A/N:

I am still half asleep, so if I missed some typos, I apologize. If there are any, I'll be weeding them out during the day as fast as I'm able.

Thank you to everyone who continues to support this story. Your reviews mean a lot to me! If you enjoy the read, please let me know. It's really inspiring to see that you guys are having fun with this adventure :)

Just to clarify, Kagome is roughly 13-14 years old at this stage in the story. When Katashi spoke to her several chapters ago, he mentioned a coming of age ceremony that was to be held for her, which was historically performed within artistocratic families to prepare children for adult life. For girls, this ceremony (held at ages 12-15) allowed them to step into court life and marry (among other things).

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Limerance

Chapter 11

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Morning arrived too quickly. Creeping over the billowing clouds, the rising sun pulled Kagome from much needed sleep with unwelcome tenacity. Still wrapped in the tangled vines of slumber, she resisted the call of the day, burrowing deeper into her bedroll to keep out the cold. However, no matter how many times she closed her eyes and tried to fall back asleep, she couldn't. Unwilling to part with her cozy cover just yet, she settled for recalling the details of her dreams.

Dark things, mostly. Terrible things. Demons and battles; an endless hunt for something unreachable — a jewel of some kind.

Perhaps weeks ago, the pathetic Midori would have hidden beneath her blanket, praying for the images to fade. She might have yearned to return to the familiarity of Katashi's side, choosing to be protected even if it meant sacrificing her life and freedom for a bit of safety. But, Midori was gone. Only Kagome remained now, and nightmares hardly frightened her. Where was the use in fearing the past? Intangible memories could not harm her. Only the present could do that, and only in the present would she let fear and caution to slow her journey to the truth.

For a while, she allowed herself some time to think about her dream, hoping to piece together the fragments of her real memories. This time, a new character had appeared in the tapestry — a woman who looked much like her save for the color of her eyes. Her black orbs stared deep into Kagome's soul, telling a melancholy tale of unfulfilled desires and a love lost to evil's whim. She, too, wielded a bow, though her stiff posture and raised chin attested to a certain confidence Kagome didn't feel within herself.

Who was she, and why did Kagome's heart twist with pain when she looked at her? Were they related somehow? Seeing those haunting dark eyes was like seeing her own reflection in a shattered mirror. In the murk of shifting shadows, pointing an accusing finger in Kagome's direction, the woman called her a traitor and a thief. Somehow, the Kagome of the past had taken something from her. Where the silver-haired man was concerned, Kagome's love was the source of woman's pain; her selflessness, a vexing burden. What had happened between them?

Kagome would have lost track of time had it not been for Patch's intervention. His shaggy black muzzle blocked her view of the sky right before he bumped the side of her face, urging her to get up. When she tunneled deeper into her blankets, the stallion nipped at her hair and snorted, spraying warm moist air right in her ear. Kagome let out a sound of indignation, but — reluctantly — she rolled to her feet.

In that moment, Kagome swore she had more muscle aches than she did muscles. Wincing, she glared at her horse. Patch blinked back, his expression wide-eyed and innocent. For all her aches and pains, for her exhaustion and stiffness, she blamed him. His gait was far from smooth — a trait for battle, not travel — and he possessed too much stamina. He didn't tire, even when they traveled for miles over steep hills and crossed treacherous rivers. And if he didn't tire — if he wanted to keep moving — then Kagome felt she had to match his pace.

They'd moved as swiftly as possible towards the place marked on the scout's stolen map, hardly stopping to rest. For Kagome, who had never properly ridden a horse before this journey, the days passed in endless bumping up-and-down agony. They steered clear of towns and settlements, Kagome fearing to attract too much attention. The less people saw them, the stronger the chances that Katashi wouldn't catch them. She couldn't imagine what he might do to her if he did.

Kagome looked northward. This would be her fourth day in the saddle. Four days since she'd escaped Katashi's camp; four days since she banished Midori from her thoughts. The timid princess. The coward. Out here, there was no room for her. Out here, one mistake could mean Kagome's death. Knowing Midori existed as nothing but a figment of her imagination, Kagome felt no remorse in tossing her aside like ruined clothing. In this land riddled with sickness and death, only one thing mattered: survival.

