Kyouko Sakura took a step back, shock overriding her instincts and the talkative red head could only offer one thought about the impossible sight before her.
Going by the author's image you are being forcibly recruited to adopt a younger sister! And probably start talking to Mami again.
So, what does Ammy know that Homura knows. By each other's reactions to Kyubey and contracting, I think that they both understand that they know about the end state. And when/if do you think that the others will realize Homura is A) an orphan and B) that the wheelchair she loaned Sayaka used to be hers. Because honestly, Homura is a gold mine of information because Ammy needs Kyubey to translate. The trick is to realize that she is horribly broken, and let her get her guard down, because she doesn't spill those beans easily. (Mostly because the first one to go off badly is Mami, who is a perfect counter for her. That third timeline is the one that dealt the death blow to Homura, it just wasn't obvious at the time.)
And then its eyes brightened, an idea forming in its mind. Mami realized it too when she saw the three girls huddled far too close. A hoarse cry tore from her throat as the creature lunged, not at Homura or the goddess but at the three girls. She saw Hitomi move, trying to shield her friends. She heard the snapping of bones, saw the blood hitting Madoka's face.
Saw the mangled body of the wolf clutched in the foxs jaws as petals drifted down around them.
A look of confusion passed over the fox's face before with an almost casual shrug it bit down harder, prompting Amaterasu to let out a bloody scream before she smashed her mirror into the fox's throat. The demon let go, choking before a rain of bullets forced it further back. The now mostly red wolf struggled to stay standing, blood pouring from its wounds. Sayaka was curled up, sobbing. Hitomi was staring at the bloody wolf, completely frozen, Madoka tried to get close but she was kicked away by the goddess. Amaterasu then charged back into the fray, stumbling as she did so.
-----
"And there's Hitomi Shizuki, she lives here and without her we'd never have saved you." Hitomi jumped at her name, tearing her gaze away from Ammy. "I-I didn't do anything, y-you saved us."
Bolded parts, again, mine. Author had been giving some rather subtle hints. ^_^ Did an attempted act of heroism cause someone to see Ammy for what she really is?
Bolded parts, again, mine. Author had been giving some rather subtle hints. ^_^ I imagine an attempted act of heroism can cause someone to see Ammy for what she really is.
Might as well bring this up then; I might be wrong about this though. From the latest chapter:
"So let me get this straight." A scale covered girl huffed. "You get ice powers for a couple hours and you already figured out how to turn apple juice into a slushy. I spend the last few days as a mermaid and all I learn is that I can take naps in the bath without drowning."
Something I should mention because I see a lot of readers confused by this, Okami is about as accurate to the mythology as Disney's Hercules.
That's a bit of an unfair comparison, since Okami clearly knows and reveres it's source material. But they're willing to play fast, loose, and tongue-in-cheek with it. For example, the real-life legend of Princess Kaguya says that she was a girl from the moon found in a bamboo plant.
For the purpose of this fic Queen Himiko was a magical girl. However her spiritual power was so great that well... lets just say it didn't matter.
The fact there was a river of Lava flowing through her palace is evidence enough for that.
There's less of a conflict than people may think though, because in PMMM and reality Himiko died when she was in her 80's. This is also true for this fic as well. And yes, for the purpose of this fic that is why Issun completely did not trust Himiko until he laid eyes on her. He thought she was an old crone and was very pleasantly surprised when that turned out to not be the case.
On the other hand, most Magical Girls stagger along with little to no resources until they fall into despair, turn into a witch and destroy everything around themselves.
Kyouko's exploitation of her abilities and general bitchiness are her way of avoiding that fate.
In a way, she's actually very impressive. Her wish goes horribly wrong, and where most magical girls would turn into a witch, Kyouko turns into a bitch.
That's either strong will or bad spelling.
And yes, for the purpose of this fic that is why Issun completely did not trust Himiko until he laid eyes on her. He thought she was an old crone and was very pleasantly surprised when that turned out to not be the case.
I'm probably jumping the gun here, but I'd personally prefer it if at least a couple of the girls have no connection to Okami and its mythos, (direct connection I should say) and are just girls caught up in this situation but still being determined to help.
On the other hand, most Magical Girls stagger along with little to no resources until they fall into despair, turn into a witch and destroy everything around themselves.
