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Rin was familiar with the language of plants.
After her parents were killed, the villagers no longer permitted her to draw from their stores. They assumed she would slain by a passing bandit or die from malnourishment soon enough, a deplorable not worth the effort of providing for. Her father’s brothers would not take her in, nor would any of her cousins—paying tribute to the daimyou was expense enough without the added burden of taking on an extra mouth to feed.
She was drawn at first out of her childish instincts to the young mothers of the village who were still nursing their babies, but they cast her out. Their disgust was obvious. Rin was no longer a child fit to be pitied. She was a stray dog begging for scraps, and a creature like that had no place in the home.
She understood, and forgave them for it. It was understandable that her voice was no longer desired. There was nothing left for her in the domain of humans.
So Rin went into the vast forest of her youth and learned its language. Her hands grew skilled at rummaging through the dirt in search of something to eat. Experience taught them to recognise what was safe to eat from their feel alone; prodding the smooth belly of a legume could tell her if it was rotten, or whether by some chance it had been tampered with. Her eyes were sharp, from hours of searching for anything edible hidden under the soil each day. Even the smallest tuber would be enough to stave off starvation for another day, and there was no time to waste when the daimyou’s demands grew ever harsher and the supply continued to dwindle.
She was never able to put a name to any of these vegetables; she had never learned of their origins or their uses beyond what she had managed to determine for herself. But desperate hunger taught her to know them all the same: their textures and colours were old friends, and she was well-acquainted with the bitter, earthy flavour of all that came from the earth. They were the same as Rin; they belonged to nothing but the earth.
The dialect of the flowers was different. Rare splotches of colour in the drab landscape of the village and its surrounding forests, they emerged tentatively in the spring, when the harsh cold of winter and its starvation at last came to an end. Rin coveted flowers. She plucked them in bunches from the ground and strung them into necklaces, soft and clean against the fabric of her threadbare kosode. In the silence of the woods, where she was certain no one would be around to witness her fanciful games, she threaded them through her hair and admired the way they looked against its black tangles.
Rin admired the flowers; unlike the dirty roots she dug up out of the soil, they were lovely and delicate, easily crumpled between her fingers if she wasn’t careful enough in handling them. But she did not know them. They were not meant for someone like her to understand. This wasn’t a bitter realisation; Rin didn’t need to be beautiful, nor did she particularly yearn to be, unconscious of and uninterested in anything that beauty would gift her. As a child, she was content to pick the flowers she found, to hold them greedily to her chest and cradle them in her gritty palms until their colour smudged onto her skin and they were gone.
*
The bleeding man collapsed on the forest floor had first struck her for his splendour. Clad in regal fineries, with long, beautiful hair, Rin had known him for a lord at first glance. A youkai lord, she could tell from the markings that spread across his cheekbones and the crescent moon that sat perfectly at the centre of his proud forehead.
She had heard tales of youkai from the men in town, their voices thick with drink and faces lit up by the fire as they discussed the lands that had been ravaged in their wake, the masses of humans killed simply for the pleasure of killing. But these men were not kind; they had beaten her and thrown her out at every opportunity, depriving her of everything but the most basic of necessities while demanding her gratitude in return. It was not they who had slain her family, but greedy humans—monstrous humans. No youkai had subjected her to such cruelty the likes of which her own kind had done before. And whoever this lord was, regardless of his heritage, it would be awful to just leave him there to die if she could help nurse him to health.
Rin ran back to the village, and returned with a jug of water to give to him. The lord was more awake than she realised—spotting her hiding behind a tree, he hissed at her, teeth bared in defence of his vulnerable position. She gasped and shrank back against the bark, her base human instincts rebelling at the sight of his red irises. But he looked exhausted, his elaborate kimono torn and encrusted with blood and grime. Judging from the way he was holding himself, he had to be in pain—and she was offering to help. There was no reason for this lord to attack her, nor did she think he was that kind of a man. He had a gentleness to him that none of the men of the village carried, and Rin was certain perhaps beyond the constraints of reason that he would not hurt her.
Swallowing, nervous, she drew nearer. When she was close enough to see the extent of the damage he had sustained, she raised her pitcher to flick water into his face, trying to wash the layer of dirt and grease from his cheeks. When he hissed once more, indignant at her abrupt treatment, she nearly smiled. Even so close to a youkai lord, she wasn’t the least bit scared—and she had been right. He hadn’t laid a claw nor a fang on her body.
When she came to him later in the evening, Rin afforded the respect his wakeful state commanded. She offered food and drink to the lord from a distance, and with appropriate deference, kneeling and hanging her head low in a bow as she pushed the leaf which bore her offerings toward him. She intended to leave as soon as she set what she had gathered down on the ground, but as she was walking away he finally spoke.
“Mind your own business.”
Rin turned to peek at him from over her shoulder, delighted despite the words themselves at the smooth, steady timbre of his voice.
His eyes were closed, deigning not to look upon her, when he continued, “I don’t eat what humans eat.”
The words were cold, but it was nothing that Rin wasn’t already used to. All she offered in response was a nod of acknowledgement before she scarpered off in the direction of the village, the possibilities of what to do next already churning in her mind. She was determined to help him; no matter how harshly he addressed her, she refused to be dissuaded from returning to his side. The next time, she would bring food more suited to a youkai instead of the fresh vegetables which he had refused to eat. She didn’t know exactly what that would entail, since the closest thing to youkais she had ever seen were the wild beasts that occasionally trampled through the forest and this elegant lord was far from a boar, but perhaps some of the things they liked would be the same.
