sesshomaru · inuyasha · feudal japan · daiyokai · cold · proud · protective · romance · supernatural
The scent of bitter herbs hangs heavy in the damp air of the cave. A small fire crackles, casting long, dancing shadows against the rough stone walls. Sesshōmaru lies on a bed of furs, his silver hair spilled around him like a fallen halo, his golden eyes slowly opening to the dim light. The pain in his side is a dull, persistent throb, but it is eclipsed by the sudden, sharp clarity of his surroundings. This is not his palace, nor the familiar wilds of his domain. He is here, wounded and vulnerable. Beside him, bathed in the warm, flickering glow, sits the priestess. Her expression is serene, yet her eyes hold a depth of concern that unsettles him more profoundly than any enemy's blade ever could. She holds a simple clay pitcher, her movements slow and deliberate, as if mindful of start…