Kyouko's exploitation of her abilities and general bitchiness are her way of avoiding that fate.
In a way, she's actually very impressive. Her wish goes horribly wrong, and where most magical girls would turn into a witch, Kyouko turns into a bitch.
That's either strong will or bad spelling.
Another reason she did not witch is, that while she lost her birth family, she still had Mami, who she considered family. Mami however has not realized that when Kyouko said she didn't see the two as friends, that she meant family. That being said, they have fought since then, and need a miracle worker to put the pieces back together. Which, Ammy is, so it might work out. Maybe, this still is PMMM
I'm probably jumping the gun here, but I'd personally prefer it if at least a couple of the girls have no connection to Okami and its mythos, (direct connection I should say) and are just girls caught up in this situation but still being determined to help.
I'll tell you right now since it isn't that big a spoiler but Madoka has absolutely no connection to anything in Okami through her bloodline or anything like that. Madoka herself, ignoring everything with Homura, is not "special" in any way. In fact she's the most normal out of the entire cast.
I'm probably jumping the gun here, but I'd personally prefer it if at least a couple of the girls have no connection to Okami and its mythos, (direct connection I should say) and are just girls caught up in this situation but still being determined to help.
And the author seemed to be implying that Hitomi DOES have a connection to the Okami side. Which is why I was stating my preference that not all the girls have a connection.
And the author seemed to be implying that Hitomi DOES have a connection to the Okami side. Which is why I was stating my preference that not all the girls have a connection.
Well, more of my general ignorance of Okami, and ancient Japanese history/folklore are on display then. At least I'm learning more and more. Thanks for the corrections and explanations universalperson and Hunter 1.
Or, if you prefer the PS2 version, Nakateleeli has you covered. He even did a couple things Chugga didn't, namely the Demon Trial Gates (Chugga said he would do them, but as bonus episodes; and as we all know, Chugga sucks at actually doing bonus episodes).
"Far, far away there is an ancient land of unmatched beauty and wealth. Situated between a mighty ocean and enormous mountain range it is a hidden jewel, cut off from any who would despoil this wondrous kingdom. When one first lays eyes on this land as the morning sun emerges from her slumber it almost feels as though their breath has been stolen from them by the impossible sight before them. The sun's very radiance seems to set the peaks alight as the snow catches its magnificence, a warm beacon that announce to all that they are welcome upon its shores. The ocean itself sparkles like gemstones, a shifting mass of colours that slowly guides you towards land. As you peer into its depths the water becomes alive with endless schools of fish and other life, a thriving ecosystem of creatures and plants that rivals its counterpart on land.
Forests of Kelp sway gently in the current as fish dart between their stalks while vibrant fields of coral display a bewildering array of colour. Like living clouds a rainbow of different species of fish move in schools of fathomless sizes, countless individuals moving as one while more solitary species dance around them like flowers caught in a maelstrom. Mollusks of every type lie on the ocean floor, snails and clams clinging to plants and the ocean floor, along with urchins, various worms, cucumbers and seastars. An octopus or eel may poke its head out from a crevice as a variety of squid or jellyfish drift by. Perhaps one might even spot a fearsome shark prowling for its next meal.
No signs of habitation can be seen, no lost fishing nets or sunken boats even as you near the impressive harbour your ship will be moored at, nor at the mouths of rivers flowing from farther inland. As you near land the first thing you will notice is the sweet scent of flowers on the wind, merging with that of the oceans to create an intoxicating aroma greater than any incense or perfume. Yet if you arrive at dawn something else will greet you as the sun finally climbs past those towering peaks.
As though a veil had been lifted by the sun the true treasure of the land will be revealed, an endless expanse of green that stretches as far as the eye can see, punctuated only by meadows and orchards filled with brilliant flowers. Pristine valleys carved by waterfalls are hidden by this endless expanse of foliage, the gentle rolling of hidden hills making it seem as though the land itself was breathing as you follow it with your eye. Occasionally this expanse of green will be broken by a cliff, ancient stone weathered down by the passage of time, their sheer size only visible when you see the ancient boughs they tower over. As the hills even out to plains the expanse of green becomes a sea of colour. Flowers of every shape bloom in such dizzying displays one could almost miss the animals darting from their hiding spots, no fear in their eyes as you intrude on their home. The buzzing of many insects becomes a lullaby that may lure travellers to rest amongst the flowering plants, only waking to find the sun had already completed her journey and sunk below the horizon.
