Disclaimer: I do not own Saint Seiya

Summary: A short sketch about Hyoga and his mother before they board the ship which takes them to Japan

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Journey Home

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"Hyoga?" The fair-haired child looked up, and smiled at his mother. She smiled back, and thought wistfully that every day he was growing older. Suddenly she was afraid that she would lose him, and the thought made her shiver. They had no one but each other – she could not live without him.  The woman wondered uneasily how the boy would react to Japan and the large cities, a far cry from the small village he had been brought up in. "Don't wander off Hyoga," she told him, and the child nodded and sat down at her feet.

They had walked the whole way from their village to the port, for they had no other means of transport. The sun had not yet risen, and yet they were there, waiting with thousands of others so that they would be allowed on the ship, which would take them to their journey's end. Natasha caressed her son's head as he rested it on her lap. He was too thin, she thought critically, as she looked at the boy. She hoped that she had done well to decide to take the boy to Japan. Hyoga had remained silent when she told him that they were going to Japan to meet his father, and he had looked at her with that strange gaze she did not understand. She felt sure that anything would be better for her son then the life of poverty he was living, and yet, she wondered whether she was doing the right thing…

Their few meager belongings were gathered in a small bag. Hyoga wriggled slightly. He wanted to tell her that he was far to tired to walk around but knew that this would only worry her, and an anxious frown would cloud her features.

He hated it when she worried or cried; she knew this and tried to hide the tears. Yet he still heard her cry far into the night. Hyoga sighed. He did not want to go to Japan to meet this father she had spoken about. The boy resented the intrusion into their lives; they were happy enough together, he and his mother alone. She was beautiful in his eyes, as beautiful as the picture of the Madonna which hung over the altar in the small church they went to each Sunday and he was loath to share her with anyone else. Yet, if going to meet this man would bring a smile to his mother's careworn face, then he was ready to tolerate and accept the man's presence.

He sighed. He was hungry, but knew well that there was nothing to eat. They had sold everything, their small cabin, the drab furniture and the few pictures they had… everything but the golden cross his mother had given to him. His small fingers stroked the cross which was hung round his neck. He loved it; it was not only a cross, it was a symbol of his mother's trust in him, for he knew she valued that cross as the only heirloom she had left from her family, the same family which had turned its back on her when they got to know she was bearing a child. Hyoga's hand tightened round the cross. He was a child, but those blue eyes saw more then his mother thought, and understood more than she imagined. The boy knew that his mother sometimes yearned for the life she had before and at times wished desperately that he could give it back to her.

At last the long snake began to move, and they could see that people were boarding the ship. The blonde Russian woman rose, and picked up her bag.  "Come Hyoga," she said softly. The child hesitated, for he felt as though something was not right, that the ship was not where they should be, that they were going the wrong way home. His mother took his small cold hand in hers and he felt comforted by her presence. The child knew that his mother would never willingly let anything bad happen to him, and felt half ashamed that he had doubted her. He nestled closed to her as they walked on.

They were on their journey home at last.

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