The horse nuzzled her again, and Kagome sighed, reaching into her pack and pulling out an apple. Most of its color had faded, the skin a bumpy and too-soft in some places. The fruit wasn't rotten yet, but it was getting there. Heat and moisture had taken their toll. It was one of the last remaining bits of the supplies she'd stolen from camp. Her food was running out. They needed to hurry and find the stone before it did.

"This is the last one," she warned her companion, holding the apple in her hand as Patch devoured it with loud chomps. "I've spoiled you too much, but I guess you deserve it, working so hard and all." After petting the large animal behind one of its fuzzy black ears one more time, she bent over her supplies and began to gather her things. First, her pack. Her leather tunic and breastplate were next, followed by the bow and arrows she'd pilfered from camp.

Each night before bed, she practiced shooting, using nearby trees for target practice. Getting caught in a scrap without the skills required to get out of it was the last thing Kagome needed. Fortunately, her efforts paid off. Her aim wasn't too bad, and instinct guided her when it came to posture and focus. The only thing she lacked was physical preparation: muscle strength and callouses on her fingers to keep them from bleeding and going numb after every session. Such things would come in time, she felt certain.

A movement on the horizon piqued her curiosity, resembling a circling of black shapes over a particular area. Since she planned on heading in that exact direction, Kagome mounted her horse and urged him into a light canter. The closer they moved towards the shapes in the sky, the more the vegetation of the plains thinned out until nothing but black and brown skeletons remained. Dry shrubs and crusty broken grass sprawled out around them…

…And when they reached their destination, Kagome wished they hadn't.

The black shapes turned out to be a wake of starving buzzards circling over a pile of burned lifeless bodies. Not far from the site of the fire, Kagome saw the remains of a small hamlet — still and uninhabited. It took less than a moment for her to make the connection between the two. On the bodies that weren't completely destroyed by flames, Kagome recognized all too familiar boils and plague had ravaged these men, women, and children; no doubt their relatives felt burning their bodies was the best way to prevent the spread of the Affliction.

A fruitless endeavor. Prevention was impossible. The Affliction seemed to have a will of its own, an unsettling sentience. What survivors were left after the burning of their friends and families had moved on, leaving their homes behind. Smart, considering the nature of the plague. Closing her eyes to the scene before her, Kagome grimaced and brought her hands to her face in an attempt to shield her eyes. The stench alone was enough to make her queasy, but the sight of charred flesh was worse.

Patch shifted beneath her, tossing his head as though sensing his rider's sudden distress. She held onto his solid black mane as though clinging to life, her eyes watering from the acrid smoke rising up around them. Above, the buzzards cried out in shrill greedy song, no doubt waiting for the corpses to stop smoking before descending for a much awaited feast.

The grumbling of the sky signaled impending rain. Clouds gathered, dark, grey — sinister. Patch whinnied, his head turning south and his ears pricking up. Beneath her thighs, his big body tensed. A strong wind blew through the clearing, tossing Kagome's hair about, disorienting the hungry buzzards, blowing away the fading smoke from the mountain of the dead. Howling as it passed, the cold wind and converging clouds sent her one message: a storm approached, and with it, danger.

Lightly jostling her horse's sides, Kagome drew her bow and guided Patch to the nearby hamlet. In her situation, she wasn't above searching abandoned villages for supplies to aid in her journey. She wouldn't touch the food, and she could bet the villagers had emptied their homes; chances were, she would find nothing of use. But, at least the huts would provide shelter from the coming rain and possible defense against an ambush.

Why the precaution? She wasn't sure; however, her gut instinct whispered that something wasn't right, though she couldn't see anyone — beast or man —around. Over the past few days, Kagome learned to trust her intuition. At times, its uncanny accuracy surprised her. Eyes flitting about in every direction, she searched for a threat, knowing it lurked nearby.

They entered the hamlet in slow, cautious steps. Kagome wrapped her thighs tighter around Patch's middle, unwilling to dismount until her trepidation dissipated. She balanced herself in her seat as best as she could manage, keeping an arrow nocked in her bow and another between her teeth if she needed to shoot again quickly. When they stood in the center of the hamlet and nothing happened for several minutes, Kagome dismounted and, still keeping her bow at the ready, ducked into one of the huts. One by one, she searched the empty homes, picking up small things here and there: a ceramic bowl for heating water, a small knife, more arrows for her quiver. As suspected, the residents hadn't left much of use here. Even so, she was grateful for what she could scavenge.

