give up on everything."

“...”

You just proved my point. 

It is not as though Ohatsuhime does not understand. She wants her vengeance too. More than that, her brother. But wishes are daydreams, and in this reality, more than revenge, she wants to live. She wants her father to live and she should thank the Kami her sisters left as they did. Even if she had wished for one of them to be with her when facing that demon.

“I guess I wouldn't have been able to convince that Lord to let us go if he was a desperate kind of demon.”

“He wanted information more than he wanted blood, girl. Numachi could provide that for him. Demons like him don't like leaving any stone unturned.”

“Or insult to slide.”

“No. Any slight against what is his is a slight against himself. Your brother could not fathom that, beyond his own envy.” Ohatsuhime whirls on her stool.

“His consort was the one who started this–if they just let Takashi go check on Numachi-san’s traps instead, if they just let him do the work instead of fighting him, Takashi wouldn't have taken it too far and–”

“Ohatsu–”

“--things wouldn't have gone this way! How hard is it to let someone else do the work?! Huh?!” She buries her face in her palms, pushing the burning in her eyes away.

“My brother’s dead because of them! It's their fault…”

The tears make her feel childish, though the grief is real. The tears run hot and fast, and a weathered hand lands on top of her head.

“Numachis traps arent just for fish, Ohatsuhime. Your brother knew that, and tried to prevebt it for the sole fact of who their Lord is. But precisely because of their Lord, disrespect could not go unpunished."

"...He was trying to help them, either way."

She just sighs, heavy. "I won't deny you your grieving too, Ohatsuhime. But you must understand that where one's hubris begins is where one must draw the line, especially when they are of lower station. That is the world we live in.” She moves her hand, and she almost feels like chasing the fleeting touch. “Now, we must hurry, Ohatsuhime. Lest your sisters be next to fall.”

“What?” She lifts her head so fast something clicks, but she's already moved away.

Apothecary. Jugonshi-san. She came here, but she's been in this town longer than she has lived, longer even than her mother. Years ago, when her father was still a second son working the fields and the demons attacked every other day, her presence, her charms and spells revived the old wards and lowered those attacks to every odd week or so. Besides the moon times, of course.

No one knows where she came from. They’re just glad she is here to protect them, prescribe the medicines she grows herself, and deliver their few children. 

“Jugonshi-san, what do you mean? My sisters left to keep us safe.”

“Exactly. You are safe, here. Things are no doubt very different, this new moon with these new factors. You know the path to your sister's hideaway, yes? You must go to them.”

“Wh– wait, why?” Ohatsuime stands. “I have to stay here and watch my father. He knows the paths better than I do, if he slips away again–”

"Well I slipped him a tonic- with luck, he won’t wake until late morning. You can write him a note if you think you'd be later than that.” She points her chin to the table, where Ohatsuhime knows she keeps her paper, ink and ledgers.

Jugonshi-san– a grumpy woman, but that comes with old age. Older than her father by almost two decades. She's always been kindest to her, back when Kushinadahime took her along to her lessons. She wasn't that far behind on her own, but these mystic words…. 

Jugonshi-san leans in, and her voice warms as it worries. “That Lord is not one to let insult slide. He left the lives of you and your father, but what of the rest of them? Your brother has already been struck,” Jugonshi-san leans out of her space just as the realization– panic –sets in.

“Kushinadahime…Tamayorihime a-and Toyotamahime!!” Her hands come to her face. “He knows about the tunnels now! He could follow the blood scent–The child, she fell in one and-and he figured out we used them for a shortcut– you think he’s going to–?!”

Jugonshi-san cuts off the panicked rambling by dropping a long object in her lap, and she fumbles with it. The feeling is immediately familiar, the sight even more so. Her brother’s sword. 

[ “If I give you one lesson, ONE,” Takashi is already grinning, sheathe too long and clanking against his hip, “Will you stop sneaking around me?”

Sneaking away from father, doting but protective, for sword lessons with her brother? Ohatsuhime was barely old enough to be on her own-Kushinadahime couldn't take her everwhere- much less figure out how her brother could have learned the trade. She thought he looked so cool.

