A/N: I wanted to write something more for this AU, because I am quite fond of it, but at this point I feel like I'm just drabbling. Not as proud of this one as I am of the first, but that's just the way of these things.

'Fubuki' simply translates to 'snowstorm'.

There are many days where Tanuma would sit in his room at home, staring at the wide pink flower on his shelf and ruminating on what has been, remembering pale hair and eyes like glistening redwood. He has heard nothing of Natsume since he had been lost some weeks ago, but he had heard nothing of Natsume beforehand, either; he has spent this time pondering the risk of him returning, of the hope in Natsume's eyes when he had said he would, the reticence in his father's when he warned Tanuma of those woods. He had felt it when he was there, the feeling of not quite being alone and the unsettled cold in his gut, but it is far outweighed in his mind by the warmth and radiance of Natsume in his little house in the woods, and Tanuma had, after all, made a promise.

He is not sure where to start when he first goes back to the woods, peony clasped in his hand and the village growing further away behind him, Natsume's words playing through his mind, until he eventually gives up on trying to understand it and simply walks, following whichever direction he feels is right while trying to keep his mind clear, his fingers brushing along the smooth stem of the flower as he goes. He keeps catching whiffs of the smell of it, potent and bright in his senses, and then he begins to smell it in the air, too, growing subtly stronger until he catches the herbal smell of Natsume's home.

It is the same as he remembers it, the wide dusty house sitting in the clearing with smoke rising from its bowels, gardens planted around its edges with sprouts both old and new. Tanuma is not sure what to do with himself now that he's here, the chance of Natsume not even being home finally occurring to him, but then he hears voices from the other side of the house and follows them around, coming to find gardening equipment and herb trimmings rolled on cloth at the back corner of the house.

The cat is the first to greet him, sitting lumped on one of the large flat stones around the garden, its ear twitching and eyes opening to slits as Tanuma approaches. "Well, this is a surprise," it says, but Tanuma gets the feeling that it definitely isn't.

"What is?" he hears from around the corner of the house, and then Natsume steps into view, face flushed and eyes widening in shock, before shifting to radiant joy. "Oh, Tanuma!" he exclaims, setting down whatever gardening tool he'd just been using. "It's nice to see you again. I didn't think… Um, how are you doing?"

Tanuma feels like he has to try not to be hurt by the fact that Natsume hadn't expected him to come back, but he had almost decided against coming, and Natsume has been alone here for a very long time. "I'm doing fine," he replies, even offering the cat a brief wave of greeting (which is, unsurprisingly, promptly ignored). "I didn't get in too much trouble for getting lost in the woods, at least."

"That's good," Natsume says, anxiously wiping the dirt from his hands, "I'm glad to hear. I'm glad you got here alright, too. I was worried that you wouldn't understand the instructions."

Tanuma glances down to the peony he's still holding, and finds a strange sense of embarrassment about it. "Well, they were pretty vague," he jokes lamely, but at least Natsume laughs.

"I'm sorry, they tend not to work if I give them a clear set of rules. You did well." Tanuma smiles, and then there is a long pause, neither of them quite sure where to go from here. "Would you… like me to fetch you some tea?" Natsume finally offers, and Tanuma is quick to decline.

"No, no, it's alright," he insists, "You look like you're in the middle something, and I have come by unannounced. Maybe I can offer a hand?"

Natsume hums in thought, looking back down at his half-formed herb garden and the dirt all over his clothes. "Are you any good at planting?" he asks with a nervous smile, and Tanuma almost laughs. He doesn't work the fields for nothing, after all.

They spend hours digging and planting and fertilising, Natsume teaching Tanuma about the herbs he's never seen before and which ones are best for what seasons, until they finish for the day and Natsume brings him inside for a meal, sitting amongst hastily cleared space at Natsume's table with another strange yet satisfying platter. Tanuma can't help but notice, now that he's paying more attention, that he has not seen a single peony bush here, and he wonders terribly where it came from, but he's too afraid to ask.

"I should head back," he realises later, just as the sky is beginning to burn orange and the tea leaves are drying at the bottom of his cup. "My father will begin to wonder."