In need of something to eat herself, she slipped down to the lake, hiking her kosode up to wade through the shallow water. She peered into its dark surface, hoping to see the flash of scales beneath the waves. Her eyes widened when she saw the tell-tale swish of movement beneath the water, and quickly she reached out to snatch the fish in her hand, excited by the prospect of a proper meal. She was pleased: it was thick and healthy-looking out in the open air, much better than the slim minnows she’d been catching as of late.
She was about to try for one more when she heard an angry shout of “Rin!” from the bank. Raising her head from the wriggling fish in her grasp, her eyes went wide as she took in the group of torch-bearing men standing on the cliffside, glaring at her.
The village men, as it turned out, did not take kindly to her gathering of resources. They beat her with their fists and swift kicks to her sides and berated her for being unable to cry out whilst she was being pummelled into the ground. The thought of calling for help never occurred to Rin—she thought they were rather foolish to be upset that she refused to do so. There was no one to cry out to anymore who would care to hear her voice. If she spoke, if she was even still able to speak, they would only punish her more severely.
When they let her go at last, she hobbled off into the forest. They hadn’t let her keep the fish she’d taken from the preserve, so she went to the stream in the woods instead. All there was in its depths were mangy minnows barely the size of her thumb, fast and tricky to scoop up, but it was better than starving or running back to the preserve where another beating probably laid in wait for her.
By the time it was too dark to see, she had only managed to catch two fish. She made a small fire and roasted them, eating them as quickly as she could before curling up in the hollow of the nearest tree, too worn out to return to her own hut. In the morning she would scrounge up something fresh here for her youkai lord; he would eat it gratefully, and maybe even smile…
*
Rin returned to the lord’s side as soon as the sun rose the next morning. She was pleased that he had not departed yet—surely it meant that her help was somewhat appreciated as much as he claimed otherwise, even if he still refused to spare her a glance.
Hopefully, she offered him what she had gathered: a mouse and a lizard, dead but fresh and thoroughly cleaned in the stream, ever so slightly roasted to improve the flavour.
He rejected the offering immediately. “Don’t bother.”
Frustrated by her own inadequacy, Rin sighed, sinking down on her knees to examine the leaf. She had thought he would eat the small animals from around the village. The salamander was a pleasing colour, but perhaps it wasn’t the type of food that was the problem but its origin…surely a lord such as the one before her was accustomed to all kinds of decadence that she was unable even to imagine. This kind of fare was all she could offer him, though—and she wasn’t willing to stop her endeavour. She would just have to seek out something nicer to eat in the bowels of the forest away from the stench of mankind to please him more effectively.
The youkai lord spoke again after a few moments of this silent contemplation. “What happened to your face?”
Rin’s focus rose from the leaf, and she gazed at him in amazement. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, appraising her features. She was unabashed by his disinterested regard and eyed him in delighted curiosity.
“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” the youkai lord told her, when it became clear she would not answer him.
Her joy blossomed. Rin conveyed it mutely: she smiled as wide as her bruised face permitted, ignoring the ache in her cheek and jaw in favour of the cosy content that spread through her. And then at last the lord looked at her properly. The golden colour of his eyes was warm in the mid-afternoon sunlight, darker than the yellow of the flowers that grew behind her hut but just as lovely.
The lord’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “What are you smiling about? I only asked you a question.”
She let out a contented, giggling sigh. Of course this well-brought-up lord would find her reaction odd. He was noble—of looks, of status, and of spirit. He would have no idea that no one had ever extended Rin such kindness before. But the gesture spoke volumes of his gentle nature; that he thought to afford his will to someone such as herself when he could have easily brushed her aside made him kinder than all of the humans in the village.
Conscious of the lord’s patience and of the morning, which was still high in the sky, Rin rose to her feet and bade him her silent farewell. She turned away and began to make her way back to the village, a joyful smile still warming her cheeks.
The lord—her lord, she had begun to think of him so already, was so kind to enquire about someone so below him. The villagers had to be wrong about youkai—Rin had never felt such consideration from a fellow human, let alone from some allegedly heartless, unfeeling creature.
Grinning, she skipped the whole way back, hopping on one leg down the path as she revelled in the delight his acknowledgement stirred within her. She was considering what to bring him to eat next when she pulled open noticed the ragged-looking youkai hunched over in her hut, soup ladle by his lips. The man whirled around to look at her as she approached, and Rin froze in the entrance, wary.
“What?” he said. “Is this old hut yours?”
Rin nodded. The youkai looked as if he were going to say more, but just as he opened his mouth a chorus of shouts, screaming out wolves into the morning, filled the air. It was the same awful sound she heard in her dreams every night, of her parents being ripped apart by the bandits, of her brother sobbing as he tried to scramble away from their dilapidated hut. She cringed, shrinking in on herself.
“Shit,” the youkai hissed, scrambling to his feet. “They’ve caught up already.”
Pushing past Rin and into the clearing, he jumped into the river and began to paddle away desperately, but the wolves were undeterred. They didn’t hesitate for a moment before racing in after him and dragging him back onto the shore, his ragged clothes caught in their jaws. A youkai draped in furs approached him, kneeling to hiss something Rin couldn’t hear in his face. The thief reached into his shirt and handed him a glowing purple shard. For a second she believed it was over, even though she could still hear the struggle between the villagers and the unoccupied wolves, when the fur-clad man lobbed off the lesser youkai’s head with a single powerful thrust of his arm.