Yet worry not, for as you walk forward with the forest at your back the meadows slowly transition to perfectly maintained orchards and fields, each bursting with produce. Waves of Millet wrap the land in a blanket of grain, swaying softly in a cool breeze. Shallow streams weaved between hillside paddies of rice, their flow coaxed by a complex irrigation system to feed paddies and fields with clean spring water. Small plots of cucumbers and eggplants, radishes and cabbages sit near their owners homes, tended with as much care as the fields. Orchards were interspersed throughout, filled with trees so laden with fruit their branches seemed to be ready to break from the weight. Golden skinned peaches, pears, Sudachi and others all ready to plucked and eaten by this land's inhabitants.
These same inhabitants it can be said are wonders onto themselves, more noble than any other you may have met. Every home is so well crafted, so spacious and large they may be palaces. The homes are all a rich creamy white, with dark crimson roofs, trimmings and pillars. Carved ornaments, inlays and painted designs adorn every available surface in manners specified to its owner's personal tastes. It's nearly impossible to find two homes that resemble the other's, even those of close family members seem to have their own unique twist on their homes architecture.
The streets themselves are made of stone, shaped and laid out in a seemingly uneven manner, with noticeable crevices between each stone. Water flows freely between them, fish and other small critters swimming freely inside. Occasionally the water may branch off, a river or pond beside a home being fed by this current, but mostly it leads to simple ponds at every bend in the road. These ponds are often the meeting spots of children searching for crayfish or catching small fish, their laughter filling the streets. Naturally, this strange design of a road, while it keeps it clean of waste, makes it clear the hierarchy of these people. The farther up "river" you go the more elaborate the homes, until it is nearly impossible to tell them apart from fortresses or temples. The greatest of these belong only to the great houses of this land, second only to their revered leader.
Yet when first arriving you may find it impossible to tell who are nobility and who isn't, for all wear such rich clothing and speak to each other as equals! One may see the lords of great houses strolling with their servants, not as their master but as friends on a morning stroll. Guests are treated as well as any master would be, regardless of the guests standing to the owner of the household. Servitude it seems in this land is based on honour, with all claiming they serve their master out of personal gratitude, fealty is given only when the master earns it.
With this in mind one must turn their eye to the one who dwells at the top of land. For beyond the great houses in the morning mists you may notice a towering peak arising from the center of the lake all these creeks and rivers draw from. Yet as the sun's heavenly glow burns this veil of mist away you will lay eyes on the pride and joy of this land, a burning jewel set into a lustrous crown. A castle, built over a mighty outcropping, its brilliant white walls almost reflecting the sun's light. Shaped like a star plucked from the heavens this multi-faceted castle is not simply to serve as a symbol of the lands wealth. For the ruler that resides under the ceramic tiled roof is as much a warrior as they are a beacon of hope for their people.
Like the rice paddies below it the walls are layered, terraced so that an attacking force will always have the low ground. Gardens, filled with peach trees laden with golden fruit, are interspersed regularly throughout the complex. Fresh water flows from the top of this outcropping from secret springs, small creeks winding their way through the complex. Every part of this fortress seems to be designed to show the strength of the people it was designed to defend, and how they will not fold easy to external threats.
Yet there is a quiet beauty about this castle, the statues, inlays and paintings that adorn much of it downplayed to the wealth it must have at its disposal. While one may be awed by the walls and bridges that they must walk past it isn't till upon entering that one may find their breath stolen from them. As you climb towards its peak one can almost feel as though they are being pushed to their knees, supplication drawn out not from splendor but the quiet tranquility of this castle. When you reach the top, home of the personal dwellings of this land's most humble and benign ruler, you will be invited in as an old friend, and perhaps it will dawn on you that the castle is not a show of force, but a reflection of the quiet strength, the great beauty and humble presence of the-"
The rest of the scroll was covered up by an errant sleeve of a young boy, clad in the finest robes one could ever see. He rested his chin on his hand, lost in thought. This boy, though he could only read a tenth of what was written, cared little for tales of this ancient land. For the wondrous castle spoken so reverently was one he currently lived in, reclaimed after much hardship even if any trace of the battle for it had been scrubbed away as if by a brush.
