Crescent Moon On The Brow Of The Sky by I wish I was Kermit

Part I: Winter (the Hanyou's Bundle)

Hiya peoples! This is the first chapter of my first fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inu Yasha. If I did, I'd wash his mouth out with soap.

The Hanyou's Bundle

Evening was just beginning to fall, a dark stain spreading thickly across the grey, snow-dotted line of the distant horizon- draped with cobweb mist and swollen with pregnant hills. Snow fell softly, and barely a whisper of sound could pass through its thick silence, as bright and as frightening as the teeth of wolves. The ice-tipped boughs of the tall tree swung under the weight of Jaken, who shivered as he clutched his staff close, like a dear loved one, as he clung to the ice-cold arms of the tree with quaking hands. The Nintoujou, a staff topped with the heads of a young, glassy-eyed woman and a man with an age-creased face, was Jaken's prized possession- to own it and to know it, he supposed, was to know all.

With his large yellow eyes, he peered through the white branches to enable his eyes to reach where his master's could -would- not, and saw nothing but sticky white and a flurry of darting snowflakes. He sighed through his green-coloured bill, adjusted his black hat upon his head, and promptly fell from the tree with a shower of snow and a loud, gasping shriek. The Nintoujou screamed also as it fell, its double voice echoing frighteningly over the snow. When it hit the deep, soft blanket of winter underneath, it buried deep and was silenced by a muffled distance.

"Fool," hissed a white haired man, whose amber eyes betrayed as much emotion as the snow underneath him; he was beautiful, as much as any man could be, and stood tall and aloof as the night fell around him like a bowing admirer. Jaken, pulling himself out of the snow drift with much difficulty for one with such tiny legs, shivered at the coldness of his master's eyes; his own wide yellow eyes fell upon what was buckled to his master's waist. At his side were two swords, the Tenseiga and the Toukijin; one to give life, one to pull it quick away. Jaken quaked, feeling -in his mind- those two swords scoring a pathway across his green -and fragile- skin.

"Lord Sesshoumaru, Lord Sesshoumaru," the tiny youkai panted, filled with a fear, filled with a loyalty, and filled with a dread- enough to tear him into many parts. "I could not climb high enough..."

The silence of his master was enough to silence him as abruptly as he had began. As the night darkened, the cores of the eyes of the powerful inu youkai before him began to glow. The air was fresh around him, and a violent gasp of wind blew his long white hair around him, twirling in a dance with the breeze. The youkai lord closed his eyes, perhaps betraying a weariness he would never admit to; upon his pale forehead, plainly visible, was a dark crescent- shaped mark that further proved his noble lineage.

With his single arm he gently caressed the white pelt draped across his shoulder; the remains of a long-dead foe. His other arm was long shorn off by the Tetsusaiga, a sword he greatly desired to clench and wield. Instead, a hanyou with tainted human blood could wield it, as was star-crossed and destined. The hanyou was the one who had torn off his limb. Moonlight from a large pregnant moon, haze-covered yet still bright, glowed blue upon the curves of his face. Snow fell upon his dark eyelashes and his stripe-marked cheeks, and melted into dying snowflakes' tears.

Jaken seemed to feel the ire of his master rise, for he quaked and shook with his worry. However, Sesshoumaru did nothing, only turned his gaze toward a double-jointed shadow that was now licking, with two heads and two tongues, the drips off a long clear icicle. On its green scale-covered back, a young human girl, shivering and blue from cold, hugged numbly the beast below her.

"Jaken," Sesshoumaru finally said, completely aware of his servant's vain and foolish attempts to find the Nintoujou, "why is Rin shivering like so?"

Jaken, with his beloved two-headed staff in hand, shook snow off of his clothes and replied with a superior scoff and without an once of worry. "Humans, especially young ones, are always cold."

Without a harsh word, Sesshoumaru walked over to where Ah Un stood, watching with its two heads and its four sets of eyes. He looked at Rin closely, felt her cheek, and found that she was as cold as the snow around her- though in places her skin was white and flushed. "What does she need?"

