Arise, fair Sun to meet the Moon

Pitch black wherever she looked.
Ahead, she could hear the uneasy steps of her Hanyou companion, hesitantly picking their way forward across the smooth flagstone road. There were trees to either side and a narrow, shadowy path ahead that was as far as either could tell, deserted. They had departed their camp not long after sunset, and the chirping of the crickets was still all that she had heard (other than those footsteps, which were now growing closer) for some time now.
“Inuyasha?” She spoke into the darkness.

“What?” The Hanyou snapped in an irritated tone. That wasn’t a good thing. Traveling with someone so gruff was never good for the nerves; but traveling with someone both irritated and gruff might just test the limits of her sanity. Her brow creased in thought before she decided to press the issue.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine.” The feet scuffed, as if the owner was turning, and quickened their pace in the opposite direction. Sango doubled her own speed and forced herself into a hustle in order to keep up with the long strides. Kilala seemed to get along with no trouble. A thought struck her.
“Inuyasha,” She heard another scuff several feet ahead; a dead stop. “why don’t we simply fly back?” She almost laughed at how ludicrous it was. “We could be there much faster, and the others would have less a chance of encountering Naraku.”
“He would be waiting for that.” Inuyasha started moving again when they were aside one another, taking up the entire width of the road.
“How can you be so certain?” Sango gasped passed her hurried breathing.
“He was after me. He’s taken less to a grand plan, and narrowed his field this time.” She said. “Trying to kill us off one by one. Our separation will distract him, make me a bigger target.” The crickets had stopped chirping, and now only the quiet sound of their footfalls was audible over their conversation. Sango became all the more aware of what might be lurking in the trees, behind every shadow a pair of eyes, a claw she would not detect until it was too late over her throat. She shuffled closer to the Hanyou.
“I had no idea you could be so tactful, Inuyasha.”
“When you’ve lived you life being kicked around by everyone,” She watched the distance directly ahead. “you tend to develop at least some sense of how they‘re trying to kill you. Besides,” She continued the lengthy exchange. “if Naraku is after me, Kagome stays out of trouble.”

The rest of the trip went on in silence, by the time they reached the village that signified the place their journey would shift its long path; the sun was rising. Sango would have thought the sight beautiful, the way it set the clouds aflame, had she not been so concerned with the fatigue and stiffness of her body. Their forced march had taken them far. A dangerous practice, given the circumstances, but both were more than capable of handling the strain.
Thinking it better to sleep on the outskirts of the village, lest they risk the inhabitants collective wrath, they found an ancient tree and set down to rest. Inuyasha took to the upper branches, and Sango buried herself in Kilala, sharing the fire-cat’s warmth with herself.
By the time the trio set off again the sun had just reached the point where it would be midday. Feeling refreshed the group made good time, casting alert glances to the four directions every so often, aware that they were being hunted. A stiff breeze ruffled their clothing as they walked. Those more inclined toward red clothing snatched their hood frequently in a desperate bid to prevent it from falling off.
They had long ago left the secluded path and were now traveling by use of a more public avenue, a road that had seen so much use there were wagon ruts in the stone. Every so often, a caravan would pass by, or a gaggle of peasants. All seemed oblivious to the two warriors and their small cat, perched on the slayer’s shoulder.

“Where did you find that foolish thing?” She couldn’t resist any longer. The heat wore on, and she desperately needed a distraction.
“What foolish thing?”
“That ridiculous hood!” She threw her hands out for effect, unconsciously keeping them in front of her body, wary of attack, but unawares of it. “I haven’t seen your face since you… changed.”
“So what?” Inuyasha’s husky whisper lacked any tone. He - she, Sango admonished herself - was afraid of speaking out loud?
“Are you afraid you might be ugly?” Sango forced her face into an expression of mock seriousness. She had found a chink in the warrior’s armor. It was time to exploit it and learn just what had been done. The suspense was killing her.
“I’m not afraid of anything!” Inuyasha’s bold voice cried aloud. To her surprise, the sound was not so harsh on the ears after all. It wasn’t a perfect tone, nor like a song, it was level and easy to listen to; bordering on seductive but certainly not melodic.
“There, you see?” Sango paused in mid-step. “It doesn’t sound so bad after all.”
“Dammit!” This time Inuyasha didn’t bother to hide her voice. “That’s as much as you’re getting. The hood isn’t coming-
With a deft sweep, the troublesome thing slipped off her head, revealing the face that it had been hiding at last. Sango wore an expression of utmost concentration, even as she inwardly patted herself on the back for her handiwork. The visage was familiar to the point of being uncanny. A decidedly more feminine version of Sesshomaru stared back at her with startled, slightly parted lips. Two lightly purple eyes, silvery white hair, slightly smaller dog-ears; she cut herself off with one final, summarizing thought.
Inuyasha’s features had ended in something decidedly graceful. They held a sense of what Sango called an ’aristocratic cuteness’.
Slowly, her companion gathered herself, her lips pursing in a show of anger barely held in check. Sango didn’t let the small pang of guilt get to her. It was for the best.
“Come on.” Inuyasha adjusted her grip on her sword, and they set off again.

