InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Crescent Moon On The Brow Of The Sky ❯ A First And Gasping Breath ( Chapter 4 )

Helooah! I'm back! I'd like to send a big thanks to all those who have stuck with this story, and I'd like to tell you I'm very very sorry for this unexpected delay! You know, I do have other stuff to do. I am so tired! Oh, all the reviews I get are from Ffnet. So don't get confused, I posted on there first!

Oh- 8's mean change of setting.

YAY, REVIEWS! LOVE TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED! OH, IF YOU READ THIS STORY AND DON'T REVIEW, PLEASE REVIEW! IT MAKES MY DAY AND ITS JUST PLAIN COMMON COURTESY. Sorry, I wrote that all in capitals because my computer was on caps-lock and I didn't realize it. You know what I just realized? A LOT of fan fiction authors are of the female gender, including me. Any guys out there? Hello?

Sorry, this chapter will be very short.

keosis-chan: Thank you so much! Huggles! You are the greatest! Thanks for reviewing (again! ^_^)

love for this heaven: Thanks! Such high praise! So happy! So hyper! *Pokes you repeatedly!* he he he he he!

ObsessedWitInu: Yeah, I'm sorry my story is sad... Don't worry some people are going to be `recalled to life'. Anyhoo! Thanks for reviewing! ALL OF MY LOVE!

Rainbow Neko Phoenix Hime: Don't worry, I am very VERY random. I do like vampires, and if you give me the address of the site I'll check it out!

Kagamoesiun: Thanks for reviewing (again!) and you will just have to see...

Soul: Thanks for reviewing! Yep, Inu Yasha is for once using his brain... he has to have one in there... somewhere... Huggles!

GET READY FOR THE RIDE OF YOUR LIVES! HOLD ON TO ANYTHING YOUR HANDS CAN REACH... NO! NOT ME!

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN INU YASHA. If I did, I would give Sesshoumaru an attitude adjustment.

Sesshoumaru: I will not lower myself for your amusment, wretched human girl.

Kermit: LIKE HELL YOU WON'T! BACK IN THE PILE!

Ahem.. Enjoy peoples!

A First And Gasping Breath

The houshi pulled the hat Kagome had given him off of his head, making the dark hair that was tied behind his head unruly. A twilight-coloured bruise stained purple across one grief-paled side of his face, making him seem dark and brooding as he watched the pale and silent taijiya across the fire from him. Kirara, subdued and curled in her master's lap, was silent, and in her red youkai eyes the fire gleamed.

Snow had closed in around them as the dawn rose, after yet another sleepless night, waiting for Inu Yasha and his blood stained hands to return. Three days, and no sign- none at all, as if he had fled like the night was now doing, never to return. "He will come back," said the houshi, his voice hoarse and cracking from tears and misuse."He has to come back."

Sango nodded as snow flurried like her worries around her. The strange brown coat, though warm, offered no comfort to her- it reminded her of Kagome and the silent vow that she had made to herself on her behalf. Sango had promised herself never to left anything happen to her adoptive sister- yet it had, on the hands of someone who had made the exact same vow. She could have been subduing the enraged Inu Yasha instead of hiding away in the bushes, fearful for her own dark and wretched life.

Her hands clenched in her gloves, and she angrily ripped them off, letting them redden and raw with the cold. Damn them. Damn her. DAMN INU YASHA! Her heart burst with rage and contempt, and then, after that agony passed, there was nothing left but a smoldering ember and regret. For what seemed the umpteenth time, she began to cry with tearless eyes, ones that ached with the force of her sobs. Where was Inu Yasha? Where was Kagome? In her heart, one that was riddled with holes, she knew that they were never coming back. That knowledge made her fear the dawn, and the day, when she could see the world with her undeserving eyes.

The houshi's arms closed around her as she cried, offering all the comfort in his embrace, begging for some in return. They cried together for some time, the sky lightening like a bright beacon of hope. Their tear-filled eyes reflected the light, and suddenly the gasping of their sobs melted away, and in their hearts was driven a silver gleam of hope. With a sad sigh, the houshi stood, picking up his sun-goldened Shakujou from the snow, which danced with the blue shadows of ice-heavy boughs as they bent with the wind. Today was today, and sorrows were brighter with the sun. He half-expected to hear Kagome laugh, hear Inu Yasha's impatient grunts as he ushered the humans into action. But, no- the houshi did not hear those morning sounds, and the absence of them caused an ache in his heart, and a burning in his curse.

