My Point of View

I barely had time to register the faint whisper of steel before something cold settled against my throat.

The edge rested just beneath my jaw.

Perfectly still.

Perfectly steady.

Sharp enough that I could feel every tiny movement of my pulse against it.

One wrong twitch...

And I'd open my own throat.

"...Well."

I let out a slow breath through my nose.

"You going to kill me?" I asked, unable to keep the dry humor from my voice. "Because let me tell you..."

A small grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"...I've already died once."

My eyes remained fixed ahead.

"And death didn't even want me."

Silence.

Not a single response.

The blade remained where it was.

Then...

It pressed just a little harder.

A sharp sting spread across my neck as the edge bit into my skin.

Warm blood slowly trickled beneath the collar of my shirt.

"...Guess that wasn't funny."

Still nothing.

Whoever stood behind me hadn't shifted their footing.

Hadn't spoken.

Hadn't even breathed loudly enough for me to hear.

Professional.

Very professional.

Slowly...

Very slowly...

I turned my head just enough to avoid slicing myself open further.

The blade followed the movement flawlessly, never leaving my neck.

My eyes finally found the person holding it.

I blinked.

"...Lady Sayuri?"

For just the briefest instant...

The woman before me looked almost identical to the healer I'd come to know over the past month.

Golden fox ears stood proudly atop her head, their white inner fur stirring gently in the mountain breeze. Nine magnificent tails fanned out behind her in a radiant halo of gold, each one thick, immaculate, and moving with an almost hypnotic grace.

Her kimono was every bit as elegant as Sayuri's. Deep sapphire blue layered with ivory and trimmed in intricate gold embroidery depicting foxes, blossoms, and flowing clouds. A broad midnight sash cinched her waist, tied with a beautifully crafted knot adorned by delicate tassels that swayed gently with every movement.

Yet...

She was unmistakably different.

Where Lady Sayuri carried herself with quiet patience...

This woman radiated command.

Her posture was straighter.

Sharper.

Every movement possessed the effortless confidence of someone who had spent centuries deciding whether others lived or died.

Her face looked younger than I expected for someone ancient enough to be Sayuri's mother, her features refined and graceful, but there was a harder edge to them. Time had not softened her.

It had tempered her.

One eye shimmered a brilliant sapphire blue.

The other burned a deep amber-gold.

Neither held warmth.

Only suspicion.

And beneath that...

Something far more dangerous.

Protectiveness.

She looked at me the way a wolf looked at someone wandering too close to its den.

The sword she held was impossibly elegant.

Its polished blade reflected the afternoon light like liquid silver.

One careless twitch...

And my head would probably separate from my shoulders before I realized she'd moved.

Then...

Without warning...

The blade vanished.

Not sheathed.

Gone.

One instant it rested against my throat.

The next...

Her hand was wrapped around the front of my tunic.

She stepped close enough that our faces were only inches apart.

"How..."

Her voice was low.

Controlled.

Dangerously calm.

"...do you know my daughter's name?"

My mind came to a complete stop.

"...What?"

Her grip tightened.

Not enough to hurt.

Enough to make the point.

"My daughter."

Each word was measured.

"Lady Sayuri."

Her ears lowered ever so slightly.

"You addressed me by her name."

Only then...

Did my brain finally catch up.

I looked at her.

Then at the sanctuary behind her.

Then back at her.

"...Wait."

I blinked several times.

"...You're..."

Understanding crashed into me all at once.

"...You're her mother."

Her expression didn't soften.

Not even a little.

"If you already knew that..."

Her tails spread slightly behind her.

"...Then answer my question."

The pressure around my shirt increased another fraction.

"How."

Another heartbeat.

"...Do you know..."

Another.

"...My daughter's name?"

I swallowed carefully.

Not because of the sword anymore.

Because somehow...

Somehow...

I had managed to greet one of the oldest and most dangerous Kitsune I'd ever met...

By accidentally calling her the wrong person.

"...In my defense..."

I said slowly.

"...The family resemblance is really strong."

She stared at me.

Completely expressionless.

For several long seconds...

Nothing happened.

Then one of her ears gave the faintest twitch.

Whether it was the beginning of amusement...

Or the last warning before she threw me off the mountain...

I honestly couldn't tell.

"I'll ask you one last time."

Her voice remained low.

Controlled.

But somehow...

That made it all the more intimidating.

"How..."

Her grip tightened ever so slightly against the front of my shirt.

"...do you know my daughter's name?"

The mountain breeze seemed to disappear.

Even the birds had gone silent.

I slowly raised both hands, palms open, making it abundantly clear I wasn't reaching for a weapon.

"...She's a friend."

I chose my words carefully.

"Well..."

I gave a sheepish smile.

"...Friend's probably an oversimplification. We've spent the last month working together. I've had tea with her nearly every evening. We've argued over engineering. Medical textbooks. Printing presses. Steam engines. The proper use of paper clips. It's been an interesting month."

Her expression never changed.

Not even a fraction.

"I find that..."

She said flatly.

"...extremely difficult to believe."

"...Why?"

"Because."

Her golden tails swayed once behind her.

"My daughter..."

She emphasized the word.

"...is ten years old."

Silence.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

My brain attempted to process what she'd just said.

It failed.

"...Come again?"

"My daughter is ten."

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

"...Ten?"

"Yes."

"...As in..."

I slowly held up both hands.

"...One..."

I raised a finger.

"...Zero?"

"Ten."

"...Years?"

"Years."

I looked at her.

Then toward the sanctuary.

Then back at her.

"...Lady..."

I scratched the side of my head.

"...Unless time itself has completely given up making sense..."

I frowned.

"...Lady Sayuri is over four hundred years old."

For the first time...

The woman's expression shifted.

Only slightly.

One elegant eyebrow rose.

"...Four hundred?"

"Give or take."

I shrugged awkwardly.

"I didn't exactly ask for her birth certificate."

Silence.

She slowly released my shirt.

Not because she trusted me.

Because...

Something wasn't adding up.

"...Explain."

I rubbed at my collar where she'd been holding me.

"About a month ago..."

I began carefully.

"I arrived at the Kitsune Sanctuary. I met Lady Shizuka. Then Lady Sayuri. The healer. The scholar. The woman who's read nearly half of a thousand page medical textbook in a month."

I couldn't help smiling.

