Work Text:
It is winter in the mountains, and it is night. The stars are cruelly bright, glimmering off the snow to fill the cold air with their blue-white light, but there is no moon to pale the black stretches of the sky between them.
High up in a black pine tree there is a boy with hair as dark as shadow, and below him looking upwards is a girl with shadows in her eyes.
The cold light illuminates both their faces.
Sango looks at Inuyasha without pity or concern. She only feels a sort of mild curiosity about the terror which keeps escaping the confines of his stoic demeanor to flash on his dim, starlit face.
He is only as weak as she is, now, and yet she is not afraid at all.
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