After completing the search of the last of the huts, a sudden stabbing sensation of dread snapped her to attention. Outside, Patch neighed and squealed, angry sounds — sounds of a struggle. Kagome drew her bow and nocked an arrow, slipping another into her mouth like before. Despite all her bravado, her body shook and trembled. As she approached the entrance and stepped outside, her mind conjured a thousand possibilities of what awaited her beyond.

When she cleared the bead curtain, she saw at least fifteen rugged human faces staring back at her, their expressions varying from dark anticipation to bloodlust. Not samurai or nobility. Their clothes were too poor. Nor were they greedy farmers looking for easy prey. These men wore black leathers over crimson hakama pants; in their hands they held gleaming swords and spinning knives. Kagome's heart sank.

Bandits.

The worst sort of peril she could have run into aside from the Affliction or Katashi himself.

"Well, well, well," one of the men chuckled. "What do we have here?"

Kagome examined his armor closely, noting its differences in quality and flair. She assumed this was the band's leader, or at least the one in charge for the time being. He eyed her with a heated look she found disgusting and licked his lips.

"It's just a girl," one of the other men said. "What's a child like this doin' with a war' horse?"

"Well, let's ask her, then," the leader smiled. "What are you doing out here all alone, little girl? Lost your parents, did'ja? Lookin' at your clothes, I'd say you're a noble, yeah?"

Her bow answered for her as she pulled it back and glared at her opponent.

"Oh ho…this one's got some fire in 'er," he grinned. "I reckon you're a bit younger than what we're used'ta, but you'll fetch a pretty price in some place or another."

The men moved in closer. Kagome didn't hesitate. Not stopping to see if she hit her target, she fired her first arrow, quickly nocked the next and fired again. Someone screamed. The sound of a body hitting the dusty ground. Her eyes caught sight of the three men holding Patch by his reigns. When the horse's eyes met hers, he flew into a rage. Kicking out first with front legs then his back ones, he knocked two men away from him. The third hung on, but not for long. Kagome's arrow hit him in the shoulder, driving him to the ground with a scream of agony.

Trusting Patch would follow, she turned and ran, hoping to use one of the huts as a temporary shield from her attackers. Three arrows gone; six remaining. She didn't have the luxury of wasting them. The ground shook as Patch cantered her way, his massive hooves kicking up a cloud of dirt and ash. He slid to a stop in front of her, waiting only long enough for her to pull herself up before launching into a full blown gallop.

Behind them, she heard the sounds of whizzing arrows. She and Patch dodged the first volley, but not the second. Two arrows embedded themselves in Patch's hind quarters and he reeled sideways. Only his training and stamina kept him galloping. Kagome clung to him for dear life, her body not strong enough to remain seated without the assistance. The saddle's horn dug into her stomach, but she refused to let go, knowing if she did so, the fall would likely cost her her life at this speed.

The bandits yelled and shouted. Hoofbeats shook the ground. Still firing in her direction, they pursued her with odd determination. What did they want with one girl? She clearly had nothing to offer in the form of money or goods. What did it matter if she got away?

Her train of thought stopped there when something hard impacted with the center of her back. As though all her muscles went lax at once, she fell forward. Her hands let go of Patch's mane; her legs of the horse's sides. She tumbled down like a lifeless rag doll. The first shock left her so paralyzed and dazed that she hardly felt herself hit the ground. Something snapped against her. An arrow, she realized. One of the bandits had shot her.

She rolled for what seemed an eternity, finally coming to rest among a clump of spiny bushes. Their scraggly branches scratched and pierced at her skin. Her face and mouth covered in sand and dirt, she coughed and reached back, trying to feel for the arrow. No pain. Somehow, her breastplate had taken the damage for her. She tried to get to her knees. The ground tilted and swayed beneath her. Something dripped down her forehead and stung her eyes.

Blood.

The ground shook. She didn't have a chance to wonder how she'd survived the fall from her horse. Before she could do anything else, she was completely surrounded. Riders formed a circle around her, laughing and throwing curses at her while keeping her still with sharp spears pointed at her throat and back. In the gaps between horses, she saw Patch lying on the ground some distance away, arrows sticking out from his legs and chest. He was still. Unmoving.