As another caravan clacked by, the ill-used wheels all but stuck in their place, Sango risked a furtive glance at the Hanyou. She was unsurprised to find her face almost locked in a perpetual sulk. Some of the caravan members pointed and whispered, but none of them openly challenged the pair. “You aren’t still angry, are you?”
“Of course not.” She snapped with biting sarcasm.
“I fail to see what the problem is, you look striking.” She told her truthfully. “Miroku would be proud to grope your-
“I’m a woman.”
“So am I.” She stated pointedly.
“I was a man.” Inuyasha spoke as if talking to a particularly dense child. “Now I am a woman.”
A group of men in well-kept Kimonos turned their heads in unison, proudly displaying their crests for all to see. Their collective expressions ranged from amusement to condescension. The topknots on their heads attested to their station and outlook. The blades sheathed at their sides were extensions of that, and the positions of the hands served as the will of those extensions.
Seven Samurai, with their Lord in their midst.

They had likely been escorting the caravan on its passage through the region. Sango gave a half-bow without slowing her pace. “Samurai.” She showed genuine respect.

“Slayer.” The closest of them returned, doing well to hide all emotion. Outwardly, he was the picture of calm and respect. Inwardly, all about him knew that he seethed with hate for he beast that traveled with her. None of those in the immediate area brought that to light. The Lord looked to the road ahead, the exchange obviously below his high esteem. There were retainers for that sort of thing. Peasants were below him.
“Samurai.” Inuyasha imitated perfectly Sango’s bow and manner. The Hanyou may never have been too intelligent, but she had always been more than capable in body and wit.
The Samurai seemed to look the Hanyou in the eye, with only a slight tension in his face, almost unnoticeable, the only clue to his true feelings. His eyes were averted slightly to be sure, yet for all intents and purposes watched her face. “Hanyou.” He ground out, speaking less as if it was a curse or an insult, and more along the lines of a title deserving of respect.
With that, the two groups continued on their way.

“Its been a long time since I’ve seen a real one.” Sango offered. “He didn’t like you, but at least he was respectful and polite; acting as if you deserved consideration.” Inuyasha only gave a dejected ‘humph’, and continued on her way. “Rude.” Sango heard her mutter.

By the time they reached their next landmark, night had fallen. They slept indoors this time, making use of the local bunkhouse by bartering some of their least necessary possessions. Namely Inuyasha’s torn clothing.
Sango was quick to purchase new clothes. What they had presently been wearing had seen its fair share of woe, regardless of how often they repaired each of their garments. For Inuyasha she found a simple, unassuming black yukata threaded with gold vines. For herself, she purchased another version of her trademark attire. It was the only thing she knew that suited her. Besides, it was the Hanyou that was undergoing a change, not her.
She made her way back to the bunkhouse to find Inuyasha with sword in hand, running through the end motions of a kata she had seen the hanyou practice before. Her balance seemed to be getting better with each successive motion, the way she moved more comfortable with the new body she claimed. Sango wondered why the nature of the blade unnerved her so. It had not changed to its usual make, that of the enchanted fang. Now it simply appeared as any other Katana might. She chose not to point her observations out to her friend.

“I’ve brought a new set of clothes.” She left them by the door. “I’m going out to look around.”
“Whatever.” Was the only response, and to her retreating back at that. Probably still angry that she had made her sell her fire-rat garb. And played the prank on the road. And, she supposed in the Hanyou’s mind, for getting them into this mess. Sango reached the town square, picked a direction and started walking as if she belonged there. It was best if she was the one doing the scouting, she decided. Inuyasha was likely far too shy or self-conscious to admit it to himself, or anyone else for that matter.
She hated to imagine what it might be like to feel what she was feeling.
Her thoughts flitted to Miroku, her compassion finding limits even in the depth of these new events. What was the fool doing?
Making his moves on Kagome in their absence, no doubt. But Shippo was there to protect her, with the wisdom of fifty years under his belt. Somehow though, she forced herself to admit that Miroku was a better man than that. He may have been a perverted one, but he had his heart in the right place. She spotted a group of Yari-wielding Samurai in their full battle dress making rounds about the place.
That would explain the complete absence of thieves.