It rolled toward her, and stopped mere metres from her bare feet, the thieving youkai’s scarred face permanently set in a grim expression of terror. Rin whimpered, clinging to her hut. If only her lord were here—he was a powerful youkai, she was sure. Given his noble markings and the fineries he wore, it would be beneath him to protect her outright, but he could at least scare off the creatures for the time being and she could run to escape being mauled like everyone else was right before her eyes.
She could do nothing except watch as the leader of the wolves gave his permission for his underlings to feast freely on the villagers’ flesh. When the carnage became too much to bear, instinct finally propelled her forward. Rin began to run back into the forest where her lord resided, tears welling in her eyes. Several wolves tore off to chase after her, she could hear their panting breaths with every step she took, but she couldn’t stop now that she had started, or she would be torn apart.
The trees and rock narrowed her passage, closing in on her, and like a dream she felt she could almost see her lord walking ahead of her amongst them, always just out of reach. She reached out to grasp his long sleeve and her foot snagged on a root, bringing her crashing to the ground. She tried to rise again, but her trembling legs refused to cooperate; her body ached, still sore from being beaten the night before and smarting from the rough fall. She glanced over her shoulder at the rapidly encroaching wolves and let out a plaintive whimper, praying beyond all reason that her lord would somehow hear her voice and save her.
And then they were upon her, teeth slashing through the skin of her throat. She couldn’t even scream before the pain engulfed her, and darkness eased her soul into the world of the beyond, under the dirt.
*
She woke to warmth surrounding her—a thick, heavy warmth that smelt pleasant. She was being held tenderly; she could feel the gentle pressure of a hand resting on her shoulder, the touch so light it made her shiver. It was the afterlife, then, it had to be. No one would ever hold her like this in real life.
Rin scrunched up her lids, which were heavy with disuse, and slowly they opened to face whatever awaited her in the beyond. Looking down at her was her lord, his golden eyes narrowed, so close she could feel his chest tighten with the small noise of surprise he let out when she blinked. He was clutching her so gently to his chest, she realised, his arms encircling her waist as if he were afraid he would break her if he held any tighter.
“Eh?” Rin heard an unfamiliar squawk, from somewhere behind where she was ensconced in her lord’s arms. “She revived?”
Her lord still held her, cushioning her body with the fur of his long cloak. His thumb stroked over her clothed shoulder, slow and intentional, as if he intended to reassure her with its steady movements. She gazed up at him in awe.
“Er, but—Sesshoumaru-sama. You saved that girl with the Tenseiga?”
Sesshoumaru-sama. Rin catalogued the name, tucking it into her heart. Sesshoumaru-sama…it was a beautiful name, much longer and more elegant than the simple ‘Rin’ her parents had bestowed upon her at birth. It reminded her of one of the winding flowers that curled around the trees in springtime, beautiful and pink, glistening in the morning dew.
Her namesake and village it came from was gone, devoured by wolves, and her family was long dead. There was nothing and no one tethering her to this world except for him, this nigh immortal youkai, who had decided to recall her to walk among its mortals. She didn’t understand how he had saved her from death, or why, but she was certain of one thing: she would follow him anywhere he desired to go in gratitude.
Rin inhaled and exhaled slowly, each breath made deliberate by the knowledge that her presence on this earth was so uncertain. She struggled to do it properly; it felt almost as if something were clogging up her throat, blocking the flow of air to her lungs. It didn’t seem to concern Sesshoumaru-sama, as at last he set her down and relinquished his hold on her body. He stood to his full height and began to walk down the path that led deeper into the forest, into the darkness that lay beyond. His back was wide and proud as he strode away from her, white form stark against the darkness of the forest, long hair swaying slightly in the light breeze.
Watching him go, she was seized by a racking cough, which made her shoulders shake. She buried her face in her sleeve, muffling the sound somewhat, though she knew to a youkai’s sensitive ears her efforts would be for naught. Her lord didn’t turn to reprimand her. Instead the creature who had been braying at them whilst Sesshoumaru-sama held her, a small, toad-like youkai who she thought sounded rather silly, glanced at her in dismay.
Rin nearly laughed. In comparison to the wolves who’d been chasing after her and the older men from the village who gathered nightly to beat her, the little youkai’s annoyed glare was nothing. With his diminutive stature and screechy, reprimanding voice, he seemed to her more like a grandpa: a disapproving, but ultimately nice old man. She liked him.
Rin turned from him to look back at her lord, following the other youkai’s pleading look. Sesshoumaru-sama continued to walk forward, disregarding the deluge of complaints his companion was spewing under his breath. He was not waiting, which was alright by her. She was capable of keeping pace.
“Sesshoumaru-sama,” the toad youkai bleated despairingly, head in his little hands, when Rin got to her feet.
She moved to trail after him, but paused when something soft pressed against her heel, the feel much different to the twigs and branches that she’d trampled underfoot in her frantic bid to escape the wolves’ snapping jaws. Curious, she tilted her foot to the side. Crushed beneath her dirty soles were fresh wildflowers. Their colour was dull. She shifted her foot further to see that they had smudged on her skin, staining her dirty soles a light, near-white shade of pink.
“Pretty,” she murmured, dropping to her knees to scoop the petals into her palm and examine them closer.
Then, she blinked, surprised at the sound of her own voice. It had been so long since she had heard it. It was rusty with disuse, low and barely above a whisper, yet far more than she had managed since the day her parents had been slain before her eyes. She didn’t even think it was possible for her to speak anymore, but then, her lord had brought her back from the brink of death. Possibility would no longer a problem for her if she was by his side. He could do anything.
Rin slipped one of the petals into her obi, allowing the rest to fall at her feet, and rose. Without a glance at the desecrated village behind her, she began to follow her lord into the night.
