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Disclaimer: I disclaim. InuYasha, its characters, and all related indicia are sole property of creator Rumiko Takahashi and her affiliates. No monetary profit is sought or gained in the writing of this piece.






Break



It's a moonless, yawning dark, but there is no mistaking the lurid crimson of the figure at the base of his tree. Nor is there any ignoring it, apparently. The line of his patience wears decidedly thin this night.

'Should you be out here?' He speaks to the air in front of his face, not trusting himself to speak otherwise. He has not been himself lately . . . has not . . . felt like himself for . . . for quite some time.

His answer comes as much as a retort as a response.

'Should you?'

He hears a tiny bat wheeling above the trees, lifted on the blustering wind as it soughs through the canopy in a hollow, muted roar. The sound is long and lonely.

A peripheral flicker of movement is glimpsed beside the trunk, and he thins his lips. Night-heightened senses are easily drawn by scent, by sound or motion when they are trained on vigilance, and it is with a mixture of resignation and resentment that he deigns his eyes to move. The dark-haired youth at the foot of the tree meets his narrow look with equal ill humor.

He has borne witness to the sight a handful of times now, but Sesshomaru still finds it strange to look upon a half-breed that is not. It tends to make him think of things he does not particularly care to think about. Things like his father; like swords and old bones.

Things like mortality.

Inuyasha glares up at him, and he might think it a self-conscious gesture did he not know the Hanyou better. His arms are folded together in that characteristically petulant stance; Tetsusaiga's ragged hilt peers out every so often around a windswept scarlet sleeve. The half-demon still retains something of his father this way, even in these darkest hours, when his very blood has forsaken him. Yes, the General was determined that this child-now-grown would see a fighting chance at life. It is something Sesshomaru thinks he has come closer to understanding than he might ever have believed he would.

Even then she could have been his downfall . . . but he would have given everything just to preserve her from death.

'Well?' the youth prods, and the Taiyoukai frowns slowly, jarred from his thoughts. Not especially eager to encourage his uninvited audience, he offers no immediate response, turning his attention to a cursory sweep of the nightscape instead. Though loudly buffeted by a restless early winter gale, the forest is otherwise void of significant activity. It has been a long time since any Mononoke dared approach this place, though they still leave nothing to chance. Huddled shoulder to shoulder in disjointed clusters, the villager's homes stand in vague silhouette against the deeper darkness. One stands slightly apart from the rest, next to a winter-bare garden of medicinal herbs, the shuddering honeyed glow of firelight beckoning through a slatted window . . .

'My duty is here.'

It is not until the words are leaving his mouth does he recognize what he is saying. The reflexive cringe is hard to suppress, but he manages, barely, only the sudden flickering shut of his eyes betraying him. The silence settles heavily about his shoulders. For a time, there is naught but the hollow swell of the wind through the trees and the shiver of naked branches. A dog fox barks from the depths of the forest.

'I thought Rin was your duty.'

The words slide up his spine like a blade through flesh.

The light that creeps into his eyes is sharp and not so far removed from hostile when they fall on the youth.

The half-breed snorts.

'Right,' he says flatly, and the minute clack of the Kotodama reaches him as Inuyasha shifts his weight onto his other foot. 'I get it, none of my business, whatever . . . Keh.' Ignoring the decidedly unfriendly eyes on his head, the Hanyou turns his attention elsewhere, producing a tightly bound bundle from the depths of his sleeves. The distinctive scent of wood and resin carries on the breeze. Catching his look, the half-breed brandishes the kindling.

'She's running low. We had extra, so . . .' He lets the words drop off, scowling as he turns to consider the standalone hut. 'Tends to get pretty damn chilly in there when the leaves fall, y'know?'

He'd noticed.

The winds pick up, flattening the treetops. The branches surrounding his perch groan wearily. Inuyasha huffs, shaking the dark hair out of his eyes. 'Miroku said he'd try get his hands on a brazier for her, but . . . well, you know the monk,' he deadpans.

Sesshomaru grunts.