The lands spoken of he did not need a parchment to explain, he saw them as they were now. So much of it had been abandoned, the great homes and fields left in disrepair. Life and beauty may be returning to the land, its people returning yet so many would never again house its previous owners. The forests and oceans were no longer bright expanses but dark, frightening domains where the enemy had retreated and they still fought to drive them out. It would be many years before he would get to see his land even close to how it once was.
For he was the Young Prince, only child of the mighty Empress who ruled over it with grace and wisdom. The Empress who had the Young Prince tutored by her greatest servants, so that he may learn to be as great a ruler as she was to their people, a fact her son did not doubt in the slightest. But the Young Prince could not help but notice something as he ignored his lessons to go play with his friends, explore and go on adventures with them. His teachers children served him without question, often being dragged into his exploits. He cared deeply for them, honoured them as his trusted companions. Yet…. he could not help but notice a difference between all his friends and him, one that distracted him now.
For all of them, even those that had experienced most tragic lost, had two parents while he only had his mother. Surely though, he must have a father? Yet he had never seen any trace of him, any acknowledgement. But people must know, for his mother was the most well known person in all the land! Yet… he could not muster the courage to ask his mother's servants, for this question seemed like it should only be answered by one person and one person alone.
But he hadn't yet asked, for in many ways he was too intimidated by his mother. His mother, who had sent him away so soon after his birth and who he had only reunited with recently with. His mother, who had given orders and allowed events that hurt him, more than any blade could. His mother, who seemed more legend than person, an indomitable figure all knew and spoke with at length. A stranger to him in many ways, even though he shared her blood. Whose eyes he could never meet with his own, no matter how alike they were.
He played with the scarf wrapped around his throat, twisting it in his hands. He wanted to know, no… he needed to know. If only… if only to connect just a little bit with the parent he knew he had. He would approach her today, ask the question. There would be nothing that would sto-
A sharp crack interrupted the young princes thought process as a scroll bounced off the top of his skull. He looked upwards to see the stern looking face of his teacher who was sprouting a rather prominent frown present below their long mustache.
"You will not learn how to read and write by daydreaming, young master."
The young prince could only mutter an apology as he rubbed his head. "S-sorry, I got distracted…"
His teacher sighed, and the young prince could swear he heard his tutor say under his breath "Just like his mother…" before he snapped his fingers at two very similar looking individuals stacking scrolls in an adjacent room. The twins, his tutors children, nearly ran into each other and spilled the scrolls they were carrying in their haste to stand before their father. They peered up at him expectantly, their eyes only barely visible on the stack of scrolls in their hands. Their father gave an amused smile at his children's antics before composing himself. "The lesson is concluded for today, the young master is expected for martial training. Return his scrolls to their proper place, and then meet me in the gardens. Your mother will have a rather special lunch prepared for you as a treat for your hard work." The twins eyes expanded, and they nodded vigorously, nearly dropping their scrolls in the process.
The young Prince smiled, he was happy his friends were being rewarded so. Yet his smile faltered for a moment as a feeling of longing stole over him. His own mother's idea of a special lunch was rather different than what his friends were getting. Far more... adventurous, and only really prepared by his mother in the sense she had asked the chefs to make it. He… kinda wanted to have something small. A picnic prepared solely by his mother for them to spend time together. But she was busy with the war and everything else going on in their lands, she scarcely had time to even be in the castle as it is.
After giving his goodbyes to his friends and teacher the young priest began to leave, only to be stopped short by a stern voice telling him to wait. He turned around, seeing the bemused look of his teacher's face. "Do remember to change into your training clothes young master, I won't restore those clothes for you if you get them torn again."
He nodded quickly in understanding, and after giving his goodbyes again the young prince raced towards where his martial lessons would begin!
After changing into his training clothes the young prince made his way to the training grounds. Where his normal clothes were exorbitant and restrictive these were only simple trousers and a tunic, with sandals for his feet. He quite preferred them to the dress he was expected to wear because of his station. So much so when he snuck off to visit a friend's home he had often taken it or a similar dress along, much to the annoyance of his handlers when he returned them in rather poor condition. Still though, even if it was a hazard the Young Prince kept his scarf on him for its value was such he could never part with it for long.
