The Long Road to Freedom Part 1: The Dastardly Prince

Mother

        Sesshoumaru lifted a hand to the small sewn‐in pocket of his kimono, making sure, once more, that the trinket was still tucked safely away. In a field of small 6‐petaled white flowers, he lifted his face to the gentle warmth of the morning sun. His eyes followed the dips and swells of the clouds above as they slid lazily along, searching out a particular shape in them.

He did not have to wait long.

A large, bold silhouette darted swiftly behind them, and Sesshoumaru rose to join it in equal grace. His blood burned, and he reveled in the familiar sensation that now washed over him. He allowed his guise to melt away, his body swelling and morphing to reveal his true demonic form.

With a great roar, he bound higher into the sky, easily catching up with the sleek inu youkai there. She roared back at him, more in greeting than in warning, and dove into a lower patch of clouds to begin the usual game with the more muscular creature that now tailed her.

As much as Sesshoumaru disliked visiting his mother, this part he actually took pleasure in. The chase and romp were relaxing to him, for in this shape he was free and true to his nature. He could recall a time in his younger, smaller days when he existed solely in this form; pure and swift and savage.

Only lesser demons, however, remained as their wild selves, so as they arrived at her sky castle, he forced himself to condense once more into the human‐like shape most demons knew him for. His mother joined him in this form, her trailing haori lined with fur at the bottom and shoulders hopping from step to step as he followed her lead up the tower of stairs.

The large platform below was made for just this; to provide a receiving area for the natural forms of her guests which possessed the gift of flight. The staircase took her guests up past walkway after walkway on either side, filled with demon guards of all breeds. While ripe with age, experience, and her own form of wisdom, Sesshoumaru's mother was not what one would call a combatant. At the top, a smaller, more patio‐like area spread out before them. Here resided a home‐like structure in the center and an adorned throne‐lounge at the heart of a clearly outlined meeting area.

Waving off the nearest guards, the woman herself comfortably into her lounge, resting her striped cheek delicately on a clawed fingertip as she examined her son with a gentle, self‐satisfied expression.

"How kind of you to come visit your dear mother, Sesshoumaru. It has been far too long. Tell me, did you miss me?"

Her tone was sweet and mocking.

Sesshoumaru instantly lost every vestige of pleasure he had been nursing from the journey here. He fetched the small crescent moon hair adornment from his kimono, passing it to a servant to deliver back to his mother wordlessly. It was better not to speak here, Sesshoumaru knew. The two were similar enough in nature and mannerisms that she would understand the words in his silence.

Sesshoumaru was also well aware that his mother would find some way to use whatever he said to her advantage. That was their game, after all, more a battle of teasing, wills, and wits. It was enjoyable enough, usually, though Sesshoumaru did not care for the teasing. The servant offered the trinket to his mother and she examined it with, what Sesshoumaru knew was fake, shock and relief.

"Oh, my! I have been looking everywhere for this." She gave him a teasing smile. "Only the most generous of sons would come so far for something so trivial."

She tossed the trinket over her shoulder carelessly, her nearest retainer diving to catch it before it hit the ground without her seeming to notice or care.