"Golden hair. Nine tails. One blue eye. One crimson eye. Scary when she's disappointed. Somehow even scarier when she's curious."

A tiny pause.

"Terrible bedside manner."

I muttered.

"...Though she's gotten better."

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"...Describe her."

I frowned.

"I just did."

"Again."

"...Alright."

I counted on my fingers.

"Golden hair. Looks about twenty five. Nine golden tails. Wears black and crimson robes with silver fox embroidery. Usually smells faintly of tea, cedar, and medicinal herbs. Owns approximately enough medical scrolls to crush a horse. Has a habit of asking questions for three hours straight."

I shuddered dramatically.

"I swear she once diagnosed my sarcasm."

For just the briefest instant...

The woman in front of me looked...

Confused.

Not suspicious.

Confused.

"...She diagnosed..."

A pause.

"...Your sarcasm?"

"I wish I were joking."

I sighed.

"I asked one question. One. The next thing I knew I'd been answering hers for three hours. She filled enough scrolls to require another cabinet."

The woman's ears twitched.

Almost...

Almost as if she was trying very hard not to react.

"...She would do that."

She murmured.

I pointed at her.

"See! I knew it wasn't just me!"

She ignored that entirely.

Instead...

She looked at me with renewed scrutiny.

"...You truly know someone by that description?"

"I do."

"...And she calls herself..."

"Lady Sayuri."

Silence.

Long...

Uncomfortable...

Silence.

Then...

The woman quietly looked toward the sanctuary in the distance.

Her gaze became strangely distant.

"...Curious..."

She whispered.

I frowned.

"...Something wrong?"

She slowly looked back at me.

"...No."

Another pause.

"...Merely..."

For the first time since she'd appeared...

The hard edge in her expression cracked ever so slightly.

"...That description sounds remarkably like me."

I stared.

"...Well..."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"...That explains why I got you two mixed up."

"...No."

She said thoughtfully.

"...It explains something far more interesting."

My stomach sank.

"...Why do I suddenly not like where this conversation is going?"

The woman regarded me silently.

Her mismatched eyes searched my face with unnerving intensity, as though she were trying to determine whether I was lying... or simply didn't understand my own situation.

Finally...

She spoke.

"When..."

Her voice had lost its hostility.

It had become thoughtful.

"...Did you meet my daughter?"

I frowned.

"...About a month ago."

"No."

She shook her head.

"I am asking when."

"...A month ago?"

She sighed softly.

"Answer carefully."

"I am."

"No."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You are answering how long."

She took one slow step closer.

"I am asking... When."

The distinction finally clicked.

"Oh."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"...Well... I don't exactly know your calendar."

She waited patiently.

"It was spring. The cherry blossoms were blooming. I'd just completed a trial beneath the First Tree. I spent the next month helping improve the sanctuary. The elevator should've been finished a few weeks ago. The printing press is still being designed. The Camera Obscura was unveiled yesterday. The village council was preparing to discuss the future."

Her expression remained unreadable.

"...Continue."

"I don't really know what else to say. My friend Andy and I came here from another world. I met Lady Shizuka. Then Lady Sayuri. We've spent almost every evening drinking tea while talking about engineering, medicine, and history."

I smiled faintly.

"She's almost finished reading the medical textbook I gave her."

The woman didn't react.

Not outwardly.

But I noticed it.

The smallest tightening around her eyes.

"...Medical..."

She whispered.

"...Textbook?"

"Yeah. From Earth. About a thousand pages. I figured it'd keep her busy."

Silence.

Long...

Heavy...

Silence.

She slowly turned away from me.

Looking toward the distant mountains.

"...That cannot be."

She whispered.

I frowned.

"...What can't?"

"My daughter."

She answered quietly.

"...Cannot read."

I blinked.

"...Excuse me?"

"She is ten."

The words were calm.

Matter of fact.

"She only began formal instruction three years ago."

"...What?"

"She still struggles with advanced calligraphy."

"...No..."

I shook my head immediately.

"No, no, no. That's impossible. Lady Sayuri translated twenty six century old scrolls from memory. She debates anatomy. Designed improvements to my elevator. Corrected engineering flaws in my blueprints. Read four hundred pages of modern medicine in a month. She..."

I stopped.

The woman was staring at me.

Not with anger.

With...

Pity.

"...You're telling the truth."

She murmured.

"I..."

I blinked.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

She slowly closed her eyes.

"...Because..."

Her voice had become strangely distant.

"...Everything you describe..."

She looked toward the sanctuary beyond the valley.

"...Is the woman my daughter becomes."

Cold.

An icy chill crawled slowly down my spine.

"...Becomes?"

She nodded once.

"...Four centuries from now."

Everything...

Stopped.

The breeze.

The birds.

Even my own thoughts.

"...No."

I laughed nervously.

"...No."

She remained silent.

"...No."

I repeated.

"That's..."

I shook my head.

"...That's impossible."

"Is it?"

She asked gently.

"You have already told me that you crossed worlds. That you died. That you returned."

She looked directly into my eyes.

"...Why is time more difficult to believe?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because...

She had a point.

A terrifying point.

"No..."

I whispered.

"I..."

I looked around desperately.

The sanctuary.

The torii gates.

The forest.

Everything looked...

Familiar.

And yet...

Different.

The buildings...

There were fewer.

Several structures I'd grown accustomed to simply weren't there.

The massive library...

Gone.

The workshop where the generators had been built...

Never existed.

The elevator...

Of course it wasn't there.

It hadn't been built yet.

The great cedar near the eastern path...

It was barely more than a sapling.

My breathing grew shallow.

"...No..."

I whispered again.

The woman watched quietly.

Giving me time.

"I..."

I looked toward the mountain.

"The First Tree..."

"What about it?"

"It looked..."

I swallowed.

"...Healthier."

"So did the forest. The corruption..."

I turned back toward her.

"It wasn't here."

"No."

She answered.

"It has not yet begun."

"...Not...Yet?"

She nodded.

"It will."

"When?"

A shadow crossed her face.

"I do not know. But the signs have already begun."

My knees suddenly felt weak.

I leaned against the nearest stone lantern.

Trying to steady myself.

"...The trial..."

I whispered.

"Haruto. The City of Silence. The Hall of Echoes. The First Guardian..."

Pieces...

Thousands of tiny pieces...

Began fitting together.

Haruto had never once said...

When he lived.

Lady Sayuri had never told me...

