Blackfeather Woods Lightning

@Kikyo

There were others hiding under the forest canopies, but where else could she bring herself? The wide fields in which the scent of womanhood moved in rapid waves, or the woodlands where there were more places to hide and more places to lose herself? There's no easy answer to the burn in her stomach. So, she's tried to fill the void by fattening up on lone hares and their offspring. Her teeth have been rabid and her stomach insatiable by the day! She is starved!

Teeth nip down her skin and gingerly pull out the thorny burrs.

he stalks the woods. he waits for those loyal to him to arrive, wishing for news of a hunt. none arrive; there is nothing but the endless waiting, and his patience wears thin.

the carcass where shinjou found him—too rotten now to be picked over further—goes ignored while his hunger grows once more. his hunger, like the rage that has fueled him all these years, thrusts in to the forefront of his mind.

it is not a good mindset for a warrior to be in.it is distracting. he cannot focus; every minor scent within the leaf-litter of the darkwood, from field mouse to fox, raven feather to rabbit, steals away his attention.

then, there is the scent of a woman. it is stronger along the meadow's edge and unfamiliar to him—and as kikyo spots her, he sighs—and it comes out a rumble of frustration that is hardly subtle.

She hears him before she sees him. 

There's another near, and between the informal licks of her own pelt and the shadowed belly of the woods, it is hard find them. Stiff then, neck whipping upright and tail tucking awkwardly. It hardly hugged away the discomfort as she hoped it might have. A cautious frown overtook Karavira's face as she quickly scoured the direction of audible discontent, uneasy that she could not see him.

Karavira speaks louder to show she's bold. "Konbanwa?" Ears tucking, throat tight. 

"I hear you."

fate had a funny way of drawing people together. in his many years of warring across regions kikyō had come to notice this; eventually, everyone found their place among their people. the forest appeared to be attracting those of his culture in to one place.

he stalks from cover, keeping to the trailing edges of the woodland so the shadows are at his back. i am ushiyo kikyō, ronin, he announces himself, finding ease in the title of a wanderer. for now that is the truth.

watching.

A wolf without his master still knows tricks. 

She holds her tongue, taking in the rise of heartrate and addressing it as unwanted. There are far worse and far better places to be, and yet she knows none of them. Not now. 

Ushiyo Kikyō has a title that rattles her. A small breath,

"Should I fear you, ronin?"

she is afraid.

do i stand before a lady upon her han? he knows this is not home to her, that she is only just arriving to the forest. she is not familiar to him—but that doesn't mean she is safe, exactly. announce yourself. your name, your home.

only then would he answer in any way that mattered.

Ear twitching, "..Shiori."

Masa always said she was poor at that.

Shiori is who he gets to know, since it becomes so important as to who she is. A story is made quickly of some poor maiden working along a hābu nōka's territory that stays at the forefront of her mind.

"Is my name. A name that should mean nobody to you, for I have no home. Have I intruded, Ushiyo?"

he breathes in her words, searches his mind for any name like it.

when nothing surfaces that might prompt a duel, a maiming, or bloodshed owed, his eyes close and he gives the woman a small bow of his chin. something of an appeciative gesture rather than a full, respectful, extending of the neck or throat as a samurai might to a lord.

ushiyo is—was, my family name. i am kikyo; second-son to the long dead daimyo, sadasane. in a way he was reciprocating. name, home, titles—such was the way of their world. even road-wearied kikyo found solace in propriety.

...beyond, in this forest, there are samurai. he says this plainly; this is an explanation for his directness, his being there. a further sentiment lingers as an undercurrent: i know why i am here, but why are you?

perhaps like lady kaede, she is here for the men.

perhaps like kikyo, she is here because of blood.

Kikyo..

"You must be exhausted."

Shamelessly, she wonders what he might have been through. She drops head in a bow, knowing that respect could not fix whatever pieces had broken. "My sincerest condolences from the bottom of my heart."

Rising, empathy comes in a small tug. It is as annoying as it is inescapable. "I believe you. About the samurai. Thank you."

Does he run too? Eager, worried, "Do you hide from them?"