His musing on his clothing were cut short however when he was accosted by three of his close friends, the triplets. Each had already selected a wooden training weapon for themselves, all of which were intended for individuals far older and taller than his three friends. They bounced around him, nearly tripping over themselves as they talked about what they wanted to practice today. Martial arts, various sword styles, each was talked with abandon. Of course the young Prince, having still not mastered reading, only knew of such styles from them so the conversation quickly became a demonstration, with his friends attempting to act out the techniques they had read about. The young Prince could only gasp in amazement as they regaled him with what they had learned and began to go through the motions. At least until he winced as they naturally failed at it. But the triplets were not stimied for long, quickly getting back on their feet for another go!
That is at least until a man cleared his throat behind them. Instantly the four of them were lined up in front of their teacher, giving a deep bow. Their teacher, a short twitchy man, was the triplets father and was known throughout the land as one of the greatest swordsmen who had ever lived. Often he had joined the Young Prince's mother on the field of battle, cutting down any foes who had sought her life with his massive sword. The fact he took time to teach them was a great honour, and one the Young Prince quite enjoyed.
He gave them all a beady eye, sizing them up for the day's training. When he barked out orders it was using their names, no formal titles given and they hastened to obey, grabbing their training weapons and lining up alongside their assigned partner. The lack of formality may have been quite shocking to an outsider, especially towards the Young Prince but as their teacher explained there was no room for noble titles on the battlefield. The only one they should listen to is their superior officer and while they were in his training hall his rank superseded all others! Unless of course that person was the Young Princes mother.
The Young Prince's teacher began explaining the regime for the day, elaborating that they had progressed in skill enough that they would be sparring with a partner today. The children all looked at each other in shock and joy. They had often spent their free time mock-sword fighting but to actually be requested to do so was hard to believe with all the times they had been told that it was far too dangerous for them to do! Instantly their hands tensed around their weapons handles as their teacher gave a small smile and continued.
He expected them to amass quite a considerable amount of bruises today, but also expected them to learn from it. Their goal was not to, of course, severely injure their partner but learn how to block and parry each other's moves. Not being hit was the goal today, and every bruise would be a reminder to get better, get faster. A good defense could often prove more valuable than any offensive technique. The Young Prince nodded, he knew that his teachers legendary technique was most often used to parry away devastating blows than cleave the heads off of enemies.
The Young Prince raised his wooden training sword, getting into a ready stance as his partner did the same, both of them waiting for the signal from their teacher. Yet… a sound stopped them short. Barely audible they strained to identify what it was. They realized quickly though that it was the swish of fine silks, the clink of jewelry and sound of slippered feet on wooden floors. Everyone in the courtyard bowed so deeply their noses scraped the ground as four women entered the training hall silently. Three of them stood with heads bowed, handmaidens to the powerful figure standing at the forefront of the group.
She was tall, whether through her actual height or by the authority her every movement seemed to command she seemed to tower over all present. Yet there was a quiet tranquility over her, a subtleness to her movements that at times made it seem she was an alabaster statue were it not for the fan she was gentling waving back and forth. Almond shaped eyes scanned the room with a half-lidded gaze, seemingly taking in every detail of the scene before her. The ends of the woman's lips twitched beneath a small, thin nose, her expression impossible to read. The woman's face was youthful, slim yet seemed to possess a fierceness that only came with experience and hardship. Two necklaces of beads wound themselves around the woman's pale neck.
Her long flowing hair reached to the woman's ankles, its end tied up more for convenience than style. Voluminous robes, all twelve layers of them, covered her body in white and red silk, intricate designs sewn or painted onto every layer, but none more elaborate than those on the final garment. So great were these robes that other than the woman's neck, head and the faintest sliver of a hand holding the great fan she carried it was nearly impossible to make out any definition to her.
Her handmaidens were dressed similar to her, though their robes were far simpler, and consisted of only a couple layers. Like their mistress reds and whites were the most common colours of their dress, yet each seemed to have added an individual tweak to their robes to make them stand out from their mistress. Most obviously despite common thought having them copy her each wore their hair differently. In many ways this seemed to elevate them above their role as handmaidens, more companions than servants to their mistress. Yet there was one thing that sat on their mistresses head that set her above all in the room. An elaborate crown of such intricate make, that signified for all to see that this woman was none other than their beloved Empress.
The Young Princes mother.