When the corruption first appeared.

The ancient scrolls...

The founder...

Everything...

Everything had been speaking in centuries.

Not years.

Centuries.

"...Oh..."

The realization hit me with almost physical force.

"...Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

The woman tilted her head.

"...Alex?"

I looked at her.

My mind still trying to process what she'd said.

"...I've..."

I laughed once.

A hollow, disbelieving sound.

"...I've spent an entire month..."

I pointed vaguely toward the sanctuary.

"...Helping build things for people, who haven't even become the people I know yet."

She nodded slowly.

"...It would seem so."

I rubbed both hands over my face.

"...Lady Sayuri..."

I whispered.

"The woman I know... She's..."

I couldn't finish the sentence.

Because the image of the wise healer...

The woman who had challenged me.

Scolded me.

Shared tea with me every evening.

Laughed at my terrible jokes.

Suddenly...

She wasn't just Lady Sayuri anymore.

She was...

A little girl.

Somewhere...

Running through this very sanctuary.

Learning to read.

Learning medicine.

Growing into the woman I admired.

The thought...

Was surreal.

The woman before me watched the realization settle over me.

Then...

For the first time since we'd met...

She smiled.

It wasn't large.

It wasn't dramatic.

Just...

Warm.

"...Welcome..."

She said softly.

"...To the past, Alex."

"How exactly do you know my name?" I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly. "I don't remember introducing myself."

She regarded me for a brief moment.

Then...

One elegant finger lifted.

Pointing directly at my chest.

"...You did."

I frowned.

"...I did?"

She gave a small nod.

"Not with your voice. Your clothing."

I blinked.

"...My clothing?"

"Your name is embroidered upon it."

For several long seconds...

I simply stared at her.

Then slowly looked down.

Sure enough...

Just above the inside edge of my leather vest, where I'd never paid much attention, neat black stitching spelled out two simple words.

Alex Orr

It had been sewn there months ago by Eleanor after she'd finished repairing the garment.

Her reasoning had been simple.

"If you ever lose it, somebody can return it."

I'd thought it was practical.

Now...

It was betraying me.

"...Oh."

Silence.

"...Right."

I stared at the stitching for another heartbeat.

Then let out a long, defeated sigh.

"...I'm an idiot."

One of her ears twitched.

"I would not have chosen those words."

"I would've."

I rubbed the back of my neck, laughing quietly at myself.

"I completely forgot that was there."

She studied me curiously.

"You wear your own name upon your clothing, and yet forgot?"

"I've been wearing this outfit almost every day for months."

I shrugged helplessly.

"After a while, you stop noticing things that are always there."

She considered that.

"...Curious."

"It really is."

I tapped the embroidered name with one finger.

"Honestly, I spent the last minute wondering if you'd somehow read my mind."

Her expression remained perfectly composed.

"I have no such ability."

"...Good."

I chuckled.

"That would've made this conversation a whole lot more awkward."

A faint smile touched the corner of her lips.

"Instead..."

She folded her hands neatly into her sleeves.

"...You introduced yourself before saying a single word."

I groaned.

"...Apparently I did."

She inclined her head ever so slightly.

"It was... efficient."

I pointed at her.

"...That almost sounded like a joke."

"It was."

I blinked.

"...Really?"

"Yes."

I couldn't help laughing.

"...Lady Sayuri definitely inherited her dry sense of humor from someone."

For just an instant...

The woman's smile became a little more genuine.

"So I'm being told."

I glanced down at the embroidered name one last time before shaking my head.

"...Well..."

I muttered.

"...If I ever get thrown four hundred years into the past again..."

I lightly tugged at the edge of my vest.

"...First thing I'm doing is unpicking my own name."

The woman regarded me with quiet curiosity.

"...Again?"

I froze.

"...What?"

"You said..."

She repeated calmly.

"...'If I ever get thrown four hundred years into the past again.'"

"...Did I?"

"You did."

"...Huh."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"I guess that slipped out."

"It implies you believe your current situation to be temporary."

I shrugged.

"I'd like to think it is."

"And if it is not?"

That question lingered.

Longer than I expected.

"...Then..."

I looked toward the distant mountains.

"...I'll figure something out."

"You answer uncertainty rather casually."

"I've had practice."

She studied me for another moment before slowly beginning to walk down the forest path.

She didn't tell me to follow.

She simply...

Walked.

After a moment's hesitation, I fell into step beside her.

The forest around us was beautiful.

Massive cedars stretched toward the heavens, their branches filtering the afternoon sunlight into scattered beams that danced across the moss-covered ground.

Birdsong echoed overhead.

Somewhere nearby, a stream babbled quietly over smooth stones.

It was...

Peaceful.

Strangely so.

The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable.

It simply existed.

Eventually...

She broke it.

"You truly believe my daughter is over four hundred years old."

"I know she is."

"You speak with remarkable certainty."

"I spent an entire month with her."

"You could be mistaken."

"I could."

I admitted.

"But I don't think I am."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"...Describe her."

Again?

I smiled faintly.

"I thought we already covered this."

"We covered her appearance."

She replied.

"I wish to know, who she becomes."

I glanced at her.

There was no suspicion in her voice anymore.

Only...

A mother's curiosity.

I smiled.

"...She's terrifying."

The woman blinked.

"...Terrifying?"

"Oh, absolutely."

I nodded with complete confidence.

"I've fought monsters. Bandits. Corrupted spirits. I even died once."

I held up a finger.

"But nothing..."

I emphasized the word.

"...Prepared me for sitting across from your daughter while she asked me medical questions for three straight hours."

For the first time...

A genuine laugh escaped her.

Short.

Soft.

But unmistakable.

"...She truly does that?"

"Worse."

I groaned dramatically.

"I answered so many questions I started wondering if I'd accidentally enrolled in medical school."

"What sort of questions?"

"Oh..."

I counted on my fingers.

"'How often do you meditate? Have your senses changed? Describe the emotional state preceding your death. Estimate the number of breaths between cardiac arrest and soul separation.'"

The woman stared.

"...Soul..."

She repeated.

"...Separation?"

"I told her I had no idea."

"What did she say?"

"'Estimate.'"

Another laugh escaped the woman.

This one slightly louder.

"I eventually asked if I could ask her a question."

"And?"

I sighed.

"Turns out that was part of the test."

"...A test?"

"She wanted to see how long my patience would last."

