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The sight before Subaru's grave isn't much, really—a few lanterns to make an aisle of sorts, plum blossoms she'd pressed into a scroll. Her hand rises gently to the enchanted plum branch that's been clipped into her hair for however many years it's been; her fingers twitch.
She wants to leave it with him, yet she doesn't. To do so would be an insult to his memory, and to everything she's lost besides him… That's what the gods and the villagers don't understand. Her failure to save him is raw, a monster's fire raging; the loss of the last connection to her past? That is swallowing her, and she's lost in sorrow for all of it.
She takes the hairpiece out, holds it to her cheek like as if it's the day he gave it to her over again.
Knowing she won't be disturbed here doesn't lighten the tunnel around her. If anything, it becomes a vignette—darker, pressing against her periphery like obsidian. It is night, and she cannot look upward to see stars. Their light is a blessing she does not deserve. She closes her eyes, wills them to remain dry. This night may be hers, but the morrow comes with more planning, more battles. It is her sacred duty as the Earth Dancer to focus so she can fulfil her half of the pact and save Azuma.
A dragon and their rider are one; your heartache becomes my own and the reverse is true as well. I may not speak, but I am with you. Mokoshiro's words do not ease the ache in her chest; instead, they sit there, a steadiness in her regrets. She's thankful he's close by.
She tries to speak—a choked, half-form sound emerges instead. Where is she to begin? How does she apologize to a spirit she cannot see? How does she petition the god of bonds to let her keep the precious ones she has left in spite of ending a man's life? She must continue, she must, she cannot falter now—she is the Earth Dancer. A village's last Searcher. No one would come after, and so she continues.
Kaguya tastes vanilla on the wind. Talons move along the ground behind her, cautious in their pace. The tengu stops before reaching the first pair of lanterns and waits.
There is no shifting. Simply… Holding still. As if considering her in a different light.
Eventually, Kaguya finds her voice. She does not turn around. "Kurama, you should be resting. It hasn't been that long since I found all of the Holy Shrines."
A clacking of beak—not irritated per se, but a protest nonetheless.
"It's—the village tradition. Holding vigil in the nighttime, making a promise to not fail anyone else. Subaru's—" her voice breaks, "—Subaru's journal. It has notes about funerary rites, prayers, archery… Feelings…" her breath shakes. "It's all I have left of everything, because I failed."
There. The shift. Kurama's footsteps are swift though he stops on the edge of an unspoken boundary, just visible in her periphery. "You were in an impossible position. No matter the choice you made, you would have lost something. To have even a single life in your hands in such a way… It's a terrible burden."
Kaguya looks at him; from where she kneels, his glasses reflect the glow of moonlight and she can't see his eyes. The hand she can see grips the fabric of his robe in a fist. She stands, turns her head toward him ever so slightly. To ask this is cruel, in a way, yet she cannot resist.
"Did the typhoon kill anyone, Kurama?"
He looks at her, scrutinizing what little of her face he can see. "They lost their homes; some of the monsters tamed for meat, fur, and other things weren't fast enough. Yet by some small mercy, not a single person died in the destruction."
"You're a god. Of course you could save them."
Kurama could almost choke on the cinnamon drying his mouth and throat. Hot, mixed with a seething iron. He tastes it, resists the urge to drown it with his own words.
Shadows of lantern flame play with her features, stretching her very soul along the stone. "I am no god."
The wind drapes itself upon his shoulders, heavier than the robes he wears in human form. It nudges him forward—one step, then another, until he stands beside her.
"You may not be a god, but you are a Dancer. You're connected to Azuma—to its lands, to us—" Kurama lifts his arm as a bird readying for flight, "—and to the heart. That is enough. You are enough, Kaguya."
Cinnamon and iron give way to mountain water, to the taste of rain upon the wind. There's something sweet, like a cordial or a fresh peach, just beneath it.
"Have you used my name before?" She shakes her head, brushes some hair from her face. "It's been so long since I've just been Kaguya."
Not that it was much of a loss. The woman she'd been that last day with Subaru was lying beside him in his grave.
"If I may… Could I show you something?"
She raises a brow, but nods.
He shifts again—all pride and elegance and feather-covered muscle with grace—and he drops down, waiting. It takes her a moment to realize he intends to take her for a flight.
"I won't be too heavy?"
It's definitely a scoff that comes from Kurama's beak, but there's a gentleness to his stance now.
"Alright then." Kaguya boards, easily finding her balance and a good hold so as not to hurt him. "Let's fly."
And fly they do, until nearly every island that composes Azuma's existence is barely visible. Kurama stops ascending and tilts his head upward with a low trill.
Kaguya looks up and weeps.
To the west, she sees the darkest ends of night. To the east, she sees the rising sun. Such contrast brings all sorts of feelings in her, and she puts a hand to her mouth in a poor attempt of keeping her sobs from tainting this holy space.
Kurama's wings beat softly—just enough to keep them steady. From him—Kaguya can feel it, the way she can feel all the world on her back—there is… Assurance. Conviction. Safety.
She shifts, bending forward to place her head between his wings upon his back. The light is blinding, and her eyes are heavy with grief.
Kaguya gives her gratitude to the wind.
Kurama trills, taking them back down to the gravesite. He lowers her down, but doesn't change back—he'll take her back to Autumn Village to rest. She gathers her things, smothers the fire, and again they fly. Once in front of the dragon shrine, she awaits a final shift. Shift he does, shaking his feathered hair just so and facing her with a softness.
"I do not expect this grief to leave you—not entirely," he says quietly, "but I hope that sight has adjusted the lens through which you see, if only a little."
Azuma. The love she has for it, and all those who live within its lands. It encompasses her in a way she does not expect, and she bows so deeply Kurama half expects her to fall over.
Rain water, fresh fruit, flowers. The feeling of cold air on skin as she rides Mokoshiro from island to island.
Kurama tastes it all, feels it all, and bows back. "You're quite welcome, Kaguya."
She sniffles before straightening up; leaves dance as she throws her arms around him. He doesn't expect such a tight embrace, but he reciprocates as best he can, not daring to do more.
Kaguya gives her hope to the wind.
It tastes of red beans, rice flour, and ice cream. Victory Stones. That her hope tastes of his favorite treat is not lost on him; he savors it, savors her warmth. Savors the tangle of all her emotions.
As the sun rises, the lens of grief adjusts—it expands, and finally, Kaguya feels as though she can breathe. She vows to one day tell the wind god everything she sees.