the wind carries almost no sound on this steel-toed evening, save for one click of the sorceress’ tongue and the light tapping of her fan on her shoulder. she’s unamused as the final vestiges of winter have yet to leave japan to make way for spring, and finds herself clinging to the long sleeve of her opposite arm with her free hand. she’s not so easily susceptible to a cold this mild, she knows this, but she finds discomfort in it all the same.
kagura is a bright summer child, light and loose and fancy-free. the coolness of winter is not a battleground meant for the likes of her, and yet she dares to test it every day of her life. it is, after all, an inevitable season in the climate of japan, one which kagura cannot hope to escape - not unless she chooses to fly far, far away from her homeland, a possibility which she has entertained previously. she still thinks of it from time to time, to be perfectly honest: these lands hold such memories, and far too much blood soaked into the soil of her time here.
but this is home; it always has been, and it always will be. even the most wayward of travelers, whether bound to life on a wooden ship or on a fluffy white feather, have a port to which they will always return to.
she finds herself in one of her tainted battlegrounds of memory, the place where she and naraku’s illusory castle had once been. it had been a stage for an all-too-perfect scheme: pit wolf against dog, and the rest will come about naturally. on this day, her first appearance in front of her creator’s enemies, she learned once and for all what a despicable fiend her master truly had been. for her release from his grasp, she can never be too thankful. a plot as insidious as that one had been is below her, below the wind which chooses to meet its rivals head-on nine times out of ten. later, she had proven this on the wolf’s own skin, as she attacked him when naraku’s barrier was down and stole his two jewel shards.
freedom is something she had intended to clutch with her own two hands, but how foolish she had been to think it had even been possible. now, though, she finds herself truly liberated, and walking over soil which not even grass has grown over - over times long since passed, of when she was a woman in chains. but that’s not to say that she will hesitate to shed blood once more, should the situation call for it.
and as she stands there, solitary, deeply engrossed in her thoughts of bygone times, her features contort into a smirk as a familiar presence approaches. he’s followed her scent here, no doubt, yet kagura does not seem as fazed as perhaps she ought to have been. instead, she turns gracefully on her heels, stopping when she is facing the direction from which he will be arriving.
“long time no see,” it’s fortunate for koga that words cannot hold venom, for hers would certainly contain enough to rival even naraku’s potent miasma, “wolf boy.”