The woman slowly covered her mouth with one sleeve.

Not to hide a smile.

To hide laughter.

"...That..."

She shook her head.

"...Sounds exactly like her father."

I blinked.

"...Her father?"

The woman nodded.

"He often tested his students in similar ways."

"I've never met him."

"You would have liked him."

Her voice softened.

"He enjoyed people who challenged him."

"I don't know about challenging."

I smiled.

"I mostly confused her."

"So I gathered."

We continued walking.

The forest gradually opened around us.

Ahead...

A crystal-clear stream wound its way through the trees.

The woman stopped beside it.

Looking down at her reflection in the water.

"...Tell me."

She said quietly.

"Does she smile?"

I looked at her.

"What?"

"My daughter."

She didn't look away from the water.

"As she grows older, does she smile?"

The question caught me completely off guard.

I thought back over the past month.

Lady Sayuri reading beneath electric light.

Laughing at my paper clip explanation.

Rolling her eyes at my terrible jokes.

Standing beside the Camera Obscura.

Holding the medical textbook I'd given her.

The elevator.

The tea.

The evenings spent talking until sunset.

I couldn't help smiling.

"...Not often."

The woman's shoulders lowered slightly.

"But..."

I continued.

"When she does..."

I laughed quietly.

"It's worth waiting for."

The woman finally looked at me.

"...How so?"

"Because you know she means it."

I crouched beside the stream, picking up a smooth stone before tossing it gently across the water.

It skipped four times.

"She's not someone who smiles out of politeness. Or obligation. When she laughs, it's genuine."

I smiled at the memory.

"I spent an entire month trying to make her laugh."

"You tried?"

"I made it a personal challenge."

"...Did you succeed?"

"I did."

"Three times."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Only three?"

"I was keeping count."

I admitted.

"The first time was a joke. The second, I suggested building an elevator because my ribs hurt."

Another tiny smile crossed her face.

"And the third?"

I grinned.

"I introduced her to the concept of paper clips."

She stared at me.

"...Paper...Clips."

"Yep."

Silence.

"...What are paper clips?"

I laughed.

"...That's almost exactly what she asked."

For a moment...

Neither of us spoke.

The breeze rustled the trees overhead.

The stream continued its gentle song.

Finally...

The woman smiled.

Not the guarded smile she'd worn before.

Not the polite smile of a noble.

A mother's smile.

Quiet.

Proud.

"...Thank you."

I looked at her.

"For what?"

She gazed downstream, where the sunlight glittered across the water.

"...For telling me..."

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"...That my daughter grows up happy."

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it again.

Because...

I realized something.

To me...

Lady Sayuri was an ancient healer.

A scholar.

A mentor.

To the woman standing beside me...

She was still just...

Her little girl.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The forest seemed content to fill the silence for us.

The stream whispered over smooth stones.

A cool breeze carried the scent of cedar and wildflowers through the trees.

High above, sunlight filtered through the canopy in shimmering beams that danced across the forest floor.

I glanced at the woman standing beside me.

She still looked toward the water.

Though now...

There was warmth in her expression.

The kind only a parent could wear after hearing their child would grow into someone they could be proud of.

That look...

Reminded me of something.

A conversation.

"Four hundred years..."

Lady Sayuri had stood beside the Camera Obscura, staring at the image upon the ground glass.

"And I cannot remember my mother's face."

She hadn't cried.

She hadn't even sounded close to tears.

She had simply...

Accepted it.

"I remember her voice. I remember her laugh. I remember the warmth of her embrace."

Her fingertips had hovered just above the glowing image.

"But her face..."

She had closed her eyes.

"Has become little more than fragments."

I slowly blinked.

"...Oh."

The woman beside me looked over.

"What is it?"

I stared at her.

Golden hair.

The sapphire and amber eyes.

The elegant robes.

The gentle expression she'd only just begun to show.

Four hundred years from now...

Lady Sayuri would barely remember her face.

And standing here...

I could do something about it.

"...I..."

I reached toward one of the pouches on my belt.

The woman immediately stiffened.

Not aggressively.

Cautiously.

Her hand settled near the hilt of her sword.

I noticed immediately.

"Easy."

I smiled reassuringly.

"I'm not drawing a weapon."

She remained watchful.

"What are you retrieving?"

"Something..."

I carefully pulled the object free.

"...that might make your daughter very happy someday."

She frowned.

The black rectangle resting in my hand looked utterly alien against the backdrop of the ancient forest.

Smooth black glass.

Rounded edges.

No visible enchantments.

No runes.

No moving parts.

She studied it cautiously.

"...What is it?"

"My phone."

Blank silence.

"I have absolutely no idea what that means."

"I figured."

I chuckled.

"It's... another piece of technology from my world."

She slowly walked closer.

Her curiosity overcoming her caution.

"...Technology."

"Right."

I turned it over once before pressing the button along the side.

The screen illuminated instantly.

She stopped walking.

The soft glow reflected in her eyes.

"...Light."

She whispered.

"Without flame."

"No magic."

I added.

She remained silent.

Watching the screen brighten.

Images appeared.

Icons.

Words.

She couldn't read them.

But that hardly mattered.

The device itself was astonishing enough.

"...Remarkable."

"I was hoping it'd still have enough battery."

I muttered.

She looked at me.

"...Battery?"

"I'll explain another century."

She wisely decided not to pursue that line of questioning.

Instead...

Her eyes remained fixed upon the glowing screen.

"What does it do?"

"...A lot."

I admitted.

"But right now..."

I tapped the camera icon.

"...One thing in particular."

The display shifted.

Instead of words...

The forest appeared.

Perfectly.

Live.

The stream.

The trees.

The woman herself.

She stared.

"...Impossible."

I smiled.

"I hear that a lot."

She looked back and forth between herself...

And the tiny moving image on the screen.

"...It follows me."

"It does."

She slowly raised one hand.

The image copied the movement instantly.

She lowered it.

It lowered.

"...There is no delay."

"No."

"...No spell circle."

"No."

"...No illusion."

"No."

She looked genuinely fascinated.

"What is this?"

"It's called a camera."

I smiled softly.

"It lets me make portraits."

She tilted her head.

"...Portraits?"

"Instant ones."

She looked unconvinced.

"...Instant?"

I nodded.

"You remember what I told you about the Camera Obscura?"

"You mentioned it. But I do not know what it does.