She would be careful, being in the company of a half-demon would be more than enough to spark their ire. Those creatures were not universally liked. The Captain of the group bent down to assist a small child, setting her back on her feel after she’d fallen. Sango remembered the Samurai she’d met on the road earlier that day. “No,” She remarked internally. “these Samurai are an honorable lot. As long as we don’t bother them, they won’t care that we’re here.”
She moved closer to the armed band and bowed.
The Captain looked her over with a critical eye, hiding underneath a large straw hat and letting his mask rest over his throat. “You’re a Slayer by the look of you.”
“Yes, honorable Samurai.” She stood straight and carefully looked at his feet. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“I was wondering where I might a map of this region.” The Samurai Captain took a pensive posture, his brows knitting as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. His spear, he kept in a firm grip in his other hand, not too far from being grabbed by the other.
“I’m sorry but there are no peasants in this community skilled enough to fashion one. I’d offer you a visitation to the Castle, but the Lord is away on business.” His tone seemed regretful. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Not at the moment. Thank you, Samurai.” She bowed again and stepped back, then turned and walked away.
If she couldn’t locate a map, their route would be dependant on their memories, and Inuyasha’s nose. Needless to say she didn’t relish the prospect of walking into unpopulated lands unprepared, where any number of demons might be located. They could move along the roads well enough, they were accustomed to traveling them. Walking through land that was more or less unpopulated and likely full of demons was a different matter entirely.
Sango noted the position of the sun and headed back.

Inuyasha was apparently just finishing her kata. She now wore the clothes Sango had given her, with the addition of an obscuring and admittedly plain brown hooded robe that shadowed her face. “We should send Kilala to bring everyone here.”
Sango shot her a glare. “You’re just thinking of this now?”
Inuyasha cast her gaze to the floor, shoulder relaxing in shame. She just as suddenly stood tall and firm, committed. “I’ll protect her, no matter what she thinks.” So, he had more motivation that just strategic prudence. That refreshed her faith in the hanyou, not that it needed to be bolstered. If anything, her trust in her companion only became greater, the weakness showed that there was indeed a heart beating in that chest.
Sango frowned then, wondering if her friend’s hesitation had endangered Miroku or the others. She shook her head and roused the sleeping fire-cat, giving her swift directions and preparing to sleep. If all went well, they group would be together again by morning. The distinct creek of a sliding door alerted her to the vanishing creature, who’d stolen off into the place beyond their four-walled haven.

Inuyasha’s constant shuffling was all that kept her from a fitful sleep. After ten minutes of the same constant back-and-forth stroll, she flew up from the sleeping mat like a vengeful banshee bearing a particularly deep grudge. “Quiet down!” She screamed. Inuyasha actually had the nerve to stick her tongue out in an odd parody of Shippo, picking at her bandaged flesh under the layered clothing she wore. The Tessaiga rested peacefully, sheathed, in the other.
Sango fell to the mat with a loud thud, gave a huff and did her best to sleep. Covering her head with a pillow seemed to dull out the sound, so she rolled onto her side and soon fell asleep. Oblivious to the small drama taking place, Inuyasha still paced. With a scowl, she drew the Tessaiga, scrutinizing its length; the solid mirror surface. It failed to change to the fang. “Dammit!” She cursed, slamming it into the floor.
The force proved far too much for the rotting wood, and the blade sheared straight through it, rust spots greeting the dark.
Inuyasha stood frozen, a gasp breaking passed her lips to join her slightly widening eyes. A pair of red, malicious flames stared back at her from the depthless pit. A low, ominous buzz accompanied their presence, one deep, warped bass to the well-voiced solo. She jumped back, narrowly avoiding a stinger to the face. “Sango!” She yelled as loudly as she could, the drone beneath the floor increasing. “Up!”
The Taijiya murmured in her half sleep, then shot upward and turned her momentum into a roll, standing with her sword already in her hands. Her head jerked from side-to-side once, frantic.
“Naraku’s insects.” Her voice lost its fearful tremble with every syllable.

She nodded to Inuyasha, and then calmly, fluidly, drew her Katana and let rest in a gentle, loving grip. The sheathe she clutched in her other hand, making her way toward the door. Inuyasha did not waste time marveling at her state of mind, but flipped a heavy cabinet over the small but increasingly larger hole. They flung the door open with such force it nearly slipped its figurative moorings, and stood in the middle of the street, several feet apart.
“How did they get here?” Sango wondered aloud, adjusting her stance so she could better wield her blade, allowing the sheathe to fall to the ground like a disused toy.
“I don’t know.” She admitted. She should have said something back then. She’d known something smelled funny back on the road, in the dark. It had always been elusive, mysterious. When she realized how close it had been, she had moved toward Sango in case something attacked. But she had lost the scent and assumed her mind way playing tricks. “They probably followed us out of the pass. Now they have to die!”
The bloodlust of his battle-cry almost prevented him from hearing Sango’s words. “No, Inuyasya.” She sounded calm, but a furious tremble giggled deceptively behind every word. “Run. Alert the Samurai, we can’t leave the villagers in danger. We can’t fight them all alone.”
“What are you talking about?” She laughed. “My Wind Scar-
“You left the Tessaiga inside.”

