The snow is falling. Winter came early this year. We buried Sango today.

The shrine is silent. The crowds are gone. Everyone said it was a lovely funeral. Of course, half our village descends from Sango, our six children, thirty grand-children, and many great-grandchildren.

All Sango’s friends came to say goodbye. Kagome stayed with us the last week of Sango’s life; I did not ask how she knew when we needed her. She left after the funeral with Sesshoumaru and their two sons, who came to pay their last respects to their “Aunt Sango”. Shippou, Rin, her kitsune mate, and all the rest of the kitsune clan made the long trek from the south. They’ll stay here in our village at the foot of the hill for a few days. Even Inuyasha made the trip through the well. His visits have become much less frequent over the years. He watched us grow old and frail, while he did not change. Kikyo remained behind. Inuyasha said it was too near the time for their daughter to be born for her to travel. It was just as well; Sango never liked the once undead miko anyway.

At last, the mud and snow are swept out the door. I peer outside to see that there are no onlookers. I gather up the fruit offerings from the shrine to take to the forest’s edge. It is hard for the birds and small animals to find food in the winter. Buddha won’t care; we have a deal. He will keep the flower offerings and let the animals have the food that remains at sundown each day. Kagome saw me once; she laughed and said that I looked like St. Francis of Assisi, the Catholic patron saint of animals. Since I never met the man, I wouldn’t know. I wonder if he was a better monk than I am. That would not be too difficult, I never was a very good monk.

The shrine is dark and empty now. The air is chill as the snow drifts softly down. The gray sky darkens; under the trees, night has already fallen. I trudge back down the empty path. I am empty, but not the peaceful emptiness of meditation. I am hollow, carved out with a sharp knife. The hole in my side, in my heart, is where Sango should be.

As a monk, I am supposed to always be at peace. Sango’s illness was cruel and draining and her passing, with our family gathered around, was a relief to all. Her life was long; she saw her first two great-great-grandchildren, the fourth generation born to the restored taijiya village.

I am empty now, but not at peace. I rage and want to pour out my grief to the heavens. Why did I have to be left behind alone? I drop to the shrine steps and weep.

The cold seeps into my bones and I reluctantly emerge from my miasma of grief. I am not alone. Our grandchildren wait below in the house that our children built, where I now live.

The sky darkens. I light my lantern to illuminate the path down the hill. These old bones creak as I rise from my crumpled heap and wipe the water from my eyes. The snow must have melted when it fell on my face.

Winter is a comfort, the grayness, and darkness. The trees stark, ice sheathed, brittle like my soul. The ache in my heart mirrors the pain in my joints. Buddha has sent me a comforting thought at last; I shall not live through this winter to see the spring. “Wait for me, my Sango. I will join you soon!” I whisper joyfully.

I continue down the path. In the small sphere of light, I can see that the snow is falling.

Sighing as he made his escape from the ballroom, Roque dela Mirona glanced around the salon to see if any of his friends were in attendance. His aunt had made it quite clear that it was his duty to accompany her to the first ball of the week long festival. She stood in his father's stead as his keeper to enforce the old man's will. So he had danced once with each of the girls to whom he was introduced. At these matrimonial hunting grounds, he was regarded as prime game. He would make a fine trophy for any of the old hags, who were husband hunting for their daughters. He had made his appearance; the court had relaxed since the king had disappeared some hours ago with his latest mistress, and Dela Mirona could escape for a while to more congenial surroundings.

There were none of his crowd visible; they must still be occupied on the dance floor, retired to the gaming rooms, or elsewhere for other more vigorous activities. Scattered clusters of older men conversing, drinking, and dipping snuff occupied the room. Dela Mirona nursed his brandy; it would not do to lose his wits so early in what was likely to be a long boring evening. He was not yet ready to face the feminine hordes in the ballroom again. Turning toward the eastern windows, his eyes caught a flash of gold in the alcove, a tall figure as still and pale as the marble statue his pose mimicked. Clad in gold-embroidered white brocade coat, white shirt, hose and shoes, his long silver hair was pulled back with a gold clasp matching the buckles on his shoes and the molten sulfur of his eyes. The rather strange father of one of his fencing partners would certainly be a more interesting conversationalist than any of the empty-headed dolls being paraded about the matrimonial boutique.

The Lord of the Western Lands, Inu no Taisho, though either title had little meaning so far from his homeland, calmly regarded the soberly dressed young man approaching him. His lips twitched briefly showing fangs in a feral grin, perhaps there would be some relief from this interminable affair his wife had insisted that he attend. Halfway around the world they had traveled in her ridiculous quest for grandchildren. After searching fruitlessly for many years in all the youkai and human courts of the east for suitable matches for her two sons, he had granted her pleas to travel to the west. And so for the last several years she had searched the courts of Europe, while he and their sons had fenced their way across the continent, challenging the most skilled masters of unfamiliar techniques.

Dela Mirona sauntered up to the bored youkai lord near the window. "Lord Sesshoumaru, good evening. I see that Lady Kagome insisted that you accompany her to another of these tedious affairs."

Sesshoumaru merely glanced at Dela Mirona and uttered a noncommittal, "Hnn."

"I fear the latest crop is dismal at best," commented Dela Mirona, dropping gracefully onto the window seat. "My aunt shall depart disappointed yet again; none of the third rate selection here inspires the least amount of attraction, let alone romance. I hope for your sake, that your lady does not berate you for the lack of suitable selections here tonight. I know how eager she is to find matches for your own sons."

