InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Gathering Word ❯ Dedication ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer:Inuyasha and its characters are not mine. They belong to Rumiko Takahashi and Biz. I receive no compensation for fan fiction.

A/N:These stories are exercises in theme, style and structure. Please do not flame based on pairings. If you are going to roast me, I ask that you do it in a constructive manner.

Genre: Introspection, WAFF

Characters: Sesshomaru, Sessmom, Inu No Taisho

Warning: None

Rating: PG

Summary: He was determined to fill large shoes.

Dedication

The lantern was burning low and still the boy labored over his work. He gripped the brush between his forefinger and thumb with such intensity that the bamboo threatened to snap. Sesshomaru squinted at his last line of characters and wrinkled his nose. They were not quite right, and his sensei had insisted on perfection when he left his class this afternoon.

“Stupid old man,” Sesshomaru muttered. He covered a cavernous yawn with his ink-stained hand and leaned in towards the scroll, trying to decide if he needed to rewrite the last section or if the composition was salvageable. He could feel the prickly burn of sleep along his eyes, and he blinked to chase the weariness away.

Sesshomaru let his gaze wander over the scroll on a haphazard pattern, crossing his eyes until the intricate characters became a smear of black across his vision. In his mind they swirled and warped into the foaming rapids of the Kikiwari River as they crashed against the great wooden pillars his father had set into the center. He could hear the steady burbling of the water and feel the solid oak beneath his tabi socks. He balanced his small practice bow in a loose grip and he kept his muscles relaxed, prepared for the assault he knew was coming.

“Watch your left guard, boy!” his Great Father bellowed while he swung an enormous bow low to sweep at Sesshomaru's feet. Leaping gracefully to the left, Sesshomaru landed single-footed on the pillar next to him. Again the bow came down, and he blocked the strike. His teeth rattled from the force of the blow. He parried, turning so the force of the attack would unbalance his father. Then the bow was swinging towards his temple, duck, turn, leap, block. He was on a far pillar now, nearly to the shore. This trunk had been set purposefully loose, and Sesshomaru teetered slightly on his precarious perch. His father wasted no time, and was lunging for his position.

“Again,” his father ordered, and Sesshomaru did it again, hopping from one perch to the next like a sparrow, weaving through his father's attacks like a squirrel. Sesshomaru never felt so small as when he sparred against his monstrous sire. Every move his father made was purposeful and swift. There was no room for error. He knew that it would take much work to remotely approach his father's prowess in battle, and Sesshomaru took his responsibility as heir to the Great Yokai's legacy very seriously.

“To the left,” Sesshomaru muttered low. Fast asleep, his cheek to the delicate rice paper, he continued to do battle in his mind, “block, spin, mumble mumble.”

The Lady of the West leaned over her sleeping son with a rueful expression. A small puddle of drool had blurred Sesshomaru's last few characters, and she had no doubt the rest of his composition was a black imprint on the side of his face. Sesshomaru's mother pulled a light blanket from her son's untouched futon and laid it gently over his slumped shoulders.

“Watch your left guard,” he sighed. His mother snuffed the lantern and smiled.