*
He gifted her a bright kosode after several nights of her presence in their party. It was yellow and orange, decorated with green concentric circles—much more colourful than the faded pink one she’d been hanging onto since her mother passed, and she could no longer hope to replace it with another more suited to her growing height.
Jaken-sama warned her as he gave it to her on their lord’s behalf that it was a singular act of benevolence never to be repeated, but Rin wasn’t sure that he had grasped the true meaning of the gesture. Sesshoumaru-sama, she thought privately, bore a great resemblance to the flowers that followed her everywhere. Elegant beauty, whose intentions were always expressed in languages too subtle to understand; and yet unlike the flowers, she did understand him, because he had allowed her to. More than Jaken-sama or any of the other youkai that they had encountered during their journeys, she felt that she grasped the intention behind the simple gestures and curt addresses that made up most of her lord’s daily speech.
It was not that he was cold, as others she encountered described him. On the contrary, Sesshoumaru-sama was steadfast and consistent, unwilling to leave her behind despite the many inconveniences she posed to him. Though she would never say it to him out of respect, he reminded her on occasion of a loyal dog, waiting for the human he had claimed as his own to keep up with him. Jaken-sama would have beat her upside the head with his nintoujou if he overheard that particular thought.
Rin coveted her lord’s quiet language as she coveted the flowers that accompanied her wherever she went—strewn on her pillows when she woke up, slipped into the folds of her colourful kimonos, fresh against her bare skin.. It was a privilege to be granted insight, she was well aware, and not one she took lightly. At night whilst Jaken-sama slept, snoring beside her, always so loud in the stillness of the forests they traversed, she admired him in his silent elegance. The two of them sat together each evening in front of the kindling until Rin was too tired to remain awake any longer.
When her lids were heavy and her body drowsy from the day’s travels, she would curl in the hollow of a nearby tree, protected by its roots. Upon waking, she would always find—strewn about the cold, hard ground—the loveliest bruised petals.
*
Now that she was grown, these instincts were no longer necessary. Rin was not malnourished, nor was she deprived of any beauty she had need for; her lord made sure of that with his gifts of kimonos, and had done for many years. No longer did she need the private language of nature, either. Kaede-sama taught her the proper words that human beings used to refer to flora. Diligently, she instructed Rin on different plants’ medicinal applications, teaching her their spiritual significance and role in the medical procedures required of any village priestess.
Even now that she had resided in the village for many years, Rin’s hunger continued to tug at her. It led her towards the rows of verdant summer melons lining the fields beyond the village limits. Ashamed of the greed that still gnawed at her insides, she would stash them in her basket alongside the herbs she had been tasked to gather, slipping them silently to Kaede-sama when she returned. If she noticed the extra offerings, the older woman never said anything. She accepted them with quiet grace.
Rin felt this carnal longing because she understood the language of the natural world as well as it understood her. They were one and the same: both of the times she died, the ground had swallowed her and spat her back up again. Her soul was tethered beneath the Earth, resting aboveground only by the single thread of Sesshoumaru-sama’s sword. She knew very well that when the time came for her to die for good, it would absorb her crumbling body into a mass of dirt and soil. She only hoped that flowers would grow on the place where she came to rest, bright and cheerful against the gravestone for whenever her lord decided to visit.
Her own petals continued to follow her, laid out on her pillow each morning. She had tried to determine their origin many times, and even presented one to Kaede for her professional evaluation, but she had never managed to find one blooming in the wild. They only ever emerged whilst she slept, new-born and fresh in the tentative dawn, darkening each coming month until they eventually darkened into red. It was not a curse, that she knew of. Rather, she had come to think of it as a pleasant gift from nature, a liaison between her parallel states of death and life.
In recent years, their sweet scent had encouraged her to rub them on her collarbone when her lord came to visit. Sesshoumaru-sama was not fond of the unnatural perfumes used by noblewomen, nor of the oils that some of the other women in the village applied. Even Kagome’s mild “deodorant,” which she had salvaged from her final trip through the well, was displeasing to his sensitive nose. But he had seemed pleased by the scent of the flowers on Rin when she first tried them shortly after the passing of her fourteenth year, and in the year that had followed since then she dutifully applied them to the hollow of her throat shortly before his arrival, hoping that he would one day offer her a compliment. It was a fruitless endeavour, she knew, for it was not in his nature to voice such thoughts aloud even if he did have them. Nevertheless, she always smiled to herself at the prospect of a pleasant comment from her lord, and continued the ritual.
Aside from the red flowers that surrounded her naturally, she tended to the wildflowers on the village’s outskirts in her spare time away from Kaede-sama’s tutelage. She no longer plucked them willy-nilly from the dirt; instead, she cultivated them and picked them only when they were at their ripest. She gathered the most beautiful among them into bouquets to be handed out to her friends: Kagome-sama and Inuyasha-sama, Sango-sama and her husband, the holy monk, and to their elder twins. When she was terribly lucky, she could give them to Jaken-sama to relay to her lord, or even occasionally to Sesshoumaru-sama directly. Those rare moments were the most precious, cherished for many weeks until his next brief visit would come around.
This summer proved that nature was indeed a fickle creature. Rin’s devotion had not made it any kinder on her. The days were hot, and the village’s flowers were dull and weak despite how attentively she tended to them in her spare hours. No amount of tender care would coax them into growing; they stoutly refused to abide by her pleas.