"It allows light to form an image. My world eventually figured out how to make that image permanent."

I looked at her.

"Almost instantly."

Silence.

"...You are suggesting..."

She spoke carefully.

"...that this object can paint, without a painter? Impossible."

"Probably."

I admitted.

"But it does it anyway."

I hesitated.

Then looked at her.

"...Would it be alright..."

She waited patiently.

"...If I took your picture?"

Her ears twitched.

"My...Picture?"

"So your daughter..."

I smiled gently.

"...Won't have to remember your face from fragments."

The words hung in the air.

The breeze itself seemed to stop.

She looked at me.

Then slowly looked toward the stream.

"...You've just told me..."

She whispered.

"...That she forgets."

"Not completely."

I answered softly.

"But enough that it hurts."

She closed her eyes.

For several long moments...

She said nothing.

Finally...

She nodded.

"...Very well."

I smiled.

"Thank you."

She straightened slightly.

Instinctively adopting the composed posture of a noblewoman.

Then paused.

"...Do I remain still?"

I couldn't help laughing.

"You've never had your picture taken before."

"I have no idea what that sentence means."

"...Fair."

I adjusted the phone.

"No need to be stiff."

"Just..."

I smiled.

"...Be yourself."

She looked at me with mild confusion.

"I am."

"...Good point."

That earned the faintest hint of amusement.

She relaxed just a little.

The hardness left her shoulders.

A gentle breeze caught several strands of her golden hair, carrying them across one side of her face.

Sunlight filtered through the cedar branches overhead, painting soft patterns across her robes.

She looked...

Peaceful.

Not like an ancient noble.

Not like a powerful Kitsune.

Simply...

A mother.

I raised the phone.

"Ready?"

She gave a small nod.

"...Ready."

I touched the shutter.

The sound was barely audible.

Yet on the screen...

There she was.

Perfectly preserved.

I smiled.

"...There."

She stepped closer.

"...May I?"

"Of course."

I turned the screen toward her.

She stared.

For a long...

Long time.

At herself.

Not an artist's interpretation.

Not a painted likeness.

Not a memory.

Herself.

Exactly as she was.

Her hand slowly rose toward the screen.

Stopping just short of touching it.

"...It..."

Her voice caught for the first time since we'd met.

"...It truly is me."

"It is."

She looked back at me.

"...And this..."

She glanced down again.

"...Can become another?"

I nodded.

"As many as I want."

I swiped gently.

The image disappeared.

Replaced by another.

Then another.

Pictures from Earth.

Friends.

Landscapes.

Animals.

Her eyes widened slightly.

"...You carry..."

She whispered.

"...Memories."

I smiled.

"...Yeah. I do."

Lady Sayuri's mother remained perfectly still.

Not because she was uncertain.

Because she couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from the image.

She studied every detail.

The loose strands of golden hair caught by the breeze.

The embroidered foxes upon her robes.

Even the faint smile resting on her own face.

A smile she seemed almost surprised to discover she'd been wearing.

"...Remarkable."

She whispered.

"It truly captures..."

She hesitated.

"...Everything."

"It tries to."

I answered softly.

"The camera doesn't decide what's beautiful. It simply remembers what was there."

She slowly nodded.

"...I understand why my daughter admired your other device so greatly."

"The Camera Obscura?"

"Yes."

"But this..."

Her thumb hovered just above the glass.

"...This feels different."

"It is."

I admitted.

"The Camera Obscura lets people see."

I glanced at the phone.

"This lets them keep what they saw."

She was silent again.

Then...

"...May I ask something?"

"Of course."

"...How long will this portrait survive?"

I smiled.

"If I don't accidentally throw my phone off a cliff..."

She looked at me.

"...Years. Many years. Potentially decades."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"...Without fading?"

"It'll look exactly like this."

She looked back down.

"...Extraordinary."

She slowly handed the phone back.

I took it carefully.

Then paused.

"...Actually..."

"Hm?"

"You don't have to look so serious."

She blinked.

"...Serious?"

"I mean..."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Most portraits are happier if the person smiles."

"I was smiling."

"...A little."

She looked genuinely confused.

"I believed I was."

I couldn't help chuckling.

"You were. But..."

I held up the phone again.

"I've seen a better one."

That earned a curious tilt of her head.

"...When?"

"When you were talking about Lady Sayuri."

Silence.

She looked away.

"I was not aware."

"I don't think you were."

I smiled warmly.

"It just happened."

She considered that.

"...Very well."

She straightened once more.

Then...

Very deliberately...

She tried to smile.

It was...

Painfully forced.

Like someone who had read about smiling in a book but had never actually done it.

I immediately burst out laughing.

"...No?"

She lowered the smile.

"...Was it incorrect?"

"It looked like you were threatening the forest."

"...I see."

She sounded completely serious.

Which only made me laugh harder.

"I apologize."

"You don't have to apologize."

I waved both hands.

"It was adorable."

"...Adorable."

She repeated the unfamiliar description with obvious skepticism.

"I have not been called that before."

"I'd imagine not."

She looked thoughtfully toward the stream.

"...Then what should I do?"

I shrugged.

"Nothing."

"...Nothing?"

"Just..."

I lowered the phone.

"Think about your daughter."

She looked at me.

"...That's all?"

"That's all."

For several heartbeats...

She simply stood there.

The breeze gently stirred her long hair once more.

Her eyes drifted toward the distant sanctuary hidden among the trees.

Toward the place where...

Somewhere...

A ten year old girl was probably studying calligraphy.

Or medicine.

Or asking endless questions.

A tiny smile...

Completely unconscious...

Appeared.

Not large.

Not dramatic.

Simply...

Real.

I quietly raised the phone.

She looked back.

"...Was that it?"

I smiled as I lowered the device.

"That was it."

"...You took another."

"I did."

"...Without telling me."

"If I'd warned you..."

I turned the screen toward her.

"...You would've tried."

She looked.

Then stopped breathing.

The second portrait was completely different.

Gone was the composed noble.

Gone was the guarded expression.

Instead...

There stood a mother.

Soft eyes.

A warm smile.

Hope.

Love.

It wasn't perfect because of the lighting.

Or the composition.

It was perfect because...

For one brief instant...

She'd forgotten anyone was watching.

"...Oh..."

She whispered.

Her fingertips trembled ever so slightly.

"...That..."

She reached toward the screen.

Stopping just short once again.

