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    Summary

    Something whispered next to him, next to the yuzu tree. At the same time, something very familiar, utterly indescribable, twinged on the edge of his awareness. Suguru was on his feet in an instant, tanto drawn, while his nekomata shifted into its true form, swelling into a hulking figure of bristling, natty fur, red eyes, and a huge mouth distending horrifically around knives for teeth.

    “Hey, Suguru. It’s been a while.” Fine white hair, a cheeky smile to accompany the cocky tone, a white sash tied over his eyes - that wasn’t Kamo at all, but someone even more unexpected. Suguru was speechless.

    Taking Suguru’s silence as an invitation, Satoru hopped down from the fence where he had been crouching, sending a wave of snow sliding from the dark tiles. He made no sound as he landed in the garden, but then again, he didn’t leave any footprints behind, either.

    §§§§§

    In Heian-kyo, Suguru contemplates how his innate ability to control yokai has made him the target of many, including one Gojo Satoru.

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