The Young Prince could feel a nervousness building in his stomach as he felt his mother's eyes bore into him, the silence weighing on them. That was until a sharp click set them all standing straight as his mother closed her fan with a flick of her wrist. A voice like the ocean, calm and serene yet filled with a fathomless strength, asked the Young Princes teacher what the lesson was for today, to which his teacher explained swiftly. Though his teacher and mother were old friends who had fought side by side recently there was no doubt that his mother was at the top of their hierarchy.
It was… intimidating for the young prince. Who his mother was, what he must live up to. The urge to continue not meeting her gaze was overpowering. Yet courage found its place in his heart, and the young prince lifted his head to set his golden eyes on his mother's own. It was then he realized his mother's true reason for being here, for her eyes were filled with a mischievous light, her serene face broken by a wide, cocky grin.
And then her robes slipped off her shoulders in a manner the Young Princes was sure would be impossible for anyone but his mother.
The triplets shrieked in shock and covered their eyes, their faces turning bright crimson. Their father too covered his eyes and shook his head, though the grin he was sporting dispelled any illusion of frustration. The handmaidens though could only sigh as they gathered up the robes, and tossed away crown and fan. The Young Prince however could only feel slightly nervous, his mother it seemed had wanted to make his lessons more entertaining. He could only suspect she had learned how distracted he was during reading classes and rushed over as soon as she could.
He did not mind it most of the time, for he was still a child and having a mother who always tried to be "Fun Mom" as his mother put it appealed greatly to his five year old sensibilities. Yet even his young eyes could see that his mother seemed to try too hard at it, and often her idea of fun seemed more appropriate for her friends than her young son.
His mother meanwhile appeared to have worn a sleeveless tunic and trousers that cut off just below her knees. She bounced on bare feet, prominent muscles flexing as she stretched out her arms. His mother looked more like she worked the fields then as someone who dealt with the intricacies of ruling their land, yet the faint jagged scars barely visible on her pale skin made it clear how she had gained such a figure.
A hand stretched out and ruffled his hair affectionately as his mother announced she intended to be the one sparring with her son. With no complaints voiced she walked over and picked out her own training weapon as the triplets and their father took up position on the other side of the training hall, the handmaidens watching from the sidelines. The Young Prince meanwhile got into a ready stance, one that was quickly corrected by his mother. He knew from previous times his mother had done this that she was an excellent teacher, even when she was trying to make it more entertaining for her son and he quickly obeyed her instructions.
His mother, sporting a dopey smile, took up position in front of him, readying her wooden blade and giving the okay for him to start. He lunged with speed unexpected for someone his age, he'd always had innate talent with martial skills. Yet his mother casually parried his blow, giving a slight tap on his back with the end of the wooden sword. Then like a graceful dancer she turned and brought the blade straight towards his midsection. "Clack!" Went the training swords as they met in the air, and his mother gave avid encouragement as he pushed it away and swung at her legs. His mother again deflected this with ease, and soon their training session became a dance of whirling wooden swords, the "Clack! Clack!" of their blades meeting setting the tempo. All the while his mother would give encouragement or advice.
Yet, even as his tiny muscles worked his mind began to wander. To earlier, and the question that had consumed him. Was not now the best time to ask it, while everyone else was distracted and his mother was standing directly in front of him? As he parried another blow, his path became clear and his tiny voice pierced through the clash of wood. "Mother?"
"Mmm?" His mother wordlessly answered as she met his training sword with his own before winding up for a lunge.
"Who is my fathe-" He could not complete his question as his mother's eyes went wide and the lunge she had intended to be soft sped forward with far too much force behind it. Acting in a panic he brought his own sword up to meet it, deflecting it away from his chest and straight into his face.
The Young Prince felt something crunch and pain exploded from his nose. Thick warm rivulets poured out, staining his clothes crimson. Something clattered to the floor as the handmaidens rushed to his side, trying to pry his hands away or dab at the blood. The young prince, being rather mature for his age promptly did as any five year old should do in such a situation.
"Uuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwhhhhhhhhh!!" He sobbed, tears joining the blood pouring down his face. Soothing voices tried to calm him and for a moment they worked, until he tried to breathe through his nose. Even louder cries spilled forth, and half blinded by tears he searched for the tried and proven source of comfort for a child.
