Miroku walked up to the sitting hanyou, enjoying the sunny Spring afternoon. InuYasha sat in the middle of the meadow, his back turned to the approaching monk, looking off into the distance. It was only the flick of InuYasha’s ear that signaled that the hanyou had noticed him coming.
The monk frowned a bit, sat down next to him with a jingle of his staff. “It’s a fine day,” he said.
“Keh,” InuYasha replied. He plucked a piece of grass and began twirling it in his fingers and sighed.
“Sango sent me out to invite you to dinner,” Miroku said.
“Keh.” The hanyou took a deep breath. “Hard to believe it’s been a year already. Look at this meadow. I mean, you remember how torn up it was after Naraku died.”
“But by the end of summer, the grasses had covered up the scars,” Miroku commented.
“If you walk it carefully, though, you can find the places where it got gouged. You just can’t see them.” InuYasha dropped the piece of grass. “Sometimes, when I sit here, I can still get a whiff of his scent.”
Miroku put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Come back with me, InuYasha.”
The hanyou nodded. “I wonder what she’s doing.” He stood up.
“I suspect,” said the monk as he stood up, “Kagome-sama’s doing the same thing. Remembering.”
Together, they walked down the path towards his house while the monk pondered the nature of time and scars, hope and friendship. Elsewhere, many years into the future, a graceful hand rubbed the scar on an ancient tree, and let a single tear fall, remembering silver hair and amber eyes.