He chooses to ignore the eyes watching him somewhat less than covertly from below. A lone figure passes a window, a fleeting silhouette against the glow of a fire pit and he can feel it coming this time, this curious affliction, this feeling of having such little control over one's body . . .

'Can't she stay with you?'

The flicker of movement he manages to ignore this time. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless, and he allows it to offer him what little pride it can.

It's getting harder and harder to come by these days.

'Not if she doesn't want to, no.'

The half-breed's tone is hard and clipped. The wind pulls the words apart, they slip out of his reach; it makes no sense for a moment. Then they return, they come together, they knit, but the threads are loose and still, he can't quite . . .

Tenseiga's hilt is something familiar to grasp. Solid and cold beneath the press of his fingers. Unscathed under the prick of his claws.

Inuyasha's features are set when he finally looks down, his eyes are dark and fathomless, his arms concealed once more inside his sleeves. 'She said she doesn't want to be a burden.'

There is the strangest sense of being reproached.

He tries to dismiss it.

'Nonsense,' he growls.

There is a shift in the Hanyou's posture; minute though it is, he sees it. He cannot decipher it. He neglects to try.

Inuyasha simply looks at him for a moment, then shrugs. 'Same thing she said to Kagome, as well . . .'

Anger.

Confusion.

Dismay.

He would prefer to think of them as foreign sensations.

He turns his head. The garden sits barren. The hut stands isolated.

'Ridiculous,' he snaps. 'She is alone.'

Inuyasha turns away slightly, glancing toward the lonely hut. He proceeds to offer nothing more conducive than a shrug. There is the distant sting of annoyance.

'Yeah, well, she doesn't have to be,' the Hanyou mutters.

Not so distant this time.

Sesshomaru reminds himself he is above wasting the effort.

Sesshomaru reminds himself he is above uncalled for bloodshed.

Sesshomaru reminds himself he is above . . . leaving a son without a father.

For a moment the Hanyou looks up at him, the Taiyoukai looks down at him, and for a moment he seems to want to say something more. But then he stops, and shakes his head slightly, and turns and moves away. 'Keh . . . I'm heading back.'

There is no parting remark to offer. He watches the youth pick his way across the deserted grassland, the ends of his hakama lost in the tall thrashing fronds, his passage leaving a trail like a beacon to his sharper senses. It is not until the Hanyou is almost lost in the dark that he notices -

'Hanyou. You've forgotten something.'

The halfling stops. Peering over his shoulder, he follows the Taiyoukai's significant look toward the bundle sitting on the roots of the tree. He blinks.

'Oh.'

Inuyasha pauses. With nothing more than a glance spared from the kindling to the expectant demon, he turns and continues along his way.

'Hanyou -'

'You can take care of it, right?' The youth does not look back. 'I promised Kaine I'd hurry back - wasn't expecting to find you out here.'

Liar.

Inuyasha knows far more than he lets on.

Inuyasha knows far more than he should.

But Inuyasha is now almost lost to sight, and he knows he will not resort to chasing the half-breed. He knows that there is only one reason his brother ventured out this night. And he knows full well that the reason is not the one he claimed.

His curse is lost on the wind.

The Hanyou is gone, and the silence settles about him once again.

The scent of wood and resin lingers.

Like pillars of smoke and silver, wintry clouds crawl across the moonless sky and he follows their passage, the bare and trembling branches framing his sight, the hilt of his father's sword warming slowly beneath his hand. The wingbeat sigh of a hunting owl drifts through the darkness, near but unseen. The air is chill against his face.

And the scent of wood and resin lingers.

A part of him wishes he could do the same.

The other knows better.

There is no sound when he slips from his perch. The crunch of his boots is lost in the night. The crumble of resistance swallowed by the darkness.

The forest is quiet. The well-meadow empty. The village is sleeping.

The hut is silent. The girl is startled. The fire is dying.

The kindling remains at the foot of his tree.

She needs no such thing to keep her warm.



*

OWARI

*






A/N: LOL This here should be a lesson, kiddies. Sleep deprivation is not conducive to writing.

Hope it was coherent, at least. XD (crawls into bed)

This piece was written for MF_Sanctuary Week 26. The theme was "Darkness"