And hopping around, continuing to work on the smaller works:

Greetings to all! This was my entry in the AnimeFEST! fanfiction
contest. Any and all comments and critiques are more than welcome.

You say that now, but will you still feel the same way afterwards. :)

-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: SakuraNikki.txt

An Inu-Yasha Fanfiction
By Bridget E. Wilde

Ah, the other Wilde. Never know since you two use the same addy.

The Cherry Blossom Journal, c. 1105 (excerpts)

<Third Month, First Day>

     These journals have been lying here empty since my father
went to join my mother in the Pure Land. It was never that I had
not

Oh? Even considering this is written as first person, the double negative
hurts to see. I'd reword that.

the words to fill them - the reams of poems stacked upon the

shelves around me are testament to that - but rather that I have
never had a life meant to be immortalized on paper.

Heh. Not really all that immoralized since even paper must someday succomb
to the rigors of time. More like 'prolonged' when you think about it.

The servants of the house have faded away like so much mist,
leaving only my nursemaid, too old now to find a new position,
and myself, tepidly playing the roles of fine noblewoman and
devoted servant. When each day is much like the other, what need
is there to commemorate it?

Effective way to capture her feelings.

     There is a cherry tree in our garden

Which is why the title of the piece has the name it does. :)

, planted by my father

just where I could see it from my shuttered windows. I remember
his laughing face as he lifted me up to touch the topmost branch
of the sapling,

then let me go, to plummet to the ground below where he would laugh at me
for being a sucker. I always fell for that one.

     As I walked around the garden in the lingering chill of
early spring, my eyes were drawn to that cherry tree, and on
impulse I fetched my writing box and jotted down a poem by
lamplight.

There once was a young man from Nantucket

     Bare as the branches
     Of this cruel cherry tree,
     Never knowing spring -
     My heart awaits a visit
     From a Shining Prince of dreams.

     I laughed a little at myself as I wrote it - maudlin,

Very.

 I

thought to myself, and hardly worth the writing. But moved by
that same strange impulse. I folded the poem into a neat strip,
and knotted the paper carefully about

think a better word than 'about' could be used there. It's not wrong, but I
think there's something better.

a low branch of the cherry

tree. "Instead of blossoms, you bear secrets," I said softly, my
hands trembling at their labor.

It's really a 'Killer Cherry Tree' a mutant deriviative of the 'Killer
Christmas Tree'. But as long as she doesn't sing seasonal songs in the
presense of it, she should be fine.

     It was not until just a few moments ago that I found the
note, tucked just inside my writing box so that its corner peeked
out. For a moment I thought I had been lax when I packed up my
implements the night before, but when I moved to tuck it inside,
I realized that the heavy lavender paper was not my own, and
pulled it forth in wonder.

"I know what you did last summer," was written upon it.

     The calligraphy was graceful and firm, but there was a
strange quality to it that I couldn't quite grasp, the strokes
weighted in odd places.

Penned by non-human hands, perhaps?

It began with a poem,

     "A surprising bloom
     Adorns these stubborn branches;
     One who is watching
     Cannot hold back from plucking
     The branch that announces Spring.

It didn't rhyme. I wasn't impressed.

One would hardly expect to find such a treasure here in the
wilds of the capital." It was unsigned.

You might want to consider making 'It was unsigned' separate. Think it would
look better clearly separate from the letter.

     I could barely breathe as I reread the poem. Had some
nobleman peeked in through a crack in my garden wall, then?

'then' seems distracting to me. I'd recommend cutting it.

(Gee, think I can get nitpicky enough?)

 Even

now the thought sends my fingers to shaking. I cannot say I am in
love -

True. 'Aroused' would be more apporpriate for her. :)

     "How very foolish!
     Shall I spend all of today
     Lost in pending thought,
     My heart bewitched by someone
     Neither seen nor yet unseen? (1)

This just kills it for me. Drop the number and address proper credit at the
bottom of the fic, right after it's over. Way too distracting for this
piece. Same with the others.

     I have not written down all that has happened for several
days because my hand has been shaking too much.

Obviously needs some liquor to calm her down. :)

     As I lay in the moonlight wondering what he should reply, I
heard a rustling from the doorway, and looked up to see a man,
his face hidden in shadows. I gasped despite myself, but could
not think what else to do,

You're a Takahashi chick. Grab an insturment of blunt trauma and budgeon him
with it.

<Third Month, Nineteenth Day>

     Naishi is dead. I do not know where her body has gone, but
her blood still sinks into the loamy earth of the garden, the
smell lingering heavily on the air.

My, this takes rather a grim turn.

     When I stepped out to the veranda, my knees weakened and I
fell to the floor when I saw what awaited me. A dog it was,
though a dog of such a size had never been seen in the land of
Wa. It towered above the bushes and trees, its paws greater than
the mossy rocks, its silvery coat gleaming like silk.

Nice imagery.

     <You forget your place, Wife,> the newcomer growled, his
white fur bristling. <This human is not for you to kill.>

Heh. And here we thought Ranma had it hard in his 'Ranma/Bess' fics. :)

     "You will be safe," he said at last. "Safe."

     I slept then, and woke this morning to the sound of
activity in the house. Workmen were busy tending the garden, and
a beautiful woman I had never seen before brought me breakfast.
When I asked her how she and the others had come there, she
simply smiled, and said, "The Prince sent us." Her tawny, bushy
tail twitched merrily as she began to straighten up my room.

Heh. Now let's see how she adjusts,

     So now I write again, gazing out at the powdery sky of late
spring. There is an odd clarity to the air, as if the garden and
house were surrounded by a bubble - but it is undoubtedly just my
fancy. Were it not for the traces of blood, for Naishi's absence,
I would think last night to have been a dream, but now... I find
myself wondering who my Prince is, whether I should love him or
fear him.

Both, methinks.

     "It will be a boy," he said presently. "A son."

     "Or a girl," I said teasingly. "Daughters are a valuable
commodity."

     "No, it is a son," he said with certainty, flashing his
sharp white teeth in the smile I loved so. "You must let me name
him."

Anything but 'Jughead' I said. He pouted at that, but I remained firm in my
resolve.

     I wonder what his name will be, my little prince?

<Second Month, Twenty-eighth Day>

     I am barely able to sit up, but I must write of this while
it is fresh in my mind. My son was born the night before last -
it was a son, of course - and I recall little of it except for
the flames of warming braziers, the chants of those who waited
outside.

And the human sacrifices.

 But in the end he was placed in my arms, his downy white

head pressed close to my breast, his tail twitching in
contentment. I could not help but marvel at his tiny hands, his
perfectly formed ears. He looked so like his father that I wept -
though I think he may have my eyes.

Father: No, that's for later, when you've outlived your usefulness. I'll get
the heart, though.

     With a bound, one figure broke from the line of dancers - a
great white dog, his eyes glowing yellow. His swishing tail
brushed blossoms from the cherry tree, sending them falling like
snow. He bent his head over my son's bed, sniffing delicately as
if savoring the taste, then lifted his head.

     <Inu-yasha,> he said in his rich, mellifluous voice. <His
name is Inu-yasha.> With that, the dancing ceased, and a great
baying rose up from the assembled multitude.

I suspected as much. Nice way to being him into the world.

Very nice work. Set the mood and flowed well. Can't think of much else to
say. Definitely worth reading and the feew comments I could give.

D.B. Sommer


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