The harder she tried to force the flowers to grow, the less successful the harvest seemed to become. By the end of the season, they had ended up with meagre crops. It was no threat to their safety—Inuyasha-sama and Miroku-sama brought enough money and work to the village that starvation was no longer a concern, and Sesshoumaru-sama would never allow her to go hungry—but it was dismaying. The ground was so barren that Kagome-sama teased that her black thumb had caused some strange curse to befall the land.
Rin had laughed, nudging her friend’s arm in half-hearted reprimand. Kaede-sama, watching shrewdly from the entryway of their shared hut, only shook her head.
*
The inauguration of her sixteenth year came with a quiet celebration in the village.
Rin did not remember the original day of her birth—her parents had not the means to celebrate, nor was it customary among anyone of her village to do so. She had only learned of the tradition when Kagome-sama, curious to learn more about her, had enquired about it last year. When she had admitted that she wasn’t sure, Kagome-sama had been none too pleased, and had immediately set her to work picking out a time to celebrate. Bashful, but nonetheless eager to please her friend, Rin had decided on one of the hot days near the end of summer. It was around the time that she had first met Sesshoumaru-sama, the date of her rebirth by his sword—it seemed only fitting that it would usher in the next year of her life.
The inclination to celebrate such a day was not a cultural practise she was familiar with, nor was it the practise of anyone else in the village, but Kagome had apparently come with a whole host of unfamiliar ideas and traditions that she saw fit to entertain everyone else with. Since it seemed to bring everyone including herself joy, Rin had no objections to playing along with her strange sensibilities.
She had informed Sesshoumaru-sama of Kagome’s plans to organise a small gathering in the village shortly beforehand, slightly embarrassed—as she was celebrating her fifteenth year—to subject him to another of her childish whims. Yet he had only nodded, and on the day of the event itself had presented himself to her after the night had drawn to a close, on the cliffside that overlooked the mountains. In his hands had been a small parcel of fabric, which he handed to her silently.
She had unfolded it as slowly and elegantly as she could manage being as excited as she was to receive a present directly from her lord. When the soft silk unfurled in her hands, she almost gasped aloud. It was a kimono, among the most beautiful she had ever seen. Coloured a deep, royal purple, it was so light and delicate in her hands it felt as if it were spun from air. Most lovely of all were the finely stitched pink blossoms scattered across the fabric, rendered in golden thread. It was the kind of finery described in fanciful tales of noblewomen and their great loves, certainly not something fashioned for a skinny orphan girl to wear.
“Sesshoumaru-sama,” she had breathed, as she admired the garment in the moonlight, stroking its soft material. “This is too much.”
He had said nothing, choosing to observe her in silence, but looking at him obliquely Rin thought she caught a glint of satisfaction in his gaze. Her face had gone red at that, an unfamiliar pleasure at his expression building in her chest, so warm and overwhelming she felt as if she might burst on the spot. Determined to do better than behave like a blushing little girl, she had held the kimono to her chest and buried her face in it, pretending to sample the feel of the fabric against her cheeks in a bid to hide from him their redness.
Rin sighed to herself, twisting a limp strand of hair around her finger, too anxious to sit still. Though she mostly recalled it with fondness, it was an embarrassing memory, especially since she knew Sesshoumaru-sama could read her moods from glancing at her as easily as she could divine the weather from looking at the sky. Of course her childish reactions hadn’t escaped his notice. At the time he had perhaps found it amusing, but now that she was a woman, he surely expected her to behave in a more mature fashion. That during their last meeting she had left such an immature impression on him did not sit well with her at all.
Shaking her head free of the thought, Rin adjusted her obi, smoothing down the front of her silken kimono. It was not the one she had received back then; the one she wore tonight was blue, a colour Sango-sama had sworn up and down complemented her figure, though it had also been a gift. She wasn’t particularly in the business of trying to make herself appealing—she had no interest in settling down with any man unaffiliated with her lord, and she hardly had time to contemplate such matters anyway under Kaede-sama’s guiding hand—but it was a special occasion, and Sesshoumaru-sama had sent word to her that he would come personally to see her. It would be the first time she saw him since last year’s celebration; she wanted to impress him with her poise and prove that she had advanced in her education during the time he had been away, and to please him with the sight of one of his presents adorning her body.
Her ministrations were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Rin’s heart jumped to her throat, nervous and excited in equally nauseating measure at the prospect that her lord had decided to come early, when she heard Kagome’s voice call out, “It’s only me, Rin-chan.”
Rin let out a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding. “Ah, you can come in,” she said, rising from her cot to face her friend.
Kagome slipped inside and let the door shut behind her. Forgoing her normal miko garb for the occasion, she had donned an orange kimono slightly reminiscent of the kosode she had worn as a child. “Sango-chan was right,” she commented, appraising Rin with a cheeky grin. “Blue really is your colour.”
Rin blushed, and ran a hand over the material again, trying to fix any wrinkles that might have escaped her notice. “Do you really think so?” she said nervously. “Are you sure it’s not too—”
“Rin-chan,” interrupted Kagome, eyes twinkling. “I promise, you look great—though if you fiddle with your kimono anymore you’ll turn it inside out.”
She had a point. The more she messed up Sango’s handiwork, the worse she would end up looking. But Rin was so nervous she could hardly bear to keep still; every time she forced her hands down from her kimono, they navigated somewhere else to tug at a hair out of place, or a wrinkle in her meticulously pressed obi.
Sensing her nerves, Kagome clasped Rin’s hand in her own, stroking her thumb. “Don’t be stressed,” she reassured her. “It’s just like we always do. It’s only going to be us and a few others from the village, nothing too big.”