One eyebrow rose slightly and a disdainful snort was all the response Sesshoumaru deigned to give Dela Mirona's gibe.

A rustle of satin skirts and petticoats coupled with the scent of his mate caught the youkai lord's attention. He turned and crossed halfway across the room in an instant, leaving Dela Mirona speaking to the empty air.

Kagome skidded to a halt, her chest heaving breathlessly as she fanned herself with a gold fan. Her tightly laced white gown had gold embroidery covering the bodice and the drapery trailing down the sides of her panniers, matching her mate's frock coat. Her left hand stretched behind, clasping the wrist of the lady she had mercilessly dragged into the gentlemen's smoking room.

"Sesshoumaru, look who I've found!" she gushed excitedly, dragging her companion up to her side.

Dela Mirona, forgotten at the window, stood up straight and gaped in shock. The woman accompanying Kagome was exquisite. Tall and slender, her dark eyes outlined with just a hint of kohl, lips rosy, glossy black curls were piled carelessly atop her head with a few tendrils trailing down her neck. Not for her, the absurd powered beehives and towering sculpted wigs, such as Kagome wore. His eyes drank in her slender yet shapely figure, gowned in forest brocade, skirts opening like wings in front to reveal the light pink floral underskirt beneath. Dela Mirona began to cross the room as if in a trance.

Kagome glanced meaningfully at Sesshoumaru. His eyes glowed in response; he too recognized his wife's newly re-found friend. Kagome spoke meaningfully, "Lord Sesshoumaru, I would like to present Lady Sangria de Madeira. I hope that we shall all become as good friends as those we have known in the past."

Dela Mirona glided to a halt silently and bowed low as he caught the ladies' attention. "My Lady Kagome, would you be so good as to introduce me to this most enchanting creature. A woman of such beauty, these eyes have never before beheld."

Kagome giggled at the besotted man. She winked at Sesshoumaru, who smirked at the inside joke. Kagome made the introductions and Dela Mirona whisked Lady Sangria back to the ballroom.

Kagome turned and peered eagerly toward the ballroom, glancing back at Sesshoumaru. She bounced several times and widened her eyes entreatingly. Sesshoumaru sighed, "Would you care for another dance, my Lady? I can see that you want to spy on the reunion of our long lost friends."

An outraged "You despicable pervert!" rang out from the ballroom before Kagome could answer. A flurry of green skirts flew up the stairs to the lady's withdrawing room. Dela Mirona stumbled to the edge of the dance floor. His eyes gazed bemusedly at the door through which his ladylove had disappeared. He turned to Kagome mournfully, "Do you think I've ruined my chances with her?" he asked forlornly, absently caressing the flaming red mark of her hand on his cheek.

"I'll be expecting them then," the ancient sensei lowered the telephone to the receiver on his desk with a thump.

"Higurashi Souta, please come to the front of the class." The raspy voice drowned out the quiet whispers and rustling papers in the Third Year Section B classroom. The sensei narrowed his eyes and tapped his pencil impatiently on the desk, waiting as Souta moved reluctantly to stand in front of him.

Souta dipped a shallow bow and gulped nervously, "You called for me, Jaken-sensei?"

Dropping his pencil, the sensei steepled his fingers on the surface of his desk. "Higurashi, I have a task for you," he stated and paused before continuing.

In the pregnant pause, came a shrilly screamed, "You Hentai!" The sound of open hand impacting skin accompanied the screech.

The loud crash of a massive object hitting the lockers lining the hallway echoed throughout the corridor. A muffled groan and protestations of innocence followed the clicking heels down the corridor. The feminine footsteps stopped just outside the classroom door. The louder thuds of running masculine footsteps ended in a skid and a body impacted the classroom door, flinging it open.

A dark haired boy tumbled into the classroom. A girl stepped carefully over his prone body, her black high ponytail waving as she made her way across the groaning obstruction into the open area in front of the chalkboard. The girl turned and bowed to the teacher and the class. As the boy clambered to his feet, several girls giggled at the vivid red hand print across his cheek. His dark blue eyes twinkled as he turned and bowed in their direction. "I must be in heaven, the room is filled with so many lovely angels," he commented. The girl standing next to the boy took two steps away from him and averted her gaze.

"Ehm," the sensei rapped his pencil on the desk, attempting to regain the attention of his class. "I see you two have already met," he commented dryly.

Souta stared at the two unfamiliar students fidgeting in the front of the classroom. Though he was sure he had never seen either of them before, there was something familiar about them.

"Higurashi," the sensei said loudly, catching Souta's attention. The new girl looked up in confusion and stared at him. The boy smirked knowingly and sidled toward the girl as he extended a hand.

"Higurashi, you will be responsible for showing the two new transfer students around the school." The short bald teacher rose from his desk and moved toward the window, looking outward. "Introduce yourselves and tell the class something about your background," he instructed his new victims.

"Hiraikotsu Sango, I just transferred from Kyoto and am very pleased to be accepted into such a prestigious class," the girl finished with a second bow.

The boy straightened and smirked at the crowd, his eyes lingeringly swept over all the girls in the class. He bowed theatrically and winked at the three girls in the front row, "Kami has blessed this humble former student of the Osaka Religious Academy. An all-male school is much less suitable than this classroom filled with lovely ladies. I am Sohei Miroku and I am most pleased to meet all you lovelies."

Sango snorted contemptuously and moved away just in time to avoid Miroku's groping hand. Souta shook his head; he remembered his sister's stories of the valiant taijiya and the monk with the roving hands. He just never thought he would see them in the flesh.

The End