"Oh," Natsume breathes, looking to the window and frowning, as though he had lost track of the time entirely. Tanuma feels bad for cutting their time short again. "I see. Would you like me to walk you back? It's nearly dark, and it gets dangerous here at night."

Tanuma considers declining, as he usually would when people offer favours, but he feels he might be doing Natsume a favour by accepting; he seems particularly concerned by the woods at night, and if Tanuma left alone it would probably worry him more. "If you wouldn't mind?" he replies, absently touching the peony he has slipped into his shirt for now. "I haven't made the trip back on my own yet, after all."

"It's not that hard, with that thing to guide you," Sensei mutters, and Natsume gently shushes him.

"It's quite alright," he emphasises, "I'm happy to lead you back. He doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to."

The cat mutters something under its breath that sounds like it's supposed to be quite rude, and then Natsume is leading Tanuma back south through the woods, dusk instead of dawn but filling Tanuma with wonder just the same. He watches Natsume out of the corner of his eye, moving through the forest as though he is an extension of its body and not a visitor in its girth, smiling at translucent patches of air and stepping over things that Tanuma does not notice until he looks back and sees a rustle in the leaves of the underbrush. It must be incredible, he thinks, being so much a part of this thing that it is almost perfectly harmonious, and he tries not to let jealously touch him.

He knows when they are getting close to the edge of the woods because Natsume disguises himself once again, tying the paper mask around his head despite it being dark already, and this time Tanuma notices that he's nervous, though he can't place what exactly he'd be nervous about. Perhaps it is of being seen by the villagers, or discovered for what he is, or getting Tanuma caught and not being able to see him again, but without know what it is Tanuma cannot properly comfort him for it; he can only smile and place a gentle hand on Natsume's shoulder, thanking him greatly for letting Tanuma come and for seeing him back.

"Feel free to return any time," Natsume says, trying not to let his smile seem too hopeful or reticent. "I'll know when you're nearby."

Tanuma doesn't need to ask how he'll know; he has always suspected that Natsume is far more perceptive than he seems. "Thank you," he says again, "I'd be glad to," and then he is reluctantly turning back towards the village. This time when he turns back to look, Natsume is still there, and offers him a wave before they both head back for their homes.

Tanuma begins to make a habit of visiting Natsume in his free time, heading into the woods with his flower guide whenever he has a day free and spending that time with Natsume and his cat. Sometimes he will take his time walking to and from the village, slipping the talisman away and trying to find his own way there, but every time he feels like he knows the way, he finds himself getting lost and digging out the peony regardless, and it is still something he doesn't understand; the woods feel the same as usual when he enters, but somewhere along the way he realises that they are not the same at all and he is in an entirely different part of them. He asks Natsume about it once, and all he has to say is, "They like to play tricks on you," and Tanuma feels like the unwitting butt of a very strange joke.

Natsume always warns him of the dangers of these woods, but he is yet to experience any harm from them. He knows that the spirits are there, is able to recognise the signs of their presence and can glimpse the shadows and blurs now that he knows what to look for, but none of them have shown him any malevolence so far. The worst they've done is get him a little turned around on his way to and from the village, but he knows better than to question Natsume's warnings, and even the warnings of his father, whom he has still not yet told of his ventures here.

Tanuma would like to tell him of where he goes in his free days, but he is scared of what he might think, of it getting out to the villagers or his father forbidding him from going. As such a prominent priest for their village and those surrounding it, finding out that his son has been speaking with a spirit seer and learning about demons would be the end of his career, and Tanuma couldn't stand to be the cause of something like that, so he keeps his mouth resolutely shut, sneaking away when their backs are turned and keeping his closest friend a secret.

"Where do you go?" his father asks him once, the topic of Tanuma's disappearances coming up over dinner that night after his father had returned from a three-day trip to the south. "The others tell me that you are always missing on your days off."

Tanuma doesn't want to lie to his father, but he cannot tell him the truth. Not yet. "Many places," he says, because it is more omission than anything else. "I've found there's a lot to explore in these mountains."

He is nervous about what his father will say to that, how he feels about Tanuma supposedly exploring the mountains on his own, but he only sits back and smiles. "Who knew you had a spirit of adventure?" he wonders, and Tanuma silently muses on the irony of that. "As long as you're being careful, I suppose, and not pushing yourself too far." It is as much as he can promise without giving it all away, so he swears he is being cautious and his father is satisfied. It isn't much, but it at least makes Tanuma feel a little better about it.

He travels less once winter hits and the snow begins to fall, because he works more often in the fields to help keep their crops going and because he is ill, more often than not; he is usually unwell this time of year regardless, and being close to spirits always makes it worse. The few trips he does make always leave him feeling drained and sick for days, but it is worth it for the time he spends with Natsume.

He can't help thinking that the woods feel different this time of year, though, darker and closer around him even with the trees stripped bare and the sunlight reflecting off the snow, foreboding in a way that he could never feel comfortable with. There is a cold wind that rips through the trees, rustling in the branches like voices, making the trees seem more alive than ever. "Child of man," they whisper, "A human, a human," and Tanuma realises with a growing sense of dread that it is not the trees at all.

He can see them now, weaving between the skeleton bones of the forest like wisps of snow, too indistinct for him to count or identify. They are all around him, whispering to each other in the voices of the wind, drawing in around him and building panic in his gut. "A human," they chant, "A human, a human! They come, they come, this child of man," rising and swirling and dancing around him, and he can do nothing but watch as they close in around him, their flurries brushing over his arms and picking at his hair.

"Please," he says, trying desperately to remember what Natsume had taught him to do. "I am only passing through. Allow me passage and I shall grant you a boon."

"A boon!" they hiss, and there is a whistle in his ears as the wind picks up around him. He squints his eyes against the bite of it. "A boon? We require no boon, no boon, young child of man. We will take what is ours."

They erupt into chorus of "Take them, take them!", gales of snow and biting wind swirling around him, tearing at his skin, closer and closer until he can't see and he can't move and he all he knows is the white noise of the spirits, still howling in his ears, and then he doesn't know anything at all.

"That's strange," Natsume muses, setting down his pestle and looking to the window. Sensei makes an inquisitive sound from his perch on the counter beside him, an ear twitching. "Tanuma was on his way here, but now I can't seem to feel him."

Sensei scoffs, lowering his head and closing his eyes. "He's probably gotten himself into trouble," he mutters, and Natsume freezes. "They do like to pick on him, but they're especially violent this time of year. He probably ran into the wrong ones."

No, Natsume thinks, suddenly breathless and shaky, No, it can't be, but he knows. He probably knew the moment he lost touch with Tanuma, thinking back to the strange tug in his perception; something has happened to Tanuma, and he has to do something about it.

"Where are you going?" Sensei barks, jumping to his feet as Natsume drops the mortar and darts out of the room, leaping from the counter to follow him out.

"I have to find him," Natsume breathes, tearing his coat from its rack and pausing only to remember which direction he had last felt Tanuma's presence. East. "Come on."

"Leave me out of this!" Sensei snaps back, but he comes along regardless, following Natsume through the bare woods with as much speed as they can get, countless scenarios churning through Natsume's mind as he runs; he's lost, he's been stolen, he's hurt, he's dead. Tanuma would not be the first casualty of this forest, and Natsume only wishes that he was able to refuse considering that he'd be another.

He follows his memory of Tanuma until he finds himself at a standstill, unable to follow it any further and unable to spot anything useful, and focuses instead on the talisman, weak without the power of another but just strong enough for him to find. It is not too far from where he lost the trail, and he comes to find it half-buried in the open snow, glimpses of bright pink contrasting the mono-chromaticism of the woods. "Maybe he dropped it," Sensei offers, toddling up beside him as Natsume crouches before the flower, but they both know that Tanuma would never be so careless.

"The snow here is loose and unsettled," Natsume notices, looking around for signs of whatever had done this. "As though there was a recent storm, but we haven't had any snowfall for several days." He brushes his hand over the sunken peony, fingers gently sweeping dusted snow from the petals, and he catches a glimpse of whistling, of soaring over mountains and zipping between trees, and he understands now what has happened.

"Fubuki," Sensei says, mirroring his conclusion, and Natsume nods. At least he knows that Tanuma won't be dead quite yet, but he doesn't have much time to find him, especially depending on how many of the spirits there are. "I know where the hollow is," Sensei offers, and Natsume is infinitely glad that he does.

It is cold when he wakes up, colder than he feels he has ever been in his life, and he opens his eyes to discover that it is not only that, but incredibly dark. He tries to sit himself up, struggling with the stiffness of his body and the mind-numbing headache currently grating away at his skull, but he eventually brings himself to an upright position and begins to feel around for anything useful. He isn't near any trees or walls, and the ground beneath him seems to be stone, dusty and worn, but that is about all he can find. He needs to find his way out of here, back home or to Natsume's, but he worries that even if he could see, even if he knew where he was, he wouldn't be able to make it back such a condition. He has never been close to freezing to death before, but living in the mountains as he does, he has heard plenty of stories of those who have, and he is sure he's well on his way.

He is just about to begin feeling his way across the floor when he catches sight of a soft light in front of him, pale blue and with no discernible source, seeming to come from a spot just above the ground a few feet before him. He's not sure where it came from, or if it had been there the whole time, and just as he begins to ponder the strangeness of it another one appears to its left, and another to the left of that, growing in number until there is a full circle of strange glowing spots around him (he counts twelve as they appear, but he is not sure how accurate that is, his mind addled and unfocused). They illuminate enough of the area for him to see, revealing that he is in a wide cave with a ceiling several feet above standing height and walls too far away to see in the dim light.

"Awake," he hears the lights whisper, the word flickering between them in chorus; there is a chill that blows every time they speak, a cold bite in his skin without the wind that gives it. He almost considers himself lucky that is already too cold to feel it properly.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks them, his lips trembling around the words and fear setting deeper the longer he is here.

"The summer," they moan back, "Oh, the summer! You smell of it, the summer, and oh, we hate it so, the summer, the summer."

Tanuma finally remembers what these are, remembers Natsume telling him of them when warning him of the ways that the woods changed with the seasons; spirits who were born of frozen bodies that appeared during the winter, harbouring a hatred and jealousy for any kind of warmth. He would try to plead with them, to reason with them into letting him go, but he has nothing to hold against them, no leverage here whatsoever, and he is at a sore loss as to what he should do. "Why?" he asks, in lieu of anything else to say, "Why do you hate it?"

"It burns," they cry, Tanuma quickly realising that he has said the wrong thing, "It burns! It burns!", and the wind picks up again as they wail, their anger and frustration tearing away at him, throwing dirt in his eyes and sucking the little warmth he has left from him. There is nothing he can do here, no way he can save himself; he can only sit there and cover his eyes and try desperately to think of something, anything, before they tear him apart in rage.

"Tanuma!" he hears over the gale of their voices, and he turns to squint through the dust just as there is a bright flash of blue, and the spirits scream and the wind dies down and it is suddenly very, very quiet. "Tanuma," he hears again, footsteps coming towards him, and Tanuma finally places who the voice belongs to.

"Natsume," he breathes, just as Natsume crouches down beside him. At first he's confused as to why he's able to see, since it had been so dark just seconds ago, before he realises that the cave is nowhere near as big as he'd thought and there is still sunlight filling the entrance; they must have been creating the illusion of it being much bigger. "Natsume," he says again, "I'm sorry," and he wishes he could say more, wishes he could think straight enough to offer something better, but that will have to be enough.

Natsume sighs with heavy relief, but he does not smile, vast concern still filling his features. "It's not your fault," he murmurs, laying a gentle hand on Tanuma's shoulder. "Come on, we need to get you home."

"I can't–" Tanuma begins to say, because he is cold and he is tired and he cannot make it that far, cannot make it to his feet, cannot stay awake long enough to apologise or to thank him or to explain himself or to tell him, truthfully, just how grateful he is.

Tanuma finds himself at home when he next wakes up, which doesn't seem strange until he remembers where he'd been, what had happened. He can still feel the chill, deep down in his bones, but he is home and he is safe and he is warm, warmer than he has been in what feels like an age. He is in his room, a single candle burning on his dresser (there is something odd about it, he thinks, but he can't place what) casting the otherwise dark room in flickering orange light, too reminiscent of the gloomy hues of the spirits for him to feel quite comfortable. His wrist itches strangely, Tanuma glancing down to find ink on his arm, one of his father's protective charms painted on his skin, and he smiles. He is safe here.

In thinking of his father, though, Tanuma realises how worried he must be and is suddenly filled with shame; he is not sure in what condition he'd returned, but for his father to have given him a charm like this, it must have been enough to warrant extreme concern, and he feels awful for worrying his father so. Now that he is awake he should find him and apologise, try to make it up to him, so Tanuma rises from his bed and takes the candle with him into the hallway, heading for the prayer room where his father is most likely to be; it turns out he is right, spotting the glow of lamplight through the open doors of the room (they are never closed, for it is bad luck to seal the energy of this place) and stepping around the corner to find his father sat cross-legged on the floor in prayer.

"Kaname," his father says in surprise, rising from the floor even though Tanuma feels like he had not given himself away. "It's good to see you awake," he sighs, giving Tanuma brief hug, wary of the candle in his hand, before stepping back and holding him by the shoulders, looking him over. "Are you alright?"

Tanuma isn't sure how to answer. He doesn't want to give Natsume away, but he feels he has little choice, now. "Yes," he replies carefully, "I'm okay. I'm sorry for worrying you."

"As long as you're safe," his father tells him, giving him a brief smile before returning to concern. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Yes, Tanuma thinks, because oh, how he wishes he could, but he couldn't do that to Natsume. Not after all this. He chews at his lip, trying to think of something to say to assuage his father's concerns without lying to him, until his father sighs and lets him go. "I understand," he says, making Tanuma awfully confused. "You weren't conscious when you arrived, so you probably wouldn't be aware, but a spirit of the woods is the one that brought you here. I imagine you're wanting to protect its privacy here."

Tanuma wonders what he means by that, until he remembers Natsume's disguise. "It did?" he asks, shocked by the fact that Natsume had let himself be seen, by the priest of all people, just for the sake of bringing Tanuma home safely. "Did it say anything to you?"

"Oh yes," his father replies, nerves churning in Tanuma's gut. "It was very kind. It told me of your condition, gave me something to help you with the recovery, and asked me to tell you not to return to those woods. Which, I believe, you should not have been in to begin with."

Not to return. It is not his father that has forbidden him, but Natsume, and he knows that there is no trespassing on the will of the spirit seer. His greatest friend has now locked him out, and Tanuma only has himself to blame. "I'm sorry," he says to his father, because he has to say something, but strangely enough his father only waves it away.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You may have defied my warnings, but I believe you were being careful about it. This is not the first time you have entered there, is it?" At first Tanuma is so shocked by the calm manner in which the question is given that he can only stare, wide-eyed and anxious, and give a slight shake of his head. "I thought so," his father sighs, but there is the touch of a smile on his face. "That spirit seemed quite fond of you, moreso than a stranger would. I'm not surprised that you've made friends with it."

"I'm not so sure," Tanuma mutters, his sluggish mind trying to work through all the implications of this turn of events.

His father rests a hand on his shoulder, doing his best to comfort him. "Trust me," he says, "It still wishes to be friends with you. It only has your safety and best interests at heart."

Tanuma sighs, desperately wishing that he had something more to offer, something more to do to try and solve this problem he's created. "I just wish I could tell him that it's not his fault," he murmurs, too worn out and caught up with it all to notice just how much he is giving away. He knows he can trust his father regardless.

His father smiles, having little else to offer for things like this but trying his best despite it. Tanuma loves him a little more for it. "Have faith in him," he tells Tanuma, "And give him a little time. True friends will always come around eventually."

Tanuma keeps these words with him over the following months, recalling them every time he looks to the woods with longing and considers entering them on his own; he trusts in Natsume's judgement, and will see him again if he wills it. He thinks about it less often as the seasons pass, winter warming into spring and back around to summer, but it still weighs on his mind, the knowledge of what is so close to him but is still entirely unreachable niggling endlessly at him.

It is not until the summer that he hears of Natsume again, just as the days are beginning to grow hot and the cicadas are finding their voices. He is taking his break from working in the village fields when one of the others returns from a water run, looking a little wide-eyed and awed. "I've seen him," she whispers when they ask her what's wrong, "Down by the river," and this catches Tanuma's attention more than most other stories he is told here. "The eye of the summer is back."

"It's that time of year again," another sighs, "I can't believe it's another summer already. You should be careful going near the river."

If it were any other rumour Tanuma would take the advice to heart, but he knows the root of this one, knows that he needn't fear it as he would others, and he can only smile and nod in response to their warnings in fear of having to lie to them. He excuses himself from the others, heading back through town at a regular pace until he is out of sight before he breaks into a sprint, heading for the river downhill and hoping, praying that he's still there, that he will finally have a chance to talk to him.

Tanuma spots him just as he is coming over the bank through the trees, bright amongst the dark green of the woods and the clear water of the river, and he skids to a halt just as Natsume notices he is there, eyes widening in surprise and fear of what Tanuma will say, having not expected such a confrontation. "Oh," Natsume breathes, voice so quiet the wind almost takes it away. He takes a hesitant step backwards, his eyes flickering between Tanuma and the treeline. "Tanuma, I–"

"Natsume," Tanuma huffs back, still catching his breath from the run down here. "Just, wait a minute. Please." Natsume looks like he's still considering saying something, still considering leaving him alone here, but he stays nervously put and lets Tanuma speak. "Look," he begins, and he is not sure what he's saying, but he needs to say something here. "What happened before, it– It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, it was the unavoidable circumstance of being involved with these things. I understand the dangers, now more than ever."

"Tanuma," he pleads, "I can't–" But he has nothing more to say, nothing to tell him that would assuage his thoughts on this. It doesn't stop Natsume from trying. "I can't risk you getting hurt again," he says quietly, as though it is his fault that Tanuma got hurt before, his fault that spirits live there. "The more often you are in those woods, the more likely it is that something like that will happen again."

"You've been there for years," Tanuma reminds him, and instantly regrets it as his words seem to strike a particular chord.

Natsume's mouth pulls into a grimace, averting his eyes to stare at the river beside them. "Not by choice," he mutters, "And not without consequence. I have had many incidents in the past which nearly got me killed. The difference between you and me, Tanuma, is that I can connect with them, can speak with them and reason with them and can use that ability to help myself out of those situations, and I have Sensei to help protect me. You don't." He pauses, sighs, looks back up at Tanuma with an apologetic look. "That… sounds quite rude, but it's the truth. You don't have the same kind of protection from them that I do, and it's not safe for you. It's barely safe enough for me, and… I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Natsume," he sighs, desperate to get his point across, "You can't protect people from everything. I could come down with illness or get crushed in rockfall or be attacked by a wild animal, and there is just as much risk of that whether I'm hanging out with spirits or not. I understand that it's a much bigger risk, but I'm aware of that, especially now. I'd like to keep being friends with you, Natsume, just… Just give me a chance."

A chance to what?, he is expecting Natsume to ask, and Tanuma dreads it because he doesn't quite know how to answer, but all he does is sigh and look down to the water, watching Sensei dab at fish from his perch on one of the river stones, before he finally looks back to Tanuma. "Alright," he mutters, Tanuma blinking back surprise. "Alright. Just… Be careful. I know you always are, but…"

"I know," Tanuma agrees, clasping Natsume's shoulder and trying not to smile too widely. "Thank you," he says, and it is the most sincere he feels he has ever sounded in his life.

Natsume heads back home afterward, leaving Tanuma to think it all over as he heads back to the fields to finish his day's work. It had not at all been what he'd planned to say if he saw Natsume again, but it worked, earning him another chance to be with his closest friend, and hopefully he doesn't ruin it by getting abducted by spirits this time. He has come to realise that there is little he can do in a situation like that, but, he hopes, it will be a rare occasion, and he should be quick to learn how to avoid the truly terrible ones.

His father is out when he returns home that afternoon, so Tanuma heads straight to his room to settle down after what feels like an incredibly long day, and he does not realise something is amiss until he goes to open his window, pausing and staring in awe; there, resting on the inside of his windowsill and bright in the sunlight, is a vibrantly coloured peony. Tanuma gingerly picks it up, catches the barest hint of the smell of wood fire and herbs, and he smiles, pressing the flower to his nose and breathing deep of the scent he has grown to love. "Thank you," he breathes into the petals, and it may be his imagination, but he is sure that they whisper back to him.