Jaken again scoffed while surveying the Nintoujou for injuries. A puff of vapour rose before his mouth, and he clicked it. "Warmth."

Sesshoumaru took the heavy weight of the pelt off his shoulder, and draped it across the poor girl's shivering frame. The small girl, barely conscious, murmured her childish thanks as the lord took her in his arms, sitting back upon the thick snowdrift, concealed somewhat by drooping branches. "Jaken," he murmured, his eyes cold, "build a fire."

The youkai lord's servant seemed to come to himself; he broke branches, shook them free of snow and piled them awkwardly in the center of the tiny shaded clearing. With a thrust from Jaken the Nintoujou spurted a screaming fire from one of its gaping mouths, and spat it upon the makeshift kindling, stroking a fire in its heart. The fire was sad, and dim, and it cast only a small circle of light- yet it was warm, and that was what Rin needed. Sesshoumaru watched as the girl began to stir and open her big bright eyes.

"Ah Un," said he, his eyes reflecting the fire twice, in them somehow a tiny red glow, "take Rin. This Sesshoumaru shall see what Jaken could not."

Jaken cowered, seeming ashamed and hugging his staff close, as Ah Un waited patiently while Rin was placed on his back once more, draped in the white pelt. Sesshoumaru looked neither to the left, nor right; one purpose on his mind, he leapt up into the boughs of the tree only leaving a shower of snow to prove he had been there.

There, in the arms of the ice-mantled vegetation, he saw, in the distance, a widening plume of dark choking smoke. The smell of it, a smell he had caught earlier, stung him quickly and hard; he squinted his eyes against the sudden heat and rage of the smoke against his senses. His placed his one hand against the frosted trunk of the tree, watching patiently as white-capped trees plummeted and fell where the smoke rose highest. And the sweet, thick, overpowering smell of a mortal's blood reached him, so strong nothing could dim it.

Another smell reached his nose, more unwelcome than the last. "The hanyou," he breathed, rage making his voice hiss against his teeth. The stink of sweaty human and youkai blended; a stink thick and wet upon the air. His nails dug deep into the frozen bark beside him, the only betrayer of what he felt.

The moon glowed upon him, turning every bit of him more silver than it had been, turning the world a bright white. He saw the hanyou, creeping at first, his kimono black from the light overhead- he staggered, leaving a trail of his own impure blood behind him in the snow. Struggling with a long covered shape, it was all he could do to keep his bare feet from sinking into the deep drifts underneath him. Sesshoumaru smelt tears among the blood and was utterly disgusted.

A cry from Jaken told him the impure hybrid had reached the tiny clearing where a fire still hopefully burned. The powerful youkai descended into the shadows, his eyes glowing from the fire, and watched his dim-witted half-brother put down the large bundle close to the heat of the flame. The bundle stank of death; so much Sesshoumaru narrowed his eyes into slits. A silence passed.

"I know you are there, Sesshoumaru. The thing in this bundle is very... precious to me. Take care of it." The hanyou gasped as a spray of blood fell from his lips, trickling towards his ribs. Blood coated the hanyou's dirty hands, and he stared at them as if disbelieving. His mouth formed words, but said nothing.

Sesshoumaru's voice was as vehement, as cold and as indifferent as the ice and snow around him. "What is the meaning of this, hanyou?" His hand dropped slowly to his side, touching but not grabbing the Toukijin from its sheath.

Inu Yasha's eyes flowed dimly towards where Sesshoumaru stood, half in the light of the fire and half out, so parts of him were cloaked in shadow. There they were, staring at each other, saying nothing. The hanyou stood, by the power of the last of his strength, turned, and fled crookedly. Sesshoumaru's hand dropped from Toukijin, slowly, eyes upon the motionless bundle before him. He approached it, and lifted the cloth at what appeared to be the top. There: cold, dead, covered by blood that was black against the blue-tinted skin, was Inu Yasha's wench.