"...Is how I looked?"

"It is."

"I..."

Her voice faltered.

"...I look..."

She searched for the word.

"...Happy."

I smiled.

"You were."

She continued staring.

"...I had forgotten."

The words were almost too quiet to hear.

I looked at the photograph.

Then back at her.

"...Can I tell you something?"

She nodded.

"My world has a saying."

She waited.

"The best pictures..."

I looked down at the phone.

"...Are the ones people didn't know were being taken."

She nodded slowly.

"...Because they are honest."

"Exactly."

Silence settled comfortably between us.

Eventually...

She looked up again.

"...Alex."

"Yeah?"

"...Would it be selfish..."

She hesitated.

"...To ask for one more?"

I smiled.

"Not at all. What sort of portrait?"

She turned slightly toward the stream.

"...There."

Following her gaze...

I noticed an ancient cedar leaning out over the water.

Its roots wrapped around a weathered stone.

Wildflowers bloomed beneath its branches.

"This tree..."

She said quietly.

"...My husband planted it."

I looked back at her.

"...Really?"

She nodded.

"The day Sayuri was born."

A lump formed in my throat.

"...Then..."

I smiled gently.

"...Let's make sure both of you are remembered."

Without another word...

She walked toward the cedar.

Resting one hand lightly against its trunk.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves above.

Scattering countless golden flecks across her robes.

The stream reflected the light back toward her.

For just a moment...

The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.

I raised the phone once more.

Not rushing.

Waiting.

Because over the last month...

Lady Sayuri had taught me something important.

Some moments...

Could not be forced.

They simply...

Arrived.

And when they did...

All you had to do...

Was remember them.

I didn't press the shutter.

Not yet.

Some moments...

Deserved patience.

Lady Sayuri's mother stood with one hand resting against the weathered cedar.

The bark was rough beneath her fingertips, worn smooth in places by centuries of rain and wind.

The tree itself was magnificent.

Its trunk required three grown men to encircle.

Its branches stretched high overhead, filtering the afternoon sun into countless shafts of warm gold.

Wildflowers carpeted the ground around its roots.

The stream beside it reflected the light like flowing crystal.

She smiled softly.

Not at me.

Not at the phone.

At the tree.

"...He always said..."

Her voice was barely above the murmur of the water.

"...that it would outlive us."

I lowered the phone slightly.

"Your husband?"

She nodded.

"He planted it the morning our daughter was born."

Her fingers gently traced one of the grooves in the bark.

"He insisted that every child should have a tree."

I smiled.

"Why?"

She laughed quietly.

"'Because children grow too quickly.'"

Her imitation of his voice carried obvious affection.

"'Trees remind us to slow down.'"

Silence settled over us again.

"He spent half the morning digging the hole."

She continued.

"I spent the other half telling him he was digging it too close to the stream."

I chuckled.

"Who won?"

"He ignored me."

She smiled.

"It turns out..."

She looked up through the branches.

"...he was right."

The smile lingered.

"I've watched this tree through every season for over ten years. In spring, the blossoms return. In summer, it shades the stream. In autumn, it turns the most beautiful shade of amber. In winter, it stands."

Her eyes softened.

"No matter what happens, it stands."

I slowly raised the phone again.

"...Mind if I ask something?"

She looked over.

"You may."

"Would you mind..."

I hesitated.

"...telling me your name?"

For the first time since we'd met...

She looked almost embarrassed.

"I suppose..."

She smiled faintly.

"...I have been rather rude."

She inclined her head gracefully.

"I am Akane."

I smiled.

"It's a pleasure to properly meet you."

"And you, Alex."

She looked thoughtfully at the phone.

"...Does your world always preserve the names alongside the portraits?"

"Usually. Sometimes dates too."

She nodded slowly.

"...Good."

She rested both hands before her.

"If my daughter truly remembers only fragments..."

Her voice became quiet.

"...Then let there be no doubt whose face she sees."

I swallowed.

"I promise."

She looked back toward the tree.

"...Thank you."

The breeze strengthened.

Golden strands of hair danced freely around her shoulders.

One of her nine tails curled gently around the tree's roots as though embracing them.

She closed her eyes.

Not posing.

Remembering.

I didn't interrupt.

Then...

Very softly...

She spoke.

"Sayuri used to hide behind this tree."

A smile touched my lips.

"I can believe that."

"When she thought she'd gotten into trouble..."

Akane laughed under her breath.

"...She believed that if she couldn't see me, then I couldn't see her."

I laughed.

"That's surprisingly universal."

"Oh?"

"I've seen children back home do the exact same thing."

She opened one eye.

"They eventually learn?"

"Not really."

I admitted.

"They just become adults."

That earned a genuine laugh.

One that echoed softly beneath the cedar branches.

The shutter sounded almost silently.

She didn't even notice.

Instead...

She continued speaking.

"When she was six..."

Akane smiled to herself.

"...She declared she would become the greatest healer our people had ever known."

I couldn't help smiling wider.

"She succeeded."

Akane looked at me.

"...Truly?"

"I've met healers."

I nodded.

"Lots of them. But Lady Sayuri..."

I looked toward the mountains beyond the trees.

"...She doesn't just heal wounds."

"What does she heal?"

I thought for a long moment.

"...People."

Akane's expression softened.

"I've watched her spend hours helping someone who couldn't forgive themselves."

I smiled faintly.

"She has this way of asking questions..."

I laughed.

"Lots of questions., until people realize the answer themselves."

Akane chuckled knowingly.

"She inherited that from her grandfather."

"I believe it. As I've said, I once spent three hours answering medical questions."

Akane covered her smile with one sleeve.

"Then you did remarkably well."

"I did?"

"Her grandfather once questioned a traveling physician for nearly eleven hours."

I stared.

"...Eleven?"

"He required two meal breaks."

I burst out laughing.

"...Your family is terrifying."

"So I've been told."

She looked toward the cedar again.

"...It comforts me."

"What does?"

"Knowing..."

She rested her palm against the trunk.

"...That she becomes someone worthy of being remembered."

I slowly lowered the phone.

"...She does. Very much so."

Akane nodded quietly.

"Then..."

She smiled.

"...Would you show me?"

I blinked.

"The photographs?"

"Yes."

I walked over beside her.

Turning the phone so we could both see.

The first picture appeared.

Elegant.

Composed.

Beautiful.

She nodded politely.

