Prompt 147: Loan/Lone
Title: Grave Marker
Prompt Used: lone
Author: britedark
Universe: pre-canon
Warnings: none
Word Count: 250
Summary: The story behind Izayoi's grave marker.
Author's Note: This will be added to Growing up Hanyo. It makes brief references to The Keenest Blade and A Sibling's Life.
Grave Marker
The lone figure trudged, puffing, carrying a stone at least half as long as he was tall. Periodically, he would set it down, turning about as ears and nose worked to strain any hint of danger from the air. Then, he would swipe an arm across his forehead, squat, and pick the stone up with a growl of effort.
As an incurious moon hovered over her reflection, the hanyo came huffing onto the grassy hillside above the pond. Setting the stone down, he went through his sniff-and-listen routine, before trotting down the slope to a leaning, weathered board. More thoroughly than the air, he sniffed the board, and its immediate surroundings. Satisfied, he tossed the board aside and began to dig. One shallow pit later, he walked back to the stone.
The moon had abandoned her reflection by the time he had it positioned to his satisfaction. Touching the characters his now-broken claws had scratched into the stone, he dropped down, leaned against it, whispered something-
And fell asleep.
A lone figure emerged from the shadows. Interpreting the characters only slightly lessened his puzzlement. He scorned the boy, for so much effort wasted on the dead. A clawed hand started to reach out, to wake the boy, to wreak his scorn.
But, in his mind, he could see the fearless mother standing before him, unyielding. He could see his father, weeping over the body of the weak, poisoned sister he’d been forced to slay.
He left, bewildered.
Prompt Used: lone
Author: britedark
Universe: pre-canon
Warnings: none
Word Count: 250
Summary: The story behind Izayoi's grave marker.
Author's Note: This will be added to Growing up Hanyo. It makes brief references to The Keenest Blade and A Sibling's Life.
Grave Marker
The lone figure trudged, puffing, carrying a stone at least half as long as he was tall. Periodically, he would set it down, turning about as ears and nose worked to strain any hint of danger from the air. Then, he would swipe an arm across his forehead, squat, and pick the stone up with a growl of effort.
As an incurious moon hovered over her reflection, the hanyo came huffing onto the grassy hillside above the pond. Setting the stone down, he went through his sniff-and-listen routine, before trotting down the slope to a leaning, weathered board. More thoroughly than the air, he sniffed the board, and its immediate surroundings. Satisfied, he tossed the board aside and began to dig. One shallow pit later, he walked back to the stone.
The moon had abandoned her reflection by the time he had it positioned to his satisfaction. Touching the characters his now-broken claws had scratched into the stone, he dropped down, leaned against it, whispered something-
And fell asleep.
A lone figure emerged from the shadows. Interpreting the characters only slightly lessened his puzzlement. He scorned the boy, for so much effort wasted on the dead. A clawed hand started to reach out, to wake the boy, to wreak his scorn.
But, in his mind, he could see the fearless mother standing before him, unyielding. He could see his father, weeping over the body of the weak, poisoned sister he’d been forced to slay.
He left, bewildered.