“This is the place?”

Drawing up beside his incredulous half-brother, Sesshoumaru glanced around at the hovel before them in similar skepticism. Set back against the craggy mountainside, a dilapidated wooden shack loomed ahead, its gaping entrance partially concealed by a patchwork of tattered door curtains. In the wide dirt yard before it, several overlarge boars rooted around in the red rocky earth. As the Lord of the Western Lands advanced another step, the long spines atop the beasts’ backs raised and stiffened, mean onyx eyes glinting warily at him as the boars grunted and stamped at the ground.

“You…” Inuyasha growled, the demon lord looking back at him as he wrenched Jakken up by the collar. “This dirty pig farm don’t look like the home of no ‘artisan’ to me! If you’re wasting our time again, I’m gonna wring your slimy neck…”

Oily tears squeezed from the imp’s bulging eyes as he choked. “T-this is the place! The artisan’s work is flawless—I can attest!”

As Inuyasha dropped Sesshoumaru’s retainer with a glare, the patched door curtain flung open wide, a broad-shouldered boarish figure stepping through. Crossing his bristly muscled arms, the apron-clad demon regarded them with eyes as dark and mistrustful as those of his beasts.

“Ho there,” he boomed, “what business might you have with me?”

“Are you the craftsman Butamaru?” Sesshoumaru asked, turning to address him.

“I am,” the demon replied narrowly. “And who might you be?”

Still blotchy in the face and slightly wheezing, Jakken rushed ahead to announce his master. “Show respect, craftsman! You are speaking with Sesshoumaru-sama, the Lord of the Western Lands.”

“Ah, Touga’s son, I take it?” Twisting at the tapered end of his pale tusklike whiskers, the craftsman grinned, broad and slow. “Your noble father was once a patron of mine. Have you come to commission me as well?”

“Perhaps,” Sesshoumaru answered curtly, cutting Inuyasha off before he could blurt something foolish.

“Then, please—enter, my lord,” Butamaru said with a gracious air as drew back the shabby door curtain. “I will show you a sampling of my works.”

The boars parted grudgingly as Sesshoumaru approached, his brother and retainer in tow. The interior of the shack was spare and tidy. Scrolls, clay cups and bowls, and baskets of roots adorned the worn wooden shelves and benches. A bedroll that appeared much too short for the craftsman’s height lay neatly off to one side. At the rock wall that formed the back of the dwelling, Butamaru paused—the rough grey stone grating open beneath the press of his dark-clawed hand. Icy air spilled in through the square gap in the rock, as if exhaled from the deep heart of the mountain itself.

“The gallery is this way,” the artisan said, leading them on.

Lanterns glowed along the length of the glittering stone passageway, which opened into a great cavernous space. Within, ornate vases and sculptures lined the tiered walls floor to ceiling, a few gigantic pieces placed prominently in the room’s mirrored center. Many of the works depicted the gods or other immortals, the scenes of their heroics playing out along the jewelled surfaces in crisp, fluid motion. On others, images of nature were displayed, the branches of blossoming trees swaying gently in some enchanted breeze.

Sesshoumaru could now recall seeing a few of these animated sculptures around the Western Palace—in particular, a pair of matching vessels in his mother’s castle. Gifts from his father, so it seemed.

“Damn…” Inuyasha muttered, wandering ahead toward the massive central vase, which illustrated Creation. “This is impressive—”

“Hands off, half-breed,” Butamaru rumbled in warning, the hanyou lowering his claws with a sullen scowl. Keeping one eye on him still, the artisan turned to Sesshoumaru. “Well, my lord, what do you think?”

“Your work is impressive, as my brother said,” the demon lord replied with a reproving edge, the bite of which was not lost on the abashed craftsman. “But it is another skill of yours I seek. Is it true that you are a sculptor of human flesh?”

The artisan’s bristly white brows lifted in surprise. “My lord…that is a side matter. The true art is what you see before you.”

“But you can restore severed limbs,” Sesshoumaru pressed, advancing. “Reform muscle and replace missing skin?”

“Merely as a means of repayment,” Butamaru hedged. “In addition to the gold I give for the offering.”

“Offering?” Inuyasha repeated lowly as he stepped up beside Sesshoumaru.

The demon lord’s eyes sharpened with intent. “Show me,” he demanded.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi