A/N - I know myself. I know I could never make myself write out the proper multi-chaptered version, so here's a hopefully long enough oneshot instead.

furisode - beautiful formal kimonos worn by unmarried women.

yamato nadeshiko - an old-fashioned ideal of Japanese femininity. Loyal, obedient, proper, humble and wise, but not above subtle manipulation when loved ones need to be protected or goals achieved.

nekomata - two-tailed monster cats from Japanese folklore.

Ice Chest

Mito pushed short golden clips into her thick red hair and fixed her bangs. Her face opened and gazed back from the dim mirror. It was a handsome face – handsome rather than beautiful or pretty. Something in the strict line of her chin didn't allow for other epithets.

'Pleasing enough, in any case.'

Light breeze fanned across her skin and swayed the hanging ornaments. Spring entered through the window, bringing a taste of salt to her lips. Outside, the sea breathed in and out. Dark eyes rested on glittering waves, committing them to memory.

She didn't touch anything. Her hands calmly lay in her lap.

Only her eyes roamed slowly, pausing on everything they came upon, from the sea to the stones, from the stones to the window sill, past the sill and into the room, the vanity in front of her, the chests, the linen, and pictures on the walls.

The sound of the sea filled the walls, but the calm jangled with the distant voices of men who prepared the palanquin.

Mito kept still for a moment longer, but the focus was gone. She rose, straightened out the rich material covering her legs, and exited without pause.

The inner hallway was cool and shaded. Sunlight spilt from the bottom edges of doors, flooding the floor with intermittent sunfields and shadowspots. Her feet glided through the cool and the warm, and her hand fingered her late brother's screendoor in the passing, before Mito turned right.

Mother and father waited in the garden.

She paused at the doorstep, pressed the kimono once more, and crossed her hands in a demure gesture of propriety.

Father turned around. His smile was small but present, tangled in the square grey beard. Greyer today than yesterday, but still not as white as his age required. Uzumaki Hokuto could boast of the clan's inherited longevity. Haruto never got the chance.

Her mother and sister stood aside. Hatsumi wore a bright furisode and a warm, encouraging smile. Mito had to return it. Mother was, however, dressed in a plain black yukata, such as she wore every day since the battle in the Sango Passage. Her face was creased. At the ceremony the previous day its lines had been taut in a blank mask which couldn't have fooled the Konoha go-between who played out his absent master's role. Mother's dark eyes didn't smile.

"Daughter," father beckoned her over to impart his blessing. Hatsumi gave her a short, shaky hug. With Hatsumi tears were never far away.

Mother's hug was stiff and unexpectedly long. She kept her hands on Mito's shoulders as she gazed into her daughter's eyes. Her voice was too quiet for others to hear when she said: "Love... Give it a chance."

A shadow passed over Mito's face. Her brow was clear again when she briefly touched her mother's arms: "Goodbye, okaa-san."

It was a funny thing to say now at the parting scene, after Mito grew up listening to how men fight in forests, and women in households.

The Konoha dignitary tactfully reminded them it was time. Mito gave her family a good, long look, taking in father's proud nod, Hatsumi's now visible tears, and mother's hands joined in a nervous clinch. There were three of them, not four, seeing her off.

She smiled for real, for them, and climbed into her seat. Konoha shinobi lined up respectfully at the palanquin's flanks.

Her family thought she was making a sacrifice.

And she was.

But they didn't believe her when she said she was prepared.

She had been prepared ever since she turned ten, and Haruto's death only strengthened her resolve.

Mito had always known that the clanhead's eldest daughter would enter an arranged marriage. The dowry had been readied a long time ago.

The only unknown element was the husband's name.

And now she had it.

Senju Hashirama.

When Mito first descended from the palanquin, the trees were tall and thick, obscuring the sky. Their scent was earthy and moist, stagnant. Back home, the winds freely skidded over rocks, spraying the coast with foam.

The sight of the cluster of houses before her knocked away the memory. The chaperons led the way. Mito rose her skirt to spare it the muddy road without really noticing. Her eyes roamed. The village was under construction, and the smell of sawdust countered the smell of the trees. Everywhere she looked, people walked with hammers in their hands and nails in their mouth. Their faces bore various markings.

'So it's true.'

Konohagakure – a shinobi village, made of members of various clans. Her husband's project.

'It took a strong, convincing man to bring all these people together.' The thought brought a touch of nervousness.

The building they entered was the largest and most finished. The Uzumaki escorts prepared the gifts she would present to Hashirama-sama, and the Konoha guide brought them to a spacious hall. A man at the far end turned upon their entrance.

His bearing was both firm and nonchalant, emitting undisputed authority mixed with idle arrogance. His posture told her he expected respect from everyone, but returned it to few. The man kept his arms crossed while he examined her. Mito bore his gaze without visible perturbation.

His hair was long, black and unruly. The lines on the pale face were handsome, but dark. Only the eyes were darker.

'With this type of man, the imperative is never to show fear.'

Mito didn't show fear, but she felt it stir in its hiding place.

She gracefully glided across the room and stopped in front of him. He seemed slightly baffled. Mito bowed, and missed the understanding dawning in his eyes.

Before she could speak to greet her husband properly, the man interrupted:

"Uzumaki-hime, your husband will appear soon."

Mito blinked before rising. The dark man's face showed amusement.

The Uzumaki escorts shifted their weight, but Mito stood as gracefully as she could. A blunder.

Another man entered the hall, and paused at the sight. Mito stepped away from the dark stranger.

The newcomer wielded a commanding air, if slightly taken aback. He slowly walked over.

The second man's stance was straight and impeccable. In regard of coloring, he was a direct opposite of the man she had mistaken for Senju Hashirama, but the two shared one distinct feature. Both of them moved with utmost confidence.

Even a cursory glance informed her that the silver-haired man was in full possession of himself, and expected the same of everyone else. His lines were handsome, too, but unapproachable and strict. He looked as determined and composed as she wanted to feel.

'With this type of man, the imperative is to show respect and befit the role of the Hokage's wife accordingly.'

She sensed relief, but not enough to entirely wipe out the uneasiness. The fair man fitted her better in comparison with the dark one, but was no less intimidating.

Mito bowed. "Hokage-sama, please-"

"Uzumaki-sama," he interrupted her as well, and when she looked up, the silver-haired man seemed uncomfortable. "My brother will arrive presently."

She stared at him, and he avoided her gaze. The dark man chuckled in the background.

Mito straightened up. Two blunders. The mortification she felt didn't spill into her cheeks, because anger quickly replaced it. Her own facelines tensed and became stricter.

'So this is the respect they pay to the Uzumaki clan. Unacceptable.'

The man who was apparently her brother-in-law sensed the change in her, and cleared his throat. The silence was awkward and long.

"Gomen, gomen-", a third person broke into the hall in a hurry, fixing the cuffs of a long formal robe mid-stride. He rose his gaze and stopped. Confusion spilt over his face.

"Uzumaki-san. You're here already," he said weakly, and finished fumbling with the cuffs.

The third man approached, and Mito didn't miss the other two men's disapproving frowns. His eyes apologized to them before landing on her. They were wide, expressive, and nervous.

"Uhm... How was your trip?"

"Fine, thank you," Mito's mouth responded on its own. She was fairly sure the dark man rolled his eyes.

The third man looked nothing like the other two, even though his hair was also dark and long. He didn't look much like a leader, either.

'This type of man... This type of man...'

"Well..." he broke the pause. "Welcome to Konoha." Senju Hashirama bowed to her first, upsetting the protocol. Mito quickly followed.

"Hokage-sama," she said, and the Uzumaki escorts rose the packages in their hands, "please accept these gifts from the Uzumaki clan."

Her husband thanked with a nod.

Both of them rose.

Neither smiled.

Her husband was a good-looking man.

That was the only affirmative thing she could say with assurance after the first few weeks of their marriage.

All of her observation skills couldn't help her reach a final conclusion on the man's character, because what she gathered seemed so improbable. It was much easier to describe him in negations.

He was not... manipulative. Thankfully, he was not cruel.

He seemed kind, but to a fault. He apologized a lot. He grinned a lot. He would succumb to depression with comical ease. His subordinates liked him, but in a way reserved for goofy cousins. The type you wouldn't mind hanging around, but who would never be entrusted with any real responsibility.

'Yet he has been elected Hokage.'

In all fairness, his younger brother would have suited the role better. Senju Tobirama possessed all the necessary skills, and could become both cruel and manipulative if the village needed it. Still, even he would merely sigh and shake his head at his brother's antics, then patiently and loyally tone down some of the Shodaime's more unrealistic orders.

Even Uchiha Madara, the dark man, stood by her husband. The two were connected by an implausible friendship.

Mito learned all this by watching Hashirama as he moved through the village and talked with others. Not from first-hand experience.

With her he was courteous and careful, treating her like a valued guest. Not a wife.

She saw little of him. He worked hard. They shared a bedroom, but Hashirama never used it for anything other than a few short hours of sleep. He would come long after she was supposed to be asleep, lie down beside her, and leave before sunrise.

Mito felt glad in the evenings, and annoyed in the mornings.

The idea of performing all of her marital duties didn't thrill her, but she was prepared for them. He wasn't.

It led to a simple conclusion. The arranged marriage was a sacrifice for both of them, but unlike Mito, her husband actually had something to give up. Maybe someone.

The idea of Hashirama having a mistress didn't invoke jealousy. Only tire. It was an unfortunate complication.

She didn't like family dinners. She didn't like how her brother-in-law seemed to be in on the details of her married life. She didn't like Tobirama's meaningful gazes directed at his brother whenever the latter addressed her with noncommittal politeness. She didn't like how Hashirama blatantly ignored them.

Mito couldn't tell what her husband or his brother really thought of her. She accidentally heard Tobirama once call her a yamato nadeshiko in front of Hashirama. It was impossible to say whether it was an observation, a compliment, or a warning.

It was easy to say what she wasn't to them. Family.

But she had never expected it to be otherwise.

Only once did mother's last words crossed her mind. 'Love... Give it a chance.' She had smiled bitterly.

'Too late, mother.'

"Onee-sama." Tobirama insisted on the title, even though it sounded infelicitous on his lips. "It would be best if you stayed behind until we establish control over the beast."

"Thank you for your concern, but I would be more useful on the scene." She managed to sound both polite and icy cold. Mito retied the knot on the mysterious bundle – the only tool she took on the mission.

"This is not an ordinary summon. From what we gathered, it is most likely we're talking about a Bijuu here."

"I'm aware."

"Mito..." As always, her given name sounded tentative on her husband's lips. But when she looked up, Hashirama was studying her with interest. "You think you can hold against a Bijuu?"

She would not be intimidated into the background. "With you two – yes."

"Alright, then!" Hashirama smiled. "It's settled. We'll all go."

Tobirama crossed his arms. Mito nodded.

Objectively speaking, Tobirama was right. They didn't know her abilities, and they didn't know the strength of the creature haunting the mountain. Hashirama trusted her, but wouldn't it have been more prudent to order her in the back?

She understood so little of him.

Tobirama's shoulders tensed as they entered the cave. He couldn't have doubted his own skills, but Mito wondered if he missed Uchiha Madara right then. Their dislike was mutual, but had he stayed in the village, the famous Sharingan user would have accompanied Hashirama on this hunt. Of all Konoha techniques, the Uchiha's visual jutsu was most apt for subduing monsters.

Except maybe hers – as she would show them.

Hashirama's pose was calm, relaxed. The 'God of Shinobi' looked like a curious boy who stumbled upon a new playground. But Mito had to wonder:

'Does he miss Madara right now?'

Footsteps bounced off irregular walls as they walked deeper and deeper into the quiet. Unnatural quiet, even for a cave. There were no wings to disturb the dry air, no blind insects scuttling in the dark. Mito's hand brushed against the stone wall. It was warm.

The cave was not cold at all.

"It might have a fire affinity," she said. The two men hmmed in agreement. They had noticed already.

"We shouldn't walk in a line. If it suddenly charges with a fire attack, the whole corridor would be charred immediately." 'And we'd block each other's counter moves.' It was basic.

"Don't worry. We're still far away. Tobirama?"

"It's half a mile from here," the voice behind her said.

'How do they know that?' She didn't sense anything. And was Tobirama's sensory range really half a mile long?

Maybe there were three monsters in the cave.

Her husband and brother-in-law kept discussing the approach to the beast, their words bouncing back and forth over her head. As the most vulnerable member, she had been subtly placed in the middle. Infuriating.

"It knows we're here," Tobirama finally said. The three slowed down.

"Mito, as soon as it attacks, jump behind Tobirama. I'll go at the front."

"Be careful not to kill it. It has to be still enough for Onee-sama to seal it, but neither dead nor dying."

"I know, I know..."

'What are these men?' What were they, if they could talk about capturing a Bijuu with such nonchalance? The lack of respect they should have held for their adversary made her boil even more.

"Mito?"

"I understand."

The blue flame sprung through the darkness at blinding speed, catching Mito off guard. Her legs coiled for a jump, but it would have been too late if Tobirama's hand signals weren't as quick. A water wall rose in front of her and hissed at the fire. Steam filled the cave.

Tobirama passed her by.

In the next few minutes, a new underground hall came to be. Gigantic trees supported the ceiling while tsunami splashed their roots and fire licked their barks. The two men were mere flickers exchanging jutsu with living blue flames. The flames took a shape of a tiger with two burning tails swooshing over the creature's head. A fire demon, a giant nekomata.

Mito observed from the sidelines. A wave caught her skirt and drenched her to the skin, but the heat dried it immediately. Her heart thumped, and her hands shook, and her lips smiled. The grin spread when a charge of pure energy singed the air. She was alive.

The Two-Tails slowed down and produced a swirling ball of darkness, and in that moment Hashirama slammed his hands into the ground. A thousand-armed wooden goddess took the brunt of the attack. The blast shook the mountain, sending all of them into rocks.

When Mito came to, Hashirama was down on one knee but still pouring chakra into the ground. An entire forest kept the mountain from caving in, and the Two-Tails' glowing body lay on the ground. Its chakra had imploded on itself.

In that moment, he truly was a God of Shinobi.

Tobirama limped out of a heap of collapsed stones and frowned.

"I told you not to kill it."

"I didn't," Hashirama smiled with an effort. His body shook, but he stood up. "Mito, are you alright?"

"Yes." Her ribs barely hurt in the lingering flow of adrenaline.

"Immobilize it so she can do her part," Tobirama quietly told his brother. Mito pressed her lips.

'Yes.' In the end, she didn't manage to show anything truly amazing. In the end, they truly were capable of subduing a Bijuu by themselves.

A blazing cat ear twitched. A mismatched pair of eyes peeked at the men. They didn't see.

A claw cut through the dark in a final attempt, razor-sharp and aimed at the men's torsos. They flinched, unprepared, before something yanked the claw away. A set of white chains protruded from the Bijuu's back, their other end embedded into Mito's hand. For a second there it seemed the Two-Tails might break the leash, but the second passed and the blue flames dimmed.

Mito unwrapped a tea kettle from the mysterious bundle and held it with the chakra-infused hand. The metal glowed white with power.

The chains pulled, dragging the weakening nekomata along. The tea kettle sucked it in, and stilled in Mito's hand. The metal darkened to hot orange.

The two men stared, and Mito gazed back.

"Tea... kettle?" her husband said.

"Most secret things should be kept in most obvious places. The seal cannot be easily broken, and nobody would object if we kept a hereditary piece of pottery on our shelves."

"I stand corrected," Tobirama murmured. Hashirama's laughter bounced off the cave's crumbling walls.

Mito rarely smiled, but she did so then. Her smirk was small and self-pleased.

'I told you so.'

And then:

'This I can do.'

Red hair spilt over white linen like a pool of blood. A brush slid through the strands as Mito counted the strokes: ... thirty-seven... thirty-eight... thirty-nine... The brush stilled in her lap as a chain of explosions thundered in the distance.

Mito slipped off the bed and looked out the window. The blasts had been going on for hours.

More heads popped from the windows of the Hokage's residence. The help and the guards stared out into the night, where their leader battled something sinister. Alone. As he did best.

'What a night for Tobirama's absence.'

The sky lit over a distant patch of the forest, as if the earth sent a lightning into the clouds. A shadow taller than the trees moved in the brief light. Her fingers grasped the window sill.

Hashirama was the strongest shinobi she knew. If he failed to defeat whatever threatened the village, the rest of them stood no chance.

Explosions reported through the dark again, and impossibly tall flames whipped above the pines. She counted six of them dancing with ominous grace. No, seven. Eight. 'Nine.'

Mito ran out, past the trembling maids and petrified guards. She ran through the streets in her loosely fastened kimono, and a cloak of dark-red hair trailed behind.

It took an eternity, but Mito landed into a newly-formed crater. A river flowed through its center and in the shallows, with his face in the water, lay a man. The Sharingan greeted her when she turned him over.

The dark man was dead. A blade had punctured Uchiha Madara's lungs. He looked betrayed.

A trail of blood led away from the body. Mito wiped her hands on the kimono, staining the fabric with brownish red. The demon tails wiggled up the crater.

Mito climbed to find her husband bent on the ground. His forehead leaned against the bloodstained grass, but his hands pushed chakra and fed the roots of the wooden dragon which held onto a giant fox. Nine-Tails.

She knelt beside him, and touched his back.

"Get... back!"

He swayed at her touch, nearly collapsing. The dragon's wood cracked.

They had minutes before Kyuubi won. Mito looked around for something which could hold a demon. A bottle, a sack, something square.

Both the creature and Hashirama roared into the night. Her husband was dying. And the demon was getting reborn.

Mito stepped between them.

It wouldn't work. Even if she managed to remember all of the seals, she would just end up torn apart, and the Bijuu unscathed. Hashirama's hand limply tugged at her skirt. His half-shut eye begged her to move away.

'This I can do.'

She did the first few seals.

'This I can do.'

The beast growled, and her movements gained momentum. Her fingers flew on muscle memory, and finally – Mito slapped her hand on her own belly. Chains broke out of the kimono.

She could feel them hook into the Nine-Tails, deep below the fur and the flesh, into the very core of its being. Drops of blazing red chakra oozed into her, and she could feel her own reserves filling, then overflowing. 'I won't be able to hold it.'

The red chakra trickled faster, and the demon let out an ear-piercing cry. A tree-sized claw went after Mito's stomach, and got sucked into it. The Kyuubi was disappearing. Mito's body burned inside out, from the toes to the last strand of hair. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

When she finished screaming, the night was dark and quiet, and the land charred and empty. She fell into the grass next to her husband. Mito looked at him through thick red bangs. Hashirama stared into her stomach where the flaming Uzushio symbol slowly seeped in. His eyes moved up.

'Eyes of terror,' she thought and passed out.

There was a term for what she was now. She dug it up from an ancient scroll. A Jinchuuriki.

There had been others, but the information was sparse. They didn't live long, and most often the demons weren't what killed them. The scroll suggested locking Jinchuuriki underground and putting them on a weekly diet of bread and water, but Hashirama didn't do that. He let her keep her place among the people of Konoha.

Most secret things should be kept in most obvious places.

Mito walked among them, dined with them, talked with them, but the shadow followed, and villagers' instincts picked the smell of a threat. Her lines became stricter, her footsteps sharper. She slipped into solitude and they let her.

In the mornings she would sit up in bed and stare into the void, too tired to pick up the brush and fix the complicated hairstyle. What awaited her outside was not worth getting out of the covers. Tobirama observed her closely. She had stopped being an Onee-sama and turned into a time-bomb. More than ever, Hashirama kept his distance. When they met in hallways by chance, he would murmur a greeting and quicken his pace. Even shinobi gods had to fear something.

Confining the Kyuubi within her body was a major sealing, and now she had to back it up with minor ones. The training she had endured for becoming an arranged bride came in handy. She would think of Haruto and seal away emotions.

The anger, the sadness, betrayal... all of those could be pushed back with a right technique.

The Bijuu could feel her weaknesses. It clawed at the sore spots, so Mito needed to make her heart an ice chest where the demon could be safely deposited. She would do it for her family, who must never ever know.

And so she became an iceberg with a hidden volcano at its core.

The knife sliced through air and bit into her palm. Mito cried.

"Mito-sama! Are you al-"

"I've got it. Thank you."

The maid's lumpy face disappeared behind the doorway, and Mito could return to fixing her meal. She had stopped asking servants' help. They disliked coming to her room.

'And now I've got the sweets bloody.' But when she inspected her hand, the wound was gone from the smeared palm. She flexed her fist and the skin was taut and healthy. Mito smirked.

She sat at her table and remembered the tea still brewed in the kitchen. Too many faces with too many eyes sauntered through the hallways of her home, so Mito rung for service and ordered the maid to bring it up.

She cleaned her hands while waiting.

The girl was a slow and stupid creature who shook at the sound of Mito's voice. A proper lady was ever patient and kind, and Mito talked to her only in gentle tones. The fool still trembled.

'They know it. They all feel it somehow.'

A tea tray appeared in the doorway. The porcelain cup chinked against the kettle in Haruna's unsteady hands. The noise vexed Mito's nerves.

"Thank you." Her voice was a chip of ice.

Haruna knocked over the cup, and a brownish-green pool soaked the scrolls on the table. It was Haruna's scared sigh, not the spilt tea, which made Mito jump up and yell.

"You clumsy girl! Will you never learn?"

Haruna screamed and backed away from her, and Mito caught her own reflection in the kettle. The face in the polished metal had red eyes with inhuman slits. Her fingers were hooked into a claw.

The black slipped back in its place. Mito shivered.

Hashirama stood in the doorway. She pushed past him and ran.

Red hair spilt over white linen like a pool of blood. A brush slid through the strands as Mito counted the strokes: ... sixty-one... sixty-two... sixty-three... sixty-three... sixty-three...

Haruna trembled and jumped, trembled and jumped in her mind. Mito's hand was now gentle and white. The Kyuubi lay dormant, but Mito was too busy regretting to fall asleep herself.

'This was the last time I slipped. I'll never let it happen again.'

But Hashirama might not believe her.

He entered the bedroom.

Mito froze for a moment, and continued brushing her hair. The clock showed he came earlier than usual.

Her husband undressed in silence. By the time he crept into bed, Mito's light was already shut. He took care not to touch her as he drew the covers. A wide gap formed between their bodies as he settled himself on the very brink, risking a fall. The beast reared its head from the spot above Mito's navel, and she willed it down.

"It won't happen again," she said. "My control's improving every day."

Hashirama lay in silence.

"The Bijuu can't get out. You don't have to be so afraid," she snapped, and dug her nails into her palms. She had just signed her own death warrant.

Hashirama sat up and lit his lamp. His dark eyes glinted in the light.

"You think I'm afraid of the Bijuu?"

She didn't expect his ego to bruise. Mito bit her lip.

"I'm saying you have no reason to be."

"I'm not afraid of the Bijuu."

Mito nodded.

"I'm afraid of you!"

Mito slowly sat up.

Hashirama rubbed his head. "We should have had this talk months ago, but I was too much of a coward to say something first. Mito..."

His eyes were apologetic again. He apologized a lot.

"Your father and I should have never asked you to do this. When the council proposed the marriage to strengthen the alliance, I selfishly thought about my sacrifice only, and only too late realized how the agreement hurt you."

"It didn't hurt me. I started preparing for an arranged marriage as soon as I turned ten."

This surprised him. He looked sad.

"Still... When I realized I dragged a woman into the agreement, I swore I would make it up to her. And then you came, and you were all very... lady-like, and I'm... not. So I thought you'd be happier if I simply stood out of your way."

Mito's eyes widened.

"I wanted to give you as much freedom as possible, so if you couldn't be happy, you might at least be comfortable. And then some day, you might even come to... like me," he stuttered.

"But then it became impossible. Madara... he did what he thought necessary, and I wasn't strong enough to suppress the Kyuubi on my own. And then you had to..."

His gaze never once met hers.

"You can hate me openly. It would be easier if you didn't play your role so well."

Mito wanted to laugh out loud. The conversation was bizarre.

"I don't hate you, Hashirama. You didn't make me seal the Kyuubi. It was my decision, and I only did what I felt was right at the time. You don't need to ask my forgiveness, but you can have it if it makes you feel better. Throughout all this, you've only been kind..."

Her voice lowered. Something choked her in her throat.

A warm hand lay on her head.

"It wasn't a very good start."

"No."

"I don't know how it usually goes with marriages, but I want us to be as happy as possible. So how about a second take?"

The snag in her throat wouldn't clear, so she just nodded. Hashirama came close, closer than ever before, and hugged her. They lay back while her heart sped up. His caress was gentle and reassuring, not investigative or needy. It felt warm. Warm and safe.

"When you have a bad day, tell me, and I'll do the same. When you have a good one, let's celebrate together. We can travel, or simply walk through the village, and see how the veteran couples do it. You know all of my family, but I haven't met yours, so maybe we could visit, and..."

He made plans. He talked long, and made many plans, each one more beautiful and more far-fetched than the other. The snag in her throat eased off, and Mito could feel a tear slid down her cheek and onto his chest.

The ice was thawing.

THE END