Sango stood, the pain of her wounds burning as she roused a red-eyed Shippou from a shallow slumber, tired from crying himself to sleep yet again over his oka. She picked up her Hiraikotsu, shouldering it upon her back, and looked up to the clearest of skies. The Kitsune leapt upon her, his voice silent, his eyes watchful. She turned towards the houshi, her limbs full of protest, her eyes asking a question.

"We cannot wait for them anymore, Sango," whispered Miroku, his voice heavy.

Sango's voice quavered. "What can we do?"

The houshi's eyes grew hard, and in a gasp of wind his robes billowed about him, betraying the gasping winds of his taste for vengeance. "Will look for those youkai who killed our Kagome. We look for them, and Naraku, whom they are birthed from!"

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In the dark, there gleamed nothing. It was the flat mat surface of a night without the pleasure of seeing the rising light of morning- until two eyes opened, two deep emotionless eyes that were the colour of blood. In this darkness, somewhere where the eyes touched the light, there came the emotionless voice of a murderer. "Hitsumaru. Tsusimaru."

The voice of one of his newest children came in a deep whisper."Hai, Naraku."

"You have failed, and that displeases me. You were cut down by one single arrow, from one single woman. What have you to say?"

The two youkai, not a difference but the colour of their clothes between them, answered with a similar bow to their heads, with the eerily similar lilt to their voices. "We have failed. For that we are undeserving to be a part of you."

The voice of the murderer took on the tone of a fool: it was filled with condescending laughter. "Undeserving?" He bent towards the wan winter light that pooled from the window, showing his features to all- that of a young man, beautiful, and with an emptiness about his eyes. Hitsumaru and Tsusimaru nearly recoiled, fearful of their creator, and fearful of being forsaken.

"Out of my sight," said Naraku, his voice filled with disgust. "And when you find Ka-go-me, bring her to me." With elegant bows to their master and creator, they left his presence with anguished sighs.

For a moment, there was deep soft silence. Then, his voice once again polluted the air: "Kanna," he said softly.

"Hai, Naraku," said the colourless girl tonelessly, kneeling beside him. Her white dress pooled around her, adding to her bland colourlessness; she was his favorite, for she did not ask questions nor question him. She was obedient, and she almost never spoke.

"Show me the hanyou and his worthless human friends." The mirror in Kanna's small white hands flashed with the reflection of a distant sun- in it, Naraku saw the blood of his enemies. He leaned back into the shadows, laughing. "Dead, then?" The murderer said, his voice full of pleasure, honey-smooth and honey-sweet.

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In the sparse flakes of snow, draped with dappled shadows of a midday sun, a small green youkai clutched the Nintoujou close to his heart, watching in apprehension as his Sesshoumaru stood over the prone body of the dead and frozen miko. His only hand touched the pommel of the Tenseiga, clenching and tensing as though to draw it out, then falling lax and undecided. Rin, clutching her hands, gave the corpse -which had begun to fester- a wide berth, staying stuck like a burr to Jaken's side. Jaken smoldered with his silent rage and rebellion, and hoped his master would leave the body to rot like it was meant to, and return to dust forever.

In Sesshoumaru, however, there lingered a faint glimmer of doubt. His beautiful face remained still and composed, and sun shone down upon him and his feet, honey-coloured and dancing. His amber eyes traveled over the bundle that the miko made, his nose nearly wrinkling at the smell of her death. Sour, rotten, soft flesh. It was enough to make him hate the miko, hate her smell, hate her death. She was like the hanyou: smug, knowing she was tormenting him with her stench.

Then, the Tetsusaiga filled his mind like a sun and a curse. He could not touch it, and neither could Rin; it seemed to him like no mere human could or ever will. But this dead form in front of him was not a mere human: it was a miko.

Making his decision, he slowly drew the Tenseiga out, letting it flash at being released in the sun. He clenched his hand, ignoring his servant's squeals of protest, to his ears like the mere buzzing of flies. His protests did not matter now; neither did the winter, or the snow, or the world- all he saw was the spirit snatchers, trying to remove a large soul from a dead frozen frame. He killed them savagely in on languid movement of his sword, and the miko before him drew one first and gasping breath, opening her eyes to the sky.