“Sure. I’ll stop sneaking and just follow you in the open!”]

“You know where they’re staying, don't you?” Jugonshi-san asks again, and Ohatsuhime nods blankly, gathering the sword. It has blood on the sheathe. Brown and flaking. “Good. Take this bundle of herbs to cover your scent, I know you've started your bleeding.” She squeezes her shoulder. “Then come back to this place so we can celebrate it with them. I put up a barrier. It's weak, but if you sneak them here none won't know.”

Ohatsuhime abruptly stands, the stool threatening to topple before clattering still.

“I’m a really good runner. I’ll be quick. I’ll use the paths that I know the Lord can’t fit into.” A thought alights. “Unless, as a dog demon, he's able to turn into a little doggy and get there first!!” 

Jugonshi-san snorts. “You stared at death in his eyes and now you make jokes at his expense? What would we do without your light, Ohatsuhime…” She squeezes her hand for a moment, before pushing her towards the door.

“And, what are you going to do?”

“Buy you all some time. Don't worry about me,” she smiles, warm and sly. “This woman still has a few of her charms.”

“Harharhar. Bad pun.” She rolls her eyes, but doesn't stop her smile, or from reaching out to pull the woman into an embrace, tucking the sword into the back of her obi, grabbing her cloak and kasa hat for the rain. It will have to do.

“I’ll see you soon, here, yes?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah!” She puts more conviction into the words. No need to make her worry. 

“You be safe too, alright?”

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Scandalous, her room door is left open whilst her husband rests beside her, as he does after completing marital duty. He is aging and tires easily, and often she is left to her own mess; aching and bereft. 

It almost feels like lust, the idea of it, the heat. Afterwards, with him. He does not satisfy her, and Kiyohime knew this long before her husband grew knowledgeable in his mannerisms enough to not cause her so many aches. But what truly warms her belly, is the man who comes to her in these dreams, half beast, half man, all desire.

He is white like a pearl under the moonlight, hair long, white and untied. Her robe, turned inside out, slips, and she is bare beneath. She knows why he has come and answers his wordless demands with those of her own. She is satisfied.

Over and over. Night after night he takes her. She knows this is no ordinary phenomenon, and she is not unwise; So, carefully. Entice, appeal. Enough so that he be tempted to taste the fruit but never bite down. It's a dangerous game. Sometimes she thinks she won't wake at dawn.

Sometimes she doesn't want to.

She wakes and works. She walks the length of town, pauses at the now-empty homes and silent paths. The streams gorge themselves with rainwater. She prays at the abandoned shrine, to anyone who might hear. If the Gods blesssed the mountain with silver, surely they could also eradicate the demons surrounding them...? Unless that, too, was ordained.

She sleeps.

He is a man. He does not take her desires into consideration, she thinks– Not truly. He is a demon afterall. He is a man, after all. Something born out of take, and here, have. He takes her ‘considerations’ as he takes her, voraciously, deliciously, more feel than thought, but he takes and fulfills them nonetheless. They are done so under fulfillment of his own, so no extra effort on his part. She wakes, she works. She sleeps, she dreams. She desires. Its easier to wait, and accept. Anticipate, and be rewarded for it. So, let him come. Let her slip her dreams, her door. She benefits from this arrangemt too, and it is better than the losing ticket she's been dealt with all her life.

[ Be humble, Kiyohime, be dutiful. Be a gem, Kiyohime, beautiful and silent. Be like rice, Kiyohime. Pale, soft and malleable. ]

He breathes into her. “Will you indulge me? Kiyohime.” “How bold you are.” It is welcomed. “What is your name?”

He kisses her. It burns sweet. “I want you.”

“I think I deserve that much…”

He does not answer. She dreams on.

taglist: @tanspostsblog @xmenteria @shadowywizardarcade @layla2-49

YESSS. I SWEAR I will update this before another year has passed T_T. Meanwhile, please enjoy this snippet and sit tight!! Engagment is appreciated 💞.