“…Kagome-san?” The miko swallowed cautiously, her hand returning discreetly to her side as Kohaku lowered his katana. Her eyes fell to the gray gleaming edge of the blade, to the pale muscular arms that held it suspended. The thin blanket he’d been sleeping under now draped low on his waist, revealing the breadth of his

Kagome stood alone on the porch, watching after Kohaku long after he’d left. Leaning heavily against the outer wall of her home, she tried to bring her whirlwind of fears under control. The vial. The detection charm. Were Kohaku to encounter Sesshoumaru with it, he would know. And if he knew, if he knew… Kagome

Thunder boomed on high, a tepid breeze stirring the air around her. As lightning split the sky and the scent of ozone suffused her senses, Kagome curled down at the base of her husband’s grave and drew his red robe over her with a whimper. She had been wrong. There was nothing here for her,

Bent low over Jiro’s back, Kagome clung to his neck as much as his reins, her lungs striving for air against the crushing weight of her anguish. Her eyes bleared, blood trickling down from her raw, busted knuckles and sealing her clenched fingers shut. The road before her obscured as Jiro raced on at her

Kagome reeled, scarcely managing to reach the river’s edge before a torrent of scalding bile ripped up through her throat. Her nose seared. Her eyes streamed as she retched out the dregs of her empty stomach into the muddy current below. Frigid brown water soaked through the knees of her hakama, her quaking arms straining