Rin nodded, allowing the soothing words to wash over her. It was true: nothing they had planned for the evening was particularly different from normal. The passage of another year didn’t bother her, either. It was just that after what felt like such a long time, seeing Sesshoumaru-sama again…even though it had only been a matter of moons, it felt like everything had changed since she had met with him last. How many nights had she stayed up since then, unable to sleep for thoughts of him? How often did she contemplate him and his endeavours during his travels, seeking out her favourites among the many kimonos that he had gifted her when she hoped he might visit? She wondered incessantly whether he would take her seriously, for more than a child—worried incessantly that he would not, and she would forever remain a little orphan girl in his eyes. But if he did notice…
Her heartbeat quickened at the mere thought of him remarking on her changed looks, pounding so loud in her chest she fretted for a moment that it would be audible for all to hear. No—they were all humans, so they wouldn’t truly be able to tell, but she had no doubt that her lord’s sensitive ears would be able to pick up on her racing pulse if she didn’t manage to get it under control by the time they met. That horrifying prospect was much worse than the embarrassment of any of her friends’ teasing could ever be.
When Kagome gave her hand a comforting squeeze, Rin realised she had let the silence drag on too long, lost in her own thoughts as she was. “Thank you,” she said quickly, a smile on her lips. No matter how nervous she was, it wouldn’t be fair to impose it on her friends, who had worked so hard to organise a fun night for her. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me today, I just can’t calm down.”
Kagome raised a brow, tapping her cheek in thought. “Hmm, I wonder,” she teased. “I dunno, Rin-chan. It’s seriously a mystery. I’m sure it has nothing to do with my husband’s older bro—”
“Kagome-sama,” Rin whined, cutting her off before she could finish the sentence. She could feel the heat flooding to her face; she just knew she was probably redder than a ripe tomato, judging by the barely concealed smirk on her friend’s face.
“Alright, alright,” said Kagome with a laugh, and released Rin’s wrist from her grasp. “I’m done teasing. But seriously, don’t worry about it. He might be a youkai lord, but he’s a man first—Inuyasha’s brother, I might add. I seriously doubt he’ll notice.”
Rin swallowed, her throat thick. She had steadfastly refused to speak her feelings aloud from the moment she recognised them— doing so would amount to shaming her lord, slandering him by association. But Kagome-sama had watched her develop from a child to a young woman, and Rin knew just from looking at her that the older woman understood exactly what she was anxious about.
“And if he does?”
“And if he does, then he’ll respect your feelings enough not to comment on them and embarrass you.”
Rin exhaled, fingering her obi. “Yeah,” she said, softly. “You’re right. I should have more faith in him.”
Kagome cast her a sympathetic look. “For what it’s worth,” she started, after a moment’s pause. “I don’t think it’s as hopeless as you seem to think it is. Just saying.”
Rin tried to smile, but a cough took hold of her before she could force her lips into action. Burying her mouth in the sleeve of her kimono, she sucked in shallow breaths, her throat so clogged that each inhale rubbed it raw. She spluttered violently, and cringed when something wet slipped from between her lips, which she hoped hadn’t just ruined the lovely garment her lord hard purchased for her.
Vaguely, she heard Kagome ask if she was alright, a concerned edge to her tone. Rin nodded as best she could, focusing on breathing as Kaede had instructed, and forced herself to maintain slow, steady exhales, easing her body slowly into a state of relaxation.
“Jeez,” said Kagome, brows furrowed, when at last the coughing ceased. “That was intense. Are you feeling ill, Rin-chan? Do you need me to go fetch Kaede-baa-san?”
Rin shook her head. Since dislodging the thick clog in her throat, she felt leagues better, as if she had never been caught up by such a nasty cough to begin with. “I’m fine,” she rasped. “But if you could bring me some water…”
Before she even finished her request, Kagome was already nodding. “Of course,” she said, heading out the door. “Just give me a minute to go fetch it, I’ll be back right away.”
Rin didn’t even manage to say thank you before it shut behind her with a neat click. With a sigh, she sank down onto her cot and inspected the sleeve of her kimono for damage, hoping that whatever she had spat up would be easy to wash out. Her brows furrowed when she saw no trace of a stain.
She knew the language of the plants, but it seemed to her that she still did not understand that of the flower. In silence, she gazed at the twin petals that had come from inside her—bloodless, the same bruised red as the one furled in her obi—and wondered what they were trying to tell her.
*
The following hours proceeded in normal fashion. She didn’t divulge what had happened with the flowers to Kagome; by the time she returned with a jug of water in hand, Rin had tucked the petals into her obi, safe from any prying eyes. She knew her friend well enough to realise that if she were concerned, she would immediately seek help and unintentionally draw undue attention Rin’s way. She was already embarrassed enough being the centre of attention for a celebration—trying to explain to Kaede-sama that she was coughing up flowers, and that she had perhaps been doing so for many years, without kicking up a fuss amongst her friends would be impossible.
Surrounded by Kagome-sama’s group and many of the other village girls who she was friendly with, Rin hadn’t felt the urge to cough once. Now, though—as she waited on the hillside for Sesshoumaru-sama to arrive at their predetermined meeting place—there was a distinctly uncomfortable tickle in her throat, so thick and full that she struggled a little to breathe around its bulk.
Sighing, she tried to ignore it, and concentrated instead on the sea of green before her. It was a beautiful forest, much like the ones she had scavenged in during her youth; she liked to explore there sometimes for nostalgia’s sake when the weather was favourable enough to permit the journey. A wind swept through the clearing, and she shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest. She had opted not to wear a robe over her lovely kimono for her lord’s sake, but now she was regretting it somewhat—for the end of summer, it was a surprisingly chilly night.
