Softly, Kagome smiled. “He’s such a beautiful boy, Sango-chan. You and Miroku-sama must be so proud.”

Cradling the newborn to her breast, the former taijiya smiled in turn, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. Exhaustion, Kagome assumed and therefore asked, “Have you been able to get much sleep?”

“It’s been difficult,” Sango admitted, tugging the neck of her kimono open a little wider so Komori could nurse. “The twins were so quiet, but this one is fussy.” Her gaze rose to her friend’s. “And you, Kagome-chan? How have you been faring?”

“More or less the same,” the miko replied. Clasping her folded knees, she hesitated. “I’m still having nightmares.”

Sango nodded. “That’s to be expected; it’s only been a year. But you’ll see, they’ll fade more and more with time.”

“Right.” Again, Kagome hesitated, frowning. There was a certain hardness in Sango’s features—a firmness in the set of her mouth which jarred with the maternal softness of her pose. “It’s just that this one was so vivid compared with the rest, although it’s like nothing I can recall.”

The line of Sango’s lips drew thinner. Yet Kagome went on, as though now that she had begun to tell it, she had no choice but to continue.

“There was a river, and the moon was reflected in it—a full moon. But when I looked up at the sky, the moon wasn’t there. I realized that the moon was gone from the sky, that it had sunk beneath the surface of the water and it would never rise again. Then as I watched, I started to sink as well. The moon wasn’t white anymore—it was red, dark red. The moon was filling up with blood, and all of that blood was coming from me—”

Sango’s face was pale. “Kagome-chan…”

But Kagome couldn’t stop. “The blood was so dark, so thick. It was dead blood, Sango-chan, and the moon was dead, too. It had come out of me, just like the blood. It had come out of me dead—”

“That’s enough!” Sango cried. Rising sharply to her feet, she turned away as Komori let out a piercing wail. “You’ve upset him.”

Kagome drew back as if struck. Despite his earlier cry, the baby had resettled into Sango’s arms and was nursing contentedly once more. As Kagome studied her friend’s tense, rigid posture, it seemed the only one she’d truly upset was Sango herself. But Kagome didn’t press the issue.

Rising as well, she quietly said, “I’m sorry, Sango-chan—I think I’m feeling a little off today. I’ll come back another time.”

Sango nodded, but didn’t turn. Lingering a moment more in the hope that she might, Kagome sighed and departed the hut.

There was no question in her mind of the growing distance between them. Their lives had taken different paths, hers and Sango’s, and the divide was only becoming more apparent. Whether it could ever be bridged seemed increasingly unlikely to Kagome, and this knowledge pained her deeply.

Another loss to be endured.

“What if I’ve played my part?” she asked in despair. “The Shikon no Tama is destroyed—that’s what I was brought here to do, and I’ve done it. I’ve fulfilled Kikyou’s destiny. Maybe that’s all I was ever intended to do.”

Sitting on her porch step, she twirled a dandelion in her hand. The bitter tang of its green blood scented the air, stained her fingertips. With a sigh, Kagome glanced up at her brother-in-law. Standing before her in the yard, Sesshoumaru regarded her in turn.

Somewhere along the way, he had stopped coming into her home. It had happened so subtly Kagome hadn’t initially taken notice, and now to say anything about it seemed strange—almost as strange as it was to think back on him being her houseguest in the first place.

“You still see yourself as a scion of Kikyou,” Sesshoumaru said, his voice edged in disapproval.

“It’s not that I want to,” Kagome said defensively. “But how else can I explain it? The Jewel was reborn in me. I was sent here to finish what she and Inuyasha started. Now he’s gone, the Jewel’s gone, and I’m stuck here.” Her nose and eyes began to sting. “I can’t go back, and I can’t seem to go forward, either. Not without him.”

“Perhaps you were meant to finish Kikyou’s task,” Sesshoumaru said after a moment, “but that is not your destiny.”

Kagome’s lips twisted. “You sound so sure.” The fact that he hadn’t remarked at all on her widowhood seemed to speak for itself. Bitterly, she added, “Maybe you can clue me in sometime.”

Sesshoumaru held her gaze unflinching. “Have I offended you?”

“No,” Kagome bit out.

“Then,” he asked, “who has?”

Kagome’s shoulders stiffened as she glanced away. “It wasn’t like that. It’s just…” Shaking her head, she looked back to him with a frown. “I confided something to Sango-chan, and it didn’t go over well. It was nothing really—just a nightmare I had. But it disturbed her.”

Sesshoumaru’s expression was shrewd. “The dreams of the powerful are often portentous.” Then to her further surprise, he asked her, “What did you dream of?”

Kagome stared back at him, flustered. It wasn’t that she minded telling him. In fact, she sensed that it would have been a relief.

It was that she couldn’t.

“How strange,” the priestess muttered, plucking at the flower with a rueful half-smile. “Now, I forget.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 8/18/23

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