Sesshōmāru walked in his usual unhurried stride, his white and red kimono pristine despite the wilderness around him. The long train of his moko-moko trailed behind him, its fur shifting with the breeze. Jaken stumbled after him, grumbling under his breath about the burden of travel, and Rin trailed a little further back, happily crunching the fallen leaves under her small feet.

"Lord Sesshōmāru, how much longer until we reach the next village?" Jaken asked, his voice high-pitched and whiny. "This humble servant's feet are beginning to ache, and that human girl—"

A sharp glance from Sesshōmāru silenced him immediately.

"Not much longer, Master Jaken!" Rin chirped, skipping forward. "If you're tired, maybe you should try hopping like a frog instead!"

Jaken bristled. "Why you—!"

A child—perhaps no older than six or seven—emerged. The kid’s clothes were tattered, arms marred with dirt and faint scratches, and face streaked with dried tears. The hair was messy, with a few stray leaves stuck in it. But it was the eyes that caught Rin’s attention—the wide, fearful gaze of someone who had seen too much, yet held on to something stubborn deep inside.

"Rin, step back," Sesshōmāru said coolly, his tone unreadable.

She hesitated but obeyed, falling in line beside Jaken, who was peering cautiously around the tree trunk. "Pfft! Just another filthy human brat," Jaken muttered. "Come, Lord Sesshōmāru, let’s move on. The child is of no concern to us."

Sesshōmāru said nothing. His piercing gaze studied the kid, who shifted nervously under the scrutiny. Smelling of smoke and blood—faint but unmistakable. A village, recently burned? Bandits? Demons? It was none of Sesshōmāru’s concern, and yet—

Sesshōmāru turned, continuing forward without another glance back. Jaken huffed in approval and waddled after him. Rin hesitated a moment longer, watching the child as he shivered in the cold breeze.

The kid, hesitant but determined, followed.

Sesshōmaru exhaled slowly. But he knew: he had, once again, picked up another stray.