“Stupid wind,” she muttered, rather childishly, screwing her face up into a scowl.
“Are you cold?”
That voice—it had been so long, and yet it was just as familiar as always. But so soon?
Rin whirled around. “S—Sesshoumaru-sama!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I didn’t hear you.”
He stood only a few metres behind her, visage cast in its usual neutral mask. He hadn’t changed a bit; he looked just as he always had, poised to the extreme. When he remained silent, awaiting her response to his question, embarrassment flooded her. She hadn’t even heard him approach. How long had he been standing there, watching that embarrassing display?
“I’m not cold,” she answered at last, knowing all too well that he would smell the nervousness the lie brought her. “I was just having a disagreement with the weather.”
Sesshoumaru-sama raised a brow ever so slightly and said, “I wasn’t aware that the weather was capable of disagreement.”
“No,” Rin agreed. When his brow lifted a little further up, she explained, her cheeks colouring, “It was a one-sided disagreement.”
At that, she could’ve sworn she saw his lower lip twitch out of the corner of her eye. But if he was amused, he didn’t say so; her lord graced her only with a low “Ah,” and said no more. A silence stretched between them. Usually she was more than capable of filling up any lags his lack of conversation gave rise to with her loquacious chatter, but Rin knew that proper ladies didn’t babble on about just anything…like arguing with the weather.
Ladylike, ladylike, ladylike—her damned throat itched so badly she was worried she might not be able to say anything at all.
“Forgive my rudeness, Sesshoumaru-sama,” she said instead, offering him a polite, restrained smile. “I have not yet asked how your journeying fared.”
“It has fared well,” he replied.
“And Jaken-sama, my lord? How does he fare?”
Sesshoumaru-sama gave her a look she suspected was somewhat unimpressed. “Jaken fares well,” he said. “But you have seen him recently, have you not?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, “I have. But Jaken-sama often exaggerates, as you know—he is very dramatic. Would it not be more accurate account, if it came directly from you?”
Her lord’s lower lip definitely twitched then. Score one for Rin, as Kagome might say. “Indeed,” he acknowledged. “You have learned well, Rin.”
Rin beamed at him, unfortunately aware that she probably looked more like a kid than a noblewoman, but too delighted to stop herself. “Kaede-sama has taught me thoroughly,” she said. “Under her guidance I have learned many things, my lord.”
Sesshoumaru-sama tilted his head slightly, prompting her to continue.
“I have learned completely which herbs are used to treat which human ailments,” Rin related to him happily. “Kaede-sama has also taught me some of the basic rites of the miko used for healing, though our holy monk and Kagome-sama are mostly preoccupied with such endeavours. I have assisted women with childbirth—just last month I performed a delivery on my own for the first time.”
“I take it you are satisfied with your place here, then,” said Sesshoumaru-sama.
Rin considered this. It was true that she was happy: she enjoyed the company of her friends, and was treated with such kindness and consideration that her previous experiences seemed leagues away. Satisfied, though—she would never be satisfied without being by her lord’s side. To be of some use to him, regardless of what role she played, was more important than identifying a thousand herbs. Even if she were his lowliest servant, she thought would be more fulfilled there than she would be as a princess amongst men. But admitting that to him would make her seem ungrateful for all that he had done for her, and ungrateful was the last impression she wished to make on him.
“I am content,” she said truthfully.
Her lord contemplated her for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her body. It was not a lustful look—though secretly, she wished that it was—but an assessing one, evaluating her as she stood before him.
“You have changed,” he said at last. “It pleases this Sesshoumaru to know that the village suits you.”
Rin blushed. “I have not changed so very much,” she confided, smiling with a little more cheek than was proper. From the folds of her obi, she pulled one of the petals she had stashed and set it down on the flat of her palm for him to observe, lightly crumpled but otherwise unmarred.
“A carnation,” Sesshoumaru-sama identified for her, when she offered no explanation. “Not very common in this region.”
Rin allowed her gaze to shift between the petal and his unreadable expression. Surprised, she said, “I didn’t know you were interested in stuff like that, my lord.”
Sesshoumaru-sama let out a soft huff of breath. “This one bears no particular inclination for flowers,” he said. “But they are identifiable by scent, and I have encountered them before in my travels.”
Rin put a hand to her chin, mulling over the new information she had received. The flower her body had produced was a carnation—that had to mean something about what had brought it about in the first place. Kaede-sama had taught her the significance of each blossom, but she had never quite mastered the list, since it was deemed much less important than life-saving herbs.
“I can’t remember what it’s supposed to represent,” she sheepishly admitted, when no apparent meaning presented itself. “But the colour is beautiful, isn’t it?”
The next breath she took was aborted, difficult through the mass lodged in her throat, but she willed it away in favour of admiring her lord. From so near him, she thought it resembled almost perfectly the long stripes that cut through Sesshoumaru-sama’s cheeks. She had never really considered it before, but it made sense that a flower that came from within her would bear the same colouration as the lord so dear to her heart—if it was a product of her love.
“It is pleasing enough,” agreed Sesshoumaru-sama. He was still gazing at the petal with interest, as if somehow despite logic he could sense its origin.
Rin flushed for what felt like the thousandth time since his arrival. It would be terribly immature to offer it to him, not to mention unhygienic, so instead of attempting to string it with the others into a chain for him to wear around his neck as she might have done in previous years she tucked it back into her obi.
“I’m sure you did not come to listen to my foolishness about the flowers, my lord,” she said, embarrassed by the tangent the discussion had taken. The urge to cough tugged at her throat, but she ignored it, intent on not humiliating herself further. “Forgive me.”