Raw pain burned through her. She glared up at the man with fancy armor and knocked his spear away from her cheek. The sharpened metal cut at her forearm, the pain registering somewhere very very far away. His eyes widened before a loud guffaw rumbled through his chest. The other men joined in. She wanted to scream for them to stop, but her voice wouldn't come out. She looked between the riders again; saw Patch on the ground.

Her anger intensified.

"What do you want with me?" she growled up at the leader.

He stopped laughing and looked at her. His dark eyes narrowed, shaggy shoulder-length hair falling forward to frame a grizzled face with a burn scar stretching from his temple to his neck.

"Little girls shouldn't go around pickin' fights."

"You threatened me in the village," she bit out. "I was hardly going to let you have the chance to attack me first."

"You injured two of my boys," he said. "That deserves some punishment, dont'ya think?"

"If you cared about your men, you wouldn't run around robbing people and assaulting innocents," she snapped back, raising her voice. "You're nothing but scum!"

The leader's smile vanished. He dismounted and moved towards her, drawing his sword. When he stood close enough, he pushed the tip of his blade up against her neck, forcing her to raise her chin and properly meet his eyes.

"You've got quite a dirty little mouth, don't ya? I don't care how young you are. We've all killed our share of women and children. High and mighty rich asses like you, too. Damned nobles," he spat. "Always thinkin' you're better than the lot of us. I'm warnin' you now. One more word out of you, princess, and I'll cut you in half."

He meant it. The sword rasping at her throat didn't shake or flounder. Kagome squashed down a wave of panic.

"Just try it," she hissed, reaching into her belt and pulling out her knife. "I'll fight you, and I promise I'll add one or two more scars to that ugly face of yours before the end."

It was a bluff. Kagome prayed he wouldn't see right through it. Something shifted in the man's expression. A furrow cleaved his weathered brow.

"Come 'ere," he barked, grabbing her by the front of her tunic and pulling her up until their faces almost touched. She raised her hand to stab him, but he caught her wrist, easily holding her back. He suddenly stared at her like a man possessed.

"Blue eyes," he said. "Called you a princess as a joke, but…under all that dirt…it can't be…" he paused, then turned to one of the other soldiers. "Get a bag on 'er and bring 'er to the den. No one touches 'er, got it? This might be our lucky day, boys."

Three other men dismounted. Someone grabbed her arms from behind, pulling her from the leader and twisting her wrist until the knife fell from her hand and clattered to the ground. She screamed and kicked out with her legs, wriggling until her vision went dark. Something smelling like a foul bog covered her face. Scratchy wool and linen. She struggled to see through the tiny gaps in the fabric. They'd put some kind of sack over her head.

Refusing to give up, she continued kicking, elbowing, and writhing even when she felt herself being lifted into the air. A strong hit to her stomach made her legs go weak. Blood rushed to her head. She smelled horse. Had they thrown her over a saddle?

"Tie 'er to the horn. Make sure she doesn't fall off. I want 'er in one piece when we get back."

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Mid-flight, Sesshoumaru paused. The smell of old death and seared flesh caught his attention first, but it was a familiar sweetness in the air that made him stop completely and make the decision to land in the middle of an abandoned human village below. His servant, Jakken, followed him down, passively questioning his master's intentions. As was common, Sesshoumaru let his scratchy high-pitched voice fade into the ambience of nature, concentrating his attention on more pressing matters.

Standing still as stone, he let the wind carry a wealth of information to him. It circled, dipped, and rose, sending wave upon wave of smells and sounds careening past him. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. There it was again. The special scent — the unique purity — that so reminded him of something long lost. Even knowing the impossibility of such a theory, he couldn't help but believe, for a moment, that what he smelled was her.

Almost four months now had passed since the incident with the stone. Even after a lengthy search and investigation, he still had no answers about where he'd vanished to for three whole months or where the child had gone. He wasn't sure why he needed to know if she was truly dead, only that the mystery of it all snagged his attention more often than was appropriate for someone of his kind.

"Lord Sesshoumaru," Jakken called from behind him. "It seems this place was another victim to the sickness." The toad made a sound of disgust. "Humans really are filthy, aren't they?"

Sesshoumaru looked around the deserted village, walking at a steady unhurried gate through its empty streets. Just a small distance away, he saw buzzards picking at burned carcasses, rending skin and muscle with their razor sharp blood-covered beaks. He paused when his foot caught on something solid. Looking down, he blinked when he saw that it was the body of a small child. Long black hair spilled over her battered body. Unlike the others, she had not been thrown into the fire. A survivor? Dead of hunger or exposure? He turned to move on when a thought stopped him. He looked back at the lifeless creature, feeling a pressure build in his chest.

With trepidation, he examined her features: long hair the color of a raven's wing; pale skin; a tattered yukata. Moving back, he slipped the front of his foot under the thing's body and nudged it over, flipping it onto its back. A small gaunt face, so white that it bordered on green, contorted into a final expression of suffering. Dark almond shaped eyes stared sightlessly back at him while petite hands clutched at the carved figurine of a bear.

Not her.

Not even close.

Irritated at the relief flooding him at such a realization, Sesshoumaru continued his inspection of the village. Moving from hut to hut, noting strange tracks of shuffling horses mixed with human footprints, and scenting the distinct smell of human blood and heat-baked leather, the demon lord wondered what had happened here. The Affliction had destroyed this village, but something had come after. Whatever it was, the event had occurred not too long ago.

"Bandits, maybe" Jakken offered, as though reading his mind. "They are common in these parts."

Still keeping his silence, Sesshoumaru followed the tracks of human and animal until he came across the dead body of a horse. He looked it over briefly, noting the arrows that had taken its life. What happened to the rider? The animal's build suggested this was an animal trained for battle, yet he smelled no gunpowder, sword oils, or banner silks. Something else lingered instead — the heavy aura of malice. Following more tracks, he ground to a halt, his body growing rigid. In his mind, he knew it was impossible, but the scent surrounding him now could only belong to one being.

Kagome.

Whatever had transpired here, she'd been at the heart of it, and instinct assured him that she was not a willing player in the game. Then another scent appeared: faint, evanescent. Not as familiar, but just as disturbing. His mind conjured the image of white hair and violet eyes, long white ears and three tails.

"Jakken," the demon lord called.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"What do you smell here?"

The toad took several moments to respond. "Horses, humans, sickness…"

"Where is the kitsune?" Sesshoumaru asked, his patience wearing thin.

"The kitsune? Does My Lord mean the servant who has run away? The traitor who abandoned me and disobeyed orders?" Jakken paused. "Yes, I smell him now! My Lord Sesshoumaru, I can smell his foul magic here!"

The corner of the demon lord's mouth dipped downward marginally. Jakken had his many uses, but his overflow of emotion was irritating more times than not. He tuned out the rest of his servant's blather, focusing instead on his surroundings. Traitor? The fox? Odd, that. The last report he'd received from his servant had led them here.

Susumu — the demon lord thought with disgust. So, the damned fox had been here alone.

No, not alone.

With her.

Was he responsible for the traces of fear in her scent? If so, what had he done? Where had he taken her? Jakken labeled him a traitor, but the fox's continued investigation had been enough to make Sesshoumaru believe the toad was simply exaggerating. Perhaps the kitsune's reports had made the demon lord too calm — too complacent. No lowly servant would risk his wrath. At least, that's what he believed. Had he been so preoccupied in dealing with the other lords that he'd overlooked the chances of treachery within his own house?

Sesshoumaru's anger mounted. His logic pleaded for him to stop, to consider how ridiculous all of this sounded. What would Susumu want with the child he so despised? Why would he be here, in the middle of a ruined human settlement, when he had orders to find the other stones? What was he planning behind Sesshoumaru's back? Did he dare to go against him?

It was too late to listen to reason. Too late now that his very honor and reputation was at stake.

Before he could give any consent or make a rational decision to, his body was already moving. He soared into the air, following the impressions of hooves in sand and grass, a volcanic flame bursting to life inside his core. Outrage, fury — their flames suffocated him. He thought of the body of the child he'd found not too long ago and imagined dead blue eyes staring up at him — past him, through him.

No - he told himself. This has nothing to do with her.

He simply wanted to know what was going on here. Susumu would pay for his deceit, and in the process, Sesshoumaru would uncover his pitiful deception and continue his war against the Relegation. That was all that mattered.

That was all he could allow to matter.