"...A formal portrait."

"Pretty much."

I swiped.

The second appeared.

The candid smile.

The warmth.

The sunlight filtering through her hair.

She stopped breathing.

"...That..."

She whispered.

"...That one."

Her fingertips hovered over the image.

"I had forgotten..."

She smiled sadly.

"...That I smile like my daughter."

I looked between the photograph...

And her.

Then...

Back again.

She was right.

It wasn't merely resemblance anymore.

Now that I'd seen them side by side...

The similarities were unmistakable.

The slight upward curve at one corner of the mouth.

The gentle softness around the eyes.

Even the way happiness seemed almost shy...

As though neither woman was entirely accustomed to wearing it.

I smiled.

"...Yeah. You really do."

Akane remained quiet for a long time.

Then she looked at me.

"...Alex."

"Yeah?"

"If..."

She chose her words carefully.

"...If you ever return to my daughter's time..."

I already knew what she was going to ask.

She didn't have to finish.

I nodded.

"I'll give them to her."

Emotion flickered across her face.

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"...Thank you."

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The mountain breeze whispered through the cedar branches overhead, carrying the earthy scent of moss and damp bark.

Somewhere nearby, a bird called once before taking flight.

The stream continued its endless journey downhill, its gentle murmur filling the silence without ever feeling intrusive.

Akane remained looking at the photograph on my phone.

Not staring...

Remembering.

She slowly reached out, stopping just short of the glass.

"...It truly captured a single moment."

"It did."

"...Exactly as it happened."

"That's the goal."

She smiled sadly.

"...Painters always change something."

I nodded.

"They don't mean to."

"No. They paint what they remember."

She looked back toward the cedar.

"And memory, is imperfect."

"It is."

She sighed quietly.

"I've painted Sayuri four times."

I looked over.

"Really?"

She nodded.

"Once as an infant. Again when she was five. Then eight. And most recently..."

She smiled.

"...Last winter."

I blinked.

"You paint?"

"A little."

"I wouldn't call it art."

She laughed softly.

"My husband always disagreed."

Her expression turned nostalgic again.

"He insisted I underestimated everything I made."

I smiled.

"I know people like that."

"Oh?"

"My grandmother."

I leaned against the tree.

"She used to quilt."

Akane tilted her head.

"...Quilt?"

"It's..."

I searched for the right explanation.

"...A blanket. Made from hundreds of little pieces of cloth sewn together."

Her ears twitched with interest.

"...Hundreds?"

"Sometimes thousands."

She seemed impressed.

"She'd spend months making one. Then someone would compliment it."

I laughed quietly.

"And she'd immediately point out every tiny mistake she'd made."

Akane smiled knowingly.

"...A familiar habit."

"Yeah. It drove my family crazy."

"I suspect..."

She folded her hands before her.

"...It drove your grandmother equally crazy."

"It probably did."

Silence settled again.

Comfortable.

Easy.

Almost...

Familial.

It struck me then just how strange the situation actually was.

Here I stood.

Talking beneath a cedar tree.

With the mother of someone I'd known four hundred years in the future.

Someone who hadn't even become the person I knew yet.

It felt impossible.

Yet...

Here we were.

Akane suddenly looked at me.

"...May I ask something?"

"Sure."

"You've spoken often of the future."

"I have."

"You've spoken kindly of Sayuri."

"I hope so."

"You have."

She hesitated.

"...Was she happy?" She then quietly asked.

The question caught me completely off guard.

Not because I didn't know the answer.

Because...

I'd never actually thought about it.

I looked toward the mountains.

Thinking carefully.

"...She smiled."

I finally said.

"Oftentimes?"

"Not always."

I admitted honestly.

"But as I said..."

I smiled faintly.

"When she did, it was real."

Akane listened without interrupting.

"She loved teaching. She loved arguing with scholars."

That earned a tiny laugh.

"I believe that."

"She could spend hours discussing medicine. Or anatomy. Or philosophy. Or..."

I chuckled.

"...Whether my handwriting should legally qualify as a crime."

Akane actually laughed aloud.

"...She said that?"

"Several times. I believe her exact words were..."

I tried to imitate Sayuri's perfectly composed voice.

"'Your anatomical knowledge is excellent. Your handwriting nearly caused me physical pain.'"

Akane covered her smile.

"...That sounds exactly like her."

"I figured."

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"I never did improve it."

She laughed again.

Then...

Her laughter slowly faded.

"...Did she..."

She looked away.

"...Have anyone?"

I frowned.

"What do you mean? A husband. A wife. Children."

I understood.

"Oh."

I hesitated.

Then slowly shook my head.

"...Not that I know of."

She was quiet.

Not disappointed.

Just...

Thoughtful.

"I see."

"I could be wrong."

I added quickly.

"I only knew her for about a month. Even then..."

I smiled.

"...Most of our conversations ended with her diagnosing me with another problem."

That drew another amused huff from Akane.

"...She inherited more from me than I realized."

"I think you two have more in common than either of you would admit."

She looked toward the stream again.

"...Perhaps."

After another minute she quietly asked,

"...Did she ever speak of us?"

That one...

Hurt.

I looked down at my phone.

"...She spoke about you once."

Akane slowly turned toward me.

"Only once?"

"She didn't talk much about herself."

I admitted.

"Most conversations somehow ended up being about me."

Akane smiled knowingly.

"Yes."

"That sounds like Sayuri."

I nodded.

"But..."

I looked at the cedar tree.

"She told me she couldn't remember your face."

Akane's expression softened.

"She remembered your voice. Your laugh. The way you hugged her. But..."

I swallowed.

"She said your face had become..."

I chose my words carefully.

"'Fragments.'"

Akane closed her eyes.

The breeze stirred her golden hair.

"...Then..."

She whispered.

"...She remembered what mattered."

I stared at her.

"You think so?"

She nodded.

"A face..."

She gently touched her own cheek.

"...Changes. A voice changes. A body grows old. But..."

She placed a hand over her heart.

"...Love rarely fades the same way."

She smiled sadly.

"If she remembered my embrace, then I was fortunate."

Something tightened in my chest.

Because...

Only someone who'd accepted the passage of centuries could say something like that.

I looked down at the phone again.

Then back at her.

"...Would you like another picture?"

She looked surprised.

"...Another?"

"This time..."

I smiled.

"...Not a portrait."

She tilted her head.

"What then?"

"A memory."

