Lingering Attachment

Jaken poked at the infant fire, carefully adding more tinder and kindling to it until he finally had it at the appropriate height. Nearby, his master lounged against his chosen tree, a knee drawn up to hang an arm over it, and A-Un huffed in its slumber. It would be another quiet night, the imp hoped, as he set his dinner to warm by the fire; and to his pleasure, it was…at least at first.

As he settled in for sleep himself sometime later, he took one last survey of the camp and found his master's sleep was not a peaceful one. His claws twitched now and again, his jyaki flicking as though angry. Whatever he was dreaming, Jaken had the suspicion it was not pleasant for his master. He knew better than to disturb him, though, and simply nestled into his spot for the night, clutching the nintoujou at the ready. One could never be too careful.

Under the glow of the full moon, Sesshoumaru was, indeed, dreaming.

~~~~

It was a montage of warfare, the usual serenade that soothed him into a restful sleep. His enemies fell by the hundreds at his feet, easily dispatched on his claws, and his demon nature reveled in the blood-stained field before him. He could smell it all, nearly taste it; the sweet crimson, his acrid poison, slimy viscera and…fire…but it wasn't normal fire.

He knew this scent, knew it was different, significant. His body moved effortlessly in his dream to locate the source, nose to the wind. It changed direction, the trail shifting, and he moved to follow again. Over and over, the scent of this strange fire moved, and the predator in him snarled as he was denied his prey. He needed to find the source, to put hands on it, feel it squirm in his grasp.

There was a deeper need, too, a primordial need; base and burning, fundamental to his very nature and his continued failure to locate the thing that was giving off that rich and molten scent nearly sent him into a frenzy of rage. Whatever the thing was, it was his; it belonged to this Sesshoumaru and he NEEDED to find it, to trap it to himself, to rub his scent all over it, to mark it as HIS.

His guise released and he threw his snout towards the clouds. He found the trail again and easily bounded after it. He anticipated its shifts this time, and slowly, finally, he began to hone in on it.

Over the mountains and hills, down through craggy ravines and deep into the forests, barely making a rustle even in his massive form, truly a phantom creature of nightmares.

There, a lake; it was coming from there!

He stopped at the edge of the murky pool that nearly bubbled with the heat within, blood thick and coagulated with bits of cloth and flesh floating on the surface. For once, he found it distasteful.

He lapped at the water hesitantly with his feathered tongue and found it tasted only of death. Enraged, he swiped at it with his huge paw until the muddy bed was exposed. There was nothing, and the smell was gone yet again.

He snarled, digging deeper into the mud, grinding his snout down into it; there was nothing.

He reared back, thrusting his nose high to find it, rising on his back legs; but there was nothing.

He bounded through the forest again, high into the mountains; nothing.

Nowhere could he find the scent or the thing that belonged to him. He was being denied. It was his, and the very world was standing in his way.

He stomped against the patches of bamboo with his giant paws, wresting great trees roots and all from the earth, finally throwing back his head to howl his rage to the sky.

~~~~

Still deep in sleep, Sesshoumaru did not see the way his vassal started in terror as his real body bared fang and snarled into the night.

***

1463, mid-Muromachi Period, Summer, Musashi

Jaken kicked his legs idly as he sulked on A-Un's back. Sesshoumaru had abandoned him yet again to chase after…whatever it was that had caught his master's attention for the day. Sometimes he hated how fickle and impulsive his lord could be.

Then again, he thought quietly to himself, Lord Sesshoumaru is just a dog, after all, subject to the whims of his basic instincts.

The thought had barely finished before Jaken found himself sprawl face-first in the grass, the back of his head throbbing. He squawked indignantly, hopping up to find who would dare-!

"L-Lord Sesshoumaru! You've returned!"

Sesshoumaru gave A and Un a quick pat, blatantly ignoring the imp, though the tiny thing couldn't help but see the way Sesshoumaru's eye twitched with irritation. Jaken was used to Sesshoumaru showing up without his notice, for the grace and stealth of his master was beyond compare, but why had he struck his loyal servant, who had done nothing to deserve it?!

Wait... Was it possible that he could…? No, such skills were only-. His thoughts were cut short by Sesshoumaru's glower. Jaken understood then. Sesshoumaru knew what Jaken was thinking, as if he could hear the thoughts like they were his very own!

The hint of smugness that entered Sesshoumaru's expression removed all doubt from the imp about his master's myriad of skills. He would simply have to accept this as one of them….and mind his thoughts as well as his actions. Truth was, Sesshoumaru had grown quite weary of the imp's constant annoyances and sought a way to better communicate his desires to him without having to constantly expend his precious energy by stating the obvious. It was a simple trick, one of many he knew, and already it was serving him well.

'At the very least, I might find some amusement.'

"Was your trip a fruitful one, my lord?" Jaken ventured carefully.

He could smell that old jackal demon on him again. Just why his master continued to seek the company or counsel of that disrespectful mutt was beyond Jaken's understanding.

"Yes. We are leaving."

Jaken scrambled to gather A-Un's reigns, tugging the dragon creature along to catch up with his swift and often inconsiderate master.

Indeed, Sesshoumaru's sessions with Rekkonji were advantageous as always, for they each grew in skill and power. One day, perhaps, Sesshoumaru would call on him to serve as he had once served the Inu no Taishou, but in order better his chances of Rekkonji acquiescing, Sesshoumaru needed to maintain a basic relationship with him until that point in time.

He was always pleased, though he would never say it, to discover some new trick from the war master or find some way to make his own skills more efficient, and he had convinced himself that the bettering of his sword hand was the only reason he went. His lengthy visits and tolerance of Rekkonji's jabber had nothing to do with any sort of hope that he would reveal more of the half-breed that had met its end on the continent.

As it was, the story he'd been able to patch together was a puzzling one. It had sought power, apparently from its' lineage, and had gone to great lengths to get it. Rekkonji's depiction of the demon Zheng and his cowardly scheming made Sesshoumaru sneer inside. Deplorable, truly, how had one such as he been allowed to remain in power for so long? Sesshoumaru had several theories, but they were simply mental exercises, nothing of any real consequence or value.

He was now certain, however, that the hanyou had been the entity dancing just beyond his senses. The timeline Rekkonji laid out for him was proof enough for Sesshoumaru. In a way, he was pleased that he would no longer be plagued by such disturbances; on the other hand, though…

He pushed the thought away again.