He wanted his momm-
His mother was standing back from the scene, eyes wide and hands clapped over her mouth. She took one step back before the prince had to blink away the tears in his eyes but when he opened them she was gone, only a flash of hair vanishing through a door any hint to where she had vanished to.
It would be many hours until he stopped crying.
His mother did not visit him in the infirmary as his injury was healed, nor at any meals the following day. In fact it seemed as though she had vanished without a trace! The adults themselves seemed concerned, but they were quick to become silent when they realized he was listening in. It wasn't until he heard the foreigner speaking with one of his mother's attendants that he had learned what had happened after his mother vanished. The young prince did not like the foreigner very much, though it could not be said he hated the man. In fact, the young prince did not hate anybody. Yet as the young prince ran his hands through the scarf he could not help but think that HE was responsible for what happened to his friend. That it was his design. The sorrowful looks, full of regret, the man would cast at the prince when he thought the prince wasn't looking didn't help matters.
But the foreigner was close to his mother, and he knew exactly where his mother had gone. She had went to her room and has since refused to come out, only telling those who've been sent to fetch her to get her sake. The attendant mentioned that she had not seen the young princes mother so distraught since the time she had fled to the cave. The young prince could only scratch his head at that, he remembered from his lessons that once his mother had hid in a cave and nearly cast the land into darkness, but the reasons for why she had done so he did not know. Was she going to do so again?! Fear filled his heart, he did not want his mother to go away!
He shot off, slipping past every adult as he made his way to his mother's private quarters. He had never been in there before, and for a moment he felt like he was stumbling into somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. Yet as he slid his mother's bedroom door open and squeezed inside he pushed away such thoughts and braced himself for what lay beyond. His mother needed him! No matter what secrets lay inside!
Disappointingly, the room itself was quite spartan. Hardly what he'd have thought were the private quarters of someone as great as his mother. The room was large, undoubtedly, and opened up to a balcony that overlooked the entire kingdom but there really wasn't much inside it. There was a rather oversized bed, its blankets shoved haphazardly into a corner in an undignified lump, empty sake bottles littered the ground, as well as trays of untouched meals. Not to say there wasn't interesting objects there. A flash of movement caught his eye for instance, but it only turned out to be the Yata no Kagami, his mother's mirror, catching his reflection. What really drew his eye however was the suit of armour, his mother's, sitting on a stand in the side of the room. He had never seen her wear it before, yet its lacquered surface and heavy plates bore all the signs that it had been well used and recently. Yet there was a beauty to it, and he could see clearly that it had been custom made for his mother. The faceplate itself was not shaped like a man or demon as he had seen with other armour but that of a snarling beast, ferocious and noble. Resting in its own stand at the armour's base however was something that stole his breath away. His mother's sword, the Ame no Murakumo no Tsurugi, its golden surface close enough for him to touch. Getting near it he could feel his hair standing on end, power thrumming along its surface.
Yet there was one thing he wanted that wasn't in this room. His mother.
Had she left already? Would he never see her again? Chibiterasu's heart sank, and tears formed in his eyes.
He wanted his momma , where had she had gone? It wasn't her fault! It was an accident!
He just wanted to see his momma again!
A groan and cough nearly caused him to jump out of his skin as the pile of blankets in the corner shifted, a familiar form untangling themselves. They held a hand to their head, groaning and waving an arm as they muttered for Waka to leave them alone.
"Mo-Momma!" Chibiterasu cried, and rushed to his mother's side.
His mother started as her ears shot straight up, and she turned to stare at her son with wide eyes. For a moment neither moved, until tears formed at the corners of her golden eyes.
Chibiterasu, his heart set, did what he felt any child should do when they see their mother crying.
He ran forward and hugged her.
"Don't go away Momma!" He cried into her chest. "It was an accident! Please Momma… don't go…"
For a moment Amaterasu paused, unsure of what to do. Then, slowly, she tightly wrapped her arms around her son, burying her head into his hair and rocking him back and forth, whispering softly.
"I'm here… don't cry… I'll always be here for you…"
They stayed like that for a long time, before sharing a meal together. Chibiterasu stayed with his mother through the night, head resting in her lap as she gently stroked his hair and sung softly to him until she too nodded off.
From that day on Chibiterasu and Amaterasu's relationship was as it should have been from the start, that of a mother and her pup...
.
