She has been Sone Anna for several months now, and the name fits as well as skin over her bones: comfortably, if not quite naturally. Today she is in a cafe for no particular reason, has ordered a strawberry parfait (any flavour except cherry would have done) and is not planning to do anything important -- least of all getting involved, however briefly, in someone else's life.

Outside, the summer air shimmers with heat. Sone Anna takes another sip of mugi-cha, wishes that the air-conditioning could be turned up higher, does not notice as the strawberry parfait melts in its tall glass. Hone Onna looks out of the window and wonders where the others are.

If he wanted to, and if he wanted to make the effort, he could find them. He has not used his powers since -- not those of sight, at least -- but he would like to think that that is only because he has no reason to do so.

Besides, he has been using his other powers often enough: the ability to slide into any role he chooses, insinuating himself into pockets of society and slipping away when it suits him. He has been Ishimoto Ren to dozens of people by now, and in a scattering of part-time jobs. The appeal always fades. He moves on because he can; there are, after all, things from which he cannot move on.

On this July afternoon he is between lives again. Anonymity is a basal state: he strolls through the shopping mall crowd knowing he is surrounded by people who have their own private tragedies and whom he will be unable to help. When he reaches the exit he stands just beside it, watches his reflection in the glass and the way it shifts each time the automatic doors slide open, slide closed. A breath of warm air enters with each movement of the doors. Ren tugs gently on one earlobe, fingertips meeting the light chill of his earring. It is not like him to fidget so, he knows, but he chalks it up to summer restlessness and fiddles with his pendant instead, turns it over in his fingers, lifts it to absently touch the cool metal to his lips -- realises too late why the gesture is familiar. The pendant falls from his fingers but his necklace does not turn into a red string, does not wind itself tighter around his neck. Ren leaves.

Two weeks later he finds Wanyuudou on the bank of a river, though this one carries only dead leaves on its way. Wanyuudou is gazing at the water, but removes his hat as Ren approaches. It is not clear if he means it as a greeting.

The customary greeting is It's been a while, except that that would be inaccurate in the context of a few hundred years. Ren is spared the awkwardness of first speech by a familiar voice which says, from somewhere behind them and with clear amusement, "I suppose this is a reunion?"

At this, Wanyuudou looks up and grins. "It seems so."

"You don't have your scarf," Hone Onna says. Ren is glad she has said it instead of him; he would have made the phrase sound like accusation, not a surprised observation.

"It's summer."

Did you get rid of it, Ren wants to ask. Hone Onna just sighs. The three of them look out at the river, not at each other, and it is another piece of what should have been familiar. It does not occur to them to discuss why they have met like this, unplanned yet not by coincidence: the fact of the meeting is what matters.

"The hotline is still there," Hone Onna says. "I wonder what the old place looks like now?"

"Much the same, I expect. But I wouldn't want to go back now. Not without--"

"Yes," Ren says, a bit too quickly. "Yes. Hone Onna, you haven't tried to contact the new-- the new one, have you?"

"No. I don't think any of us would." She adjusts the collar of her jacket - among the three of them she was always best at adapting - and says, to Wanyuudou, "And what have you been up to?"

Wanyuudou grins, the expression as unrevealing as ever. "The weather has been good, though I'm not looking forward to August. This outfit gets warm enough without the scarf."

Hone Onna laughs. Ren wonders at their levity, even as he wishes he could join in. But at any rate they soon discover that there is little to discuss, and even less need for small talk: the meeting comes to a quick and natural end. Ren is not sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. But he leaves first, and finds it is easier than he had expected.

"Ren worries me a bit," Hone Onna says, as they watch him walk off along the river. "He feels everything so strongly. Do you think he'll be okay?"

Wanyuudou puts his hat back on. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Half a year since: winter sharpened, softened, gave way to spring. The cherry blossoms bloomed and fell. With the rainy season came hydrangea. In late July, the lotus flowers will open. All this is the way it should be. Today he is an anonymous old man in a city park, watching the sparrows go about their brief, bright lives. Unlike the others, Wanyuudou no longer needs another name. Soon he will not need this one either.

There are other ways, admittedly, and they do not even have to involve the city. He could have a house in a little mountain village somewhere. Tend to his garden: seeds, shoots, flowers, fruits, frost. Feed a stray cat for months or years, and not mind when it leaves one day and never returns. Yet there are people everywhere, and everywhere they are the same. So yes, he does appreciate the cycle of the seasons: round and unbroken, endlessly turning. But in a few weeks autumn will be in the air, and Wanyuudou has seen enough sunsets to last several lifetimes.

"He's gone," Ren says, and this time it sounds exactly like accusation.

"He never liked this world very much, did he." Hone Onna's tone is thoughtful, unsurprised, not as emotional as Ren thinks it should be. But at least she is here, as he is; drawn by the strange specific gravity that used to bind the three of them, a different sort of red thread.

This time it is a field of grass and pale wildflower-weeds, about an hour from the city centre. Ren is glad that there is nothing familiar about it. "But he couldn't have gone back. Where did he go? Why didn't he tell-- why did he leave--" Hone Onna is staring at him, or at the emotional outburst, and Ren changes his sentence just in time: "...this place," he finishes weakly. "Why did he leave this world?"

"It's been six months since then. Long enough for him, I suppose. It's a pity," Hone Onna says, and Ren finally hears a slight sadness in her tone , feels absurdly relieved at the shared emotion. "The three of us could have met up earlier, spent more time together."

"Would he have stayed if we had?" The question is angrier than he had intended.

"I don't think so. You can't blame him, Ren, he must have felt that--"

"That there was nothing left? I thought the three of us were--" comrades, friends, perhaps even family, but that conversation on an autumn afternoon is too far away and too bright to recall. Hone Onna has the grace not to reply. Ren lifts a hand to his throat, unable to soothe the ache there; follows the strings of his necklace to curl trembling fingers around his pendant. Six months have been long enough for him too.

The light slips to evening. Hone Onna wonders when Wanyuudou left. Perhaps in the freshness of early morning, she thinks, or at night after a glimpse of what stars the light pollution did not drown. She is certain he would not have chosen to leave at twilight. Beside her, Ren stares unspeakingly at the ground.

"You can't blame him," she says again. "I think I understand. There's something tempting about leaving."

Two months till the autumn equinox. They have no graves to visit, but when the higanbana bloom in the fields it will be remembrance of a sort, all the same. Hone Onna adjusts her chiffon scarf.

"Shall we go?"

Ren looks up sharply, not ready for a new betrayal. His fingers tighten on his pendant.

She smiles, almost in reassurance. "Back to the city."