Inuyasha growled more in frustration at her own stupidity than Sango’s comment. The fact was embarrassing and worthy of a groan, had she been of subjective mind. “I’m not backing down.”
“We’ll be swarmed and buried in stingers.” Sango snarled. As if on cue of the final comment, they began pouring from the various holes in the building. Windows, door, rotted wall; the poisonous wasp-like insects and their glowing, sentient eyes.
Mocking laughter rather than the buzz of a thousand beating wings was the harbinger of their doom; it was a decidedly different kind than the physical. He sat cross-legged on a thin carpet, a thick white fur draped over him. The withered baboon head watched in hollow awe, perched on the head of a king.

“Inuyasha.” The name was spoken slowly, coming out more like ‘in-oo-yasha’, in three separate parts. “the forces of evil and woe gather under the moon; might you walk with me tonight, under a grim sky?” His voice was a sibilant thing, crackling with raw power and a disgusting, ironic twist. She would have none of it. If they were about to die, she would tear the manipulative sod to pieces.
“What are you talking about?” Her eyes swept warily from the cloud of insects to the forbidding hanyou.
“In the dark, under moonlight…” The voice of Naraku came from behind her, from the other end of the road. Inuyasha could not help her gesture, looking from one to the other. The first, in his baboon pelt sat contentedly. The other, in only a pair of hakama stood twirling a fan between his fingers.
“What heart? Fled. Stolen…” The Naraku in white voiced in a forlorn manner, melodramatic.

With a roar Inuyasha launched herself across the small distance that separated them, equal to the height of a man and a half laying down. Her claws flexed in anticipation of the contact, a hot anger burning behind a pair of expressive eyes. Naraku moved so fast, neither Sango nor Inuyasha could truly register it. In a flash, the sword was in his hand, and he was standing. The blade had already moved, its cut complete. The baboon pelt fluttered off his shoulders with the gesture, but the ravished fragments of the brown one would never see use again.
The black Yukata was untouched.
“Yes Inuyasha,” He let his cruel let echo into the inner workings of the town. “fight me.” She did, with everything she had, tooth and claw, a whirling blur of blacker-than-black. She had left the robe and its psychological restraints where they belonged; in the cold earth. To dwell on them would kill her. She would not hesitate. Naraku was faster though, slipping away as easily as water evaded open fingers. The harder she fought, the harder Naraku would laugh, taunting her every motion.
With every jibe to the hanyou’s predicament, with every swipe that met only air, her fury grew until even in stillness, with generous room between the pair, she trembled. “I’m going to rip you apart!”
“Yes, tear the beating heart from my chest. Show me your strength - if you have any left, wench.”

That final belittling remark was all it took, among the string of the previous ones. With a frenzied scream she launched herself at him, heedless of the waiting insects. Deftly, Naraku sprung aside, and in his place, a swirling cloud of miasma. Inside that, a cloud of poisonous insects. She tried to stop herself, to will her body to move in the opposite direction, but it was far, far too late.
Their blood red stingers, more lethal twins of their eyes, buried themselves in her flesh with greedy abandon, They cared not for the cloth they needed to rip through to reach their targets, and when they did, they burrowed deep. This screams was one of fear and regret and pain. The acidic poison easily burned through her veins, assailing her organs with lethal effect. As suddenly as it had begun, it ceased to be such a problem. Inuyasha fell to her knees, eyes wrenched closed, feeling the agony make way to something else. When she opened them again, the world was a red haze, and her thoughts were simple.

KillKillKillKillKillKillKill!

She was ready to agree with that voice. She saw the pair of feet naught but inches in front of her, and tore into the legs attached to them without stopping to think, tasking the meat under those soft, silky clothes. She would taste blood, and all would be good!

KillKiLL KILL!

And them the meat was gone.
She clamped her teeth shut in confusion, her eyes whipping about until they settled on the man again, only he had a fan now, and not a sword. But she did not linger on the details. He would die, and she would eat well and be full and then sleep!
She darted to him in three steps, and then he vanished again. But this time there was a trail of purple smoke, almost like an arrow, an accusing finger. It was easy to follow it, and then the prey would be there. And there it was.

The frail looking woman staggered back when she looked into her eyes, eyes that were red and hungry. Fangs that were pearly and white and demanded to be coated with sweet blood. With an almost perverse giggle, Inuyasha stalked toward her, all-consuming in presence. Any that did not look to her were dead, or would die. The sword fell from the hand of the prey. A growl, and a frantic, desperate leap toward the bunkhouse.
The demon was faster, and already waiting. The night wrote one final, all-or-nothing scream and knew that the oracles of fate watched. Five claws that had been starving to rend flesh for so long swept in a snap of whistling air, aiming for the kill.