Sesshoumaru-sama’s eyes lifted from her palm to fix on her red face. “If it displeased me, I would not listen,” he replied. “You have a great fondness for flowers. There is no reason you should prevent yourself from discussing them.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rin admitted, a renewed smile playing at her lips. “Thank you.”
It was silly, the way being in his presence made her feel. It was like she was walking on air. She had never doubted that Sesshoumaru-sama would come to save her life since the first time, but it was these small gestures of kindness he continued to show her even after years living apart that proved his generous nature in her regard. That she was its primary subject was astounding.
Sesshoumaru-sama continued to regard her. What his purpose was she did not know, but, accustomed to such stares from him, she did not fluster.
At last, he said, “You have spent this year learning.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you have been happy?”
Rin pursed her lips. He hadn’t asked quite so directly before—she had not come to expect straightforwardness from him, but it was true that he disliked beating around the bush when he desired answers.
“To have been with my friends, I am happy,” she said. Nervous to continue, she bit her lip—but he was eyeing her so expectantly that she went on, “But for your absence I am not, my lord. Often I thought of your company and greatly missed being by your side.”
“I see.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the thickness in her throat became so great that she had to cough. Burying her face in her sleeve, she tried to keep her body as still as possible, unwilling to reveal the extent to which it was wracking her thin frame. She could feel petals slip out from her lips; at first only one, then two more, and a third, a fourth, a fifth spilled onto the luxurious silk of her kimono.
“Rin,” she heard Sesshoumaru-sama say, a sharp edge to his voice. She wanted to reach out and reassure him that she was alright, that it was only a little cough, but her shaking would not cease for long enough for the words to come out properly.
At the sound of his voice it calmed at last. The petals slipped from her sleeve onto the ground, scattered across the cold dirt and her tabi socks. It would not escape his attention; she nearly cursed under her breath, before she realised that he was watching her intently, awaiting her reaction. The consoling smile she knew he needed to see was already forming on her lips when he took a step toward her and grasped her chin gently in his clawed hands.
“Do not hide yourself from me,” he instructed. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw, sharpened nail dragging so slowly and carefully across her skin that she shivered in his grip. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Forgive me, Sesshoumaru-sama,” she said breathlessly.
He did not coax an answer from her as she expected. Instead, he said, “You don’t have to say, if you don’t want to.”
Rin felt as if her heart might explode. Never had her face been so close to her lord’s, never had he looked at her so intently. And those words never failed to ignite joy in her, entwined with feelings which ran so deep in her soul she would never be cleansed of them in a thousand lifetimes. All she could manage was a weak “Sesshoumaru-sama,” too overwhelmed by his proximity and the rapid staccato of her heart to form any more concrete sentences. Her eyes flicked inadvertently down from his eyes to his lips. Ashamed of her own boldness, she forced herself to meet his gaze again.
“Rin,” he said softly in return. His voice so low she knew if anyone else entered they would be unable to hear him. She understood him enough to grasp that he had just told her in his own way that the way he said her name, so tender it ached, was for her ears only.
She did not respond, uncertain of his intentions, too tentative to move in the direction her instincts were pulling her. Sesshoumaru-sama made the decision for her—he released her jaw, and set his hand on the curve of her waist instead, tugging her slowly into his chest. It was only when she was so close she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek that his other hand, the one he had regained with the acquisition of his sword, came to rest on her cheekbone.
Rin’s eyes slipped shut. His hand on her face had always been so warm. From the first moment he touched her it tethered her mortal soul to the earth, welcoming her back from the cold depths of the underworld. It was the augury of her devotion.
“To use this arm for such a thing,” he began under his breath, speaking more to himself than to her.
She awaited the rejection the end of his sentence would bring, eyes still closed in fearful anticipation. But instead of continuing, he only leaned down and brought his mouth to hers, insistent and hot. Rin’s lips parted instinctively, permitting him entrance. Her body pressed itself against his whilst he kissed her, hands seeking purchase in his fur as they moved together as one.
Like the touch of his hand, it was warm.
*
“Kaede-baa-sama, what’s this one?”
Kaede rose from her place kneeling beside the fire to peer at the washi Rin was studying. The characters beneath the pressed flower were complex, beyond the limited writing she had picked up thus far during her stay in the village.
“It’s a carnation,” she explained. “It symbolises fascination, distinction, and love.”
Rin stroked the petal. Though it had clearly bloomed long ago, it still held some lustre in its wilted form—Kaede was unsurprised that the child was enamoured with it.
“It’s so pretty,” she sighed. “They almost look like mine, but a bit darker. Do you think I could find a fresh one to give to Sesshoumaru-sama when he visits?”
Kaede chuckled. “No, child,” she said. “It’s a rare flower around these parts. And such deep love is difficult to find, anyway—if they were common, it would lose its significance.”
“Oh,” Rin said. She quieted, and then frowned, evidently displeased by the old woman’s evasive answer. “But I love Sesshoumaru-sama that deeply. I could find one if I looked, couldn’t I?”
Kaede observed her for a moment. She had seen the petals on her pillow in the morning; leftovers the little girl had stashed in her nightclothes and forgotten about, she presumed. It was impossible for them to be carnations—she had lived in the village all her life and not seen a single one—but the shape and size did match the flower pressed into the washi. Perhaps there was something to be said for the impossible.
When Rin blinked at her, expecting an answer, she smiled. “I don’t know if you’ll ever find one in nature,” she said. “But I don’t think you’ll have to look very far.”