Chapter Text
That day the sky was clear and the sun felt warmth on the skin; it was a perfect day for a walk in the nature. But in the palace, no one was looking at the sky, most of all the servants that, like every morning, were busy with their daily duties. And like every morning, Izayoi was walking along her rooms, with a hairbrush in one hand.
«InuYasha! InuYasha where are you?»
Again, her son fled away before she could brush his hair. It was a routine: the child always managed to take advantage of his mother's distraction to sneak out and start the day without torture.
InuYasha was six years old and his hair had never been touched by a pair of scissors: since the day he was born he had been given thick hair, and his mother, so proud of her own long black hair, had been adamant that her son should have long hair too.
But the child wasn’t so dedicated like his mother: Izayoi loved to brush her own hair and then treat it with creams and conditioners; InuYasha, on the contrary, had always been a lively little fellow, unable to sit still, especially when it came to personal care. He always ended his days covered in mud, after a few runs in the fields, games with the water, or on the trees. Not exactly the right type to have long hair.
Sometimes his mother had considered shortening it, but the thought was as fleeting as the wind: her son's hair was so beautiful, so bulky, so proud ... so similar to his father's....
After wandering through all the rooms belonging to them, Izayoi headed outside: she knew so well that her son preferred to be outside rather than within the walls of the house, but she always gave him a few minutes before tracking him down, and with time that ritual had become a sort of game between them, a game that made the inevitable brush moment a little less annoying.
As many times before, she found him squatting on the edge of the small pond in the back of the palace, hitting the water’s surface with his hands to scare off the fishes. In the short time he had been there, he had splashed water everywhere, also his robes was wet. Izayoi sighed before announcing herself.
«There you are!» she smiled, approaching the small figure in the distance. The child stood up and turned in his mother's direction, striding toward her «You've been slow, today!» he snickered happily, but when he saw the brush in his mother's hands, his face grew gloomy. «Couldn't we skip this part, today?» he bowed his head, and that movement suddenly lit up his silvery hair.
Izayoi's heart jumped.
«No my baby, hair should be brushed every day.»
«Ugh!» the child crossed his arms, showing his disagreement, but did not run away. His mother leaned toward him and rested her hands on his small shoulders, «But first you have to dry yourself or you'll catch a cold.»
«All right, but I'm going back to play after it!» the look on InuYasha's face was serious and determined, and his mother knew that when he had that expression, there was nothing that could change his mind. He was a stubborn little guy who was hard to say no to.
«Certainly,» she smiled, conciliatory, and extended a hand toward her son, who returned the shake; together they headed for their rooms.
Once they returned, the first thing she did was to remove the child's Hinezumi robe: she laid it outside to dry as quickly as possible so that InuYasha could return to wear it right away. She dried her son's face, then she had him sit on the floor outside the palace: his little legs were hanging down, and the child took advantage of this to move them alternately, alleviating the torture of immobility that the rest of his body had to undergo.
Izayoi knelt down behind his son, took a strand of hair with one hand and began to brush it with the other.
The child's protests were not long in coming, «Ouch!»
«Come on my child, a little patience.»
InuYasha's hair was thick but also firm: it had a very strong and slightly shaggy fiber, a type of hair that easily knots, and despite the gentleness with which Izayoi passed the brush, it was not easy to untangle that net. A type of hair that is not human.
«Even great warriors have to comb their hair to keep it splendid.»
«Like my father?»
«Yes.» as whenever Touga was mentioned, Izayoi had a quiver in her voice.
She had lost the man she loved on the very day their child was born.
On that day he had given her his last gifts: he had brought her back to life using the sword Tenseiga, had given her the robe of the Hinezumi to protect her in her escape - because he knew he could no longer do so personally - and had given her a name.
«InuYasha. That's the name of the child: his name is InuYasha. Now run away and live. You must live, Izayoi!»
She did it: with their newborn baby in her arms she had run away, leaving the man she loved to fight his last battle, the one to ensure his family's survival.
«Your father was a great warrior, InuYasha,» she said.
«And he liked to have his hair combed? Ouch!» the child brought a hand along his temple to massage the spot where the brush had hit him.
«Yes, he liked it.» the woman proceeded to gently remove the knots «He had the same hair as you: long, thick silver strands. I used to brush it for him every night while he told me about the magnificent adventures he had had.»
Touga was a major demon among the most powerful of his time, in charge and vigilant of the Kyushu territory, a silver-coated dog demon who in his human form retained a long, thick hair, vigorous and proud like himself. They were a symbol of his power and one of the features that had made Izayoi, a noble human, fall in love with him.
«Your father liked to wear them in a high tail, but I was happy when, before he slept, he untied them and they fell over his shoulders: they were splendid and I was overjoyed to comb them!»
«Were they as long as yours, mother? Ouch!»
«Yes, like mine, and like yours.»
«Mine are shorter!»
«Only because you are smaller, but when you grow up they will be the same length, I'm sure.» InuYasha smiled, satisfied. Sometimes he wished he could cut off that pesky long hair: it got dirty all the time, forcing him to have to wash and comb it often. And then they would go in front of his eyes, into his mouth, get caught... But he knew his mother loved to brush them and it was so hard to see her smile, he couldn't take that pleasure away from her. Besides, he liked to think he looked like the great fighter his father had been: a powerful demon, respected and feared by all.
«Mother, I will be a great warrior, too, and you won't have to worry about anything. I will protect you!»
Her son still had his back to her, and she suppressed a sob. She had always tried to show positive toward him, but often ended up crying in his presence. It was so difficult to live missing her beloved, hosted by relatives only by virtue of her noble lineage, but who little tolerated the woman who had mated with a demon and had given life to an abomination: a hanyou, a half-demon.
She tried to send back her tears: she did not want to sadden her son any further; his life was not easy either, pushed away and judged by everyone because of his nature. Seeing him smile was her only boost to life.
«Yes, my baby, you will be an outstanding warrior, like your father.» she stroked the child's silver head, gently touched his small canine ears, and then resumed brushing his hair.