She seemed intrigued.

"What do you have in mind?"

I pointed toward the stream.

"You said your husband planted this tree."

"He did."

"You've got a favorite place."

"I do."

"So..."

I gestured toward the water.

"...Forget I'm here."

She blinked.

"...What?"

"Don't pose. Don't smile because I'm holding a camera. Just..."

I shrugged.

"...Be yourself."

She looked at me for several long seconds.

Then...

To my surprise...

She nodded.

Without another word, she walked away from the tree.

She knelt beside the edge of the stream.

Dipped her fingertips into the cold mountain water.

Watching the ripples spread across the surface.

The afternoon sunlight danced around her like liquid gold.

A single maple leaf drifted downstream.

She gently caught it before it floated away.

Turning it thoughtfully between her fingers.

She wasn't looking at the camera.

She wasn't even thinking about it anymore.

She was simply...

Existing.

Remembering.

Living.

I smiled to myself.

"...Perfect."

I took the picture.

Then another.

And another.

Once I was satisfied...

I lowered the phone with a small smile.

"There."

Akane looked up from the stream.

"...Finished?"

I nodded.

"I think so."

She rose gracefully from the water's edge, brushing a few stray leaves from the hem of her kimono before walking back toward me.

The soft crunch of gravel beneath her sandals was the only sound between us.

When she stopped beside me, I unlocked the phone once more and opened the gallery.

"...Come here."

She leaned in slightly.

"What is it?"

"The pictures."

I turned the screen toward her.

For a heartbeat...

She simply stared.

The first photograph showed her kneeling beside the stream, the sunlight filtering through the cedar branches above. The flowing water reflected countless points of gold around her, while the maple leaf rested delicately between her fingertips.

The second had caught her looking toward the mountains.

Not smiling.

Just...

Thinking.

Her long golden hair danced in the breeze, framed by the ancient cedar behind her.

The third had captured something entirely different.

She hadn't realized I'd taken it.

It was the instant she'd quietly laughed to herself while watching the stream carry another leaf downstream.

A genuine smile.

One that hadn't been posed.

One that couldn't have been painted from memory.

Akane slowly reached toward the glowing screen.

Her fingertips stopped just short of touching it.

"...Remarkable..."

She whispered.

Her eyes moved from one photograph to the next.

She lingered over each one.

Taking her time.

"...They're..."

She searched for the words.

"...Alive."

I smiled.

"That's always been my favorite part."

She looked at me.

"They don't feel..."

She glanced back at the screen.

"...Frozen. No. They feel like... Moments."

"Exactly."

She studied another photograph.

"...The wind..."

She murmured.

"I can almost remember feeling it."

I nodded quietly.

"Pictures have a funny way of doing that."

She looked at the image where she had been laughing softly.

"...I don't remember making that expression."

"You weren't paying attention."

"I know."

She smiled faintly.

"I simply... was."

"That's why I took it."

Her ears twitched curiously.

"...You prefer people when they forget they're being watched."

"I do."

"Why?"

I looked out across the valley.

"Because that's usually when they're being themselves."

Silence settled comfortably between us.

She continued looking through every photograph I'd taken.

Not rushing.

Almost studying them.

Every now and then she'd pause.

Tilt her head.

Smile.

Or quietly laugh at some tiny detail she'd never noticed about herself.

Finally...

I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

"There is one more thing."

Akane looked up.

"Oh?"

I hesitated for only a moment.

Then reached into another pocket.

Very carefully...

I removed a small piece of stiff card, wrapped inside a clean cloth.

Even after all this time...

I handled it with extraordinary care.

Akane noticed immediately.

"...That seems important."

"It is."

I slowly unfolded the cloth.

Nestled inside...

Protected from scratches and the elements...

Was the only successful photograph I'd managed to create using the Camera Obscura.

The image had taken weeks of experimentation.

Countless failed chemical mixtures.

Glass plates ruined by improper exposure.

Images that faded within hours.

Others that developed into little more than blurred shadows.

Only one...

Had survived.

I looked down at it for a long moment before speaking.

"...Here."

I gently extended it toward her.

She accepted it with both hands.

Carefully.

Almost reverently.

"...This..."

I said quietly.

"...is Sayuri."

Akane's breath caught.

"...My daughter?"

I nodded.

"...Four hundred years from now."

Her eyes immediately fell to the photograph.

Silence.

Complete silence.

She didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

She simply...

Looked.

The woman in the photograph stood beside the open window of her sanctuary.

Morning sunlight illuminated the room behind her.

Her long golden hair flowed over one shoulder.

Nine magnificent tails rested elegantly around her.

One sapphire eye.

One crimson.

She wore the same black and crimson robes I'd first seen her in.

One hand rested lightly atop an enormous medical textbook.

The other held a pen from Earth.

And...

She was smiling.

Not broadly.

Not dramatically.

Just...

Warmly.

The same quiet smile she'd worn whenever we shared tea together at sunset.

Akane slowly raised one trembling hand to her mouth.

"...Sayuri..."

Her voice barely existed.

She gently traced the edge of the photograph with one fingertip.

Never touching the image itself.

Only its border.

As though afraid the slightest contact might somehow erase it.

"...She's..."

Another long pause.

"...Beautiful."

My own smile softened.

"She really is."

Akane continued staring.

Every tiny detail mattered.

The way Sayuri's hair framed her face.

The tiny silver strands beginning to appear among the gold.

The faint laugh lines beside her eyes.

The calm confidence in her posture.

The kindness hidden beneath centuries of experience.

"...She's older than I imagined."

Akane whispered.

I laughed quietly.

"By about four hundred years."

That earned the faintest huff of laughter from her.

But her eyes never left the photograph.

"...She looks..."

She swallowed.

"...Happy."

I thought back to countless evenings spent drinking tea beneath electric light.

To conversations about medicine.

About history.

About Earth.

About Andy.

About life.

I nodded.

"...I think she was."

Akane smiled through eyes beginning to glisten.

"...Thank you."

Her voice trembled.

"...You have given a mother something she should never have possessed."

She looked at me.

"A glimpse..."

Her gaze returned to the photograph.

"...Of the woman her little girl becomes."

Neither of us spoke after that.

Words...

Didn't seem large enough.

The only sounds were the breeze through the cedar branches...

And the quiet murmur of the stream.
--------------------
A/N: And done. kuwebby2, what do you think?