It had rained that morning.
There were dewdrops coating the blades of grass beneath her calloused feet, but the sun was out, shining warmly down on her. She inhaled richly, and closed her eyes for a moment. A hazy tranquility had settled but traces of the wet stormy wind still played with the ends of her hair, sweeping in strongly every now and then.
"He would be happy…"
She turned, and found Miroku behind her, smiling vaguely in her direction.
Sango nodded. "I know."
How long had it been? A year or so now?
She did not try to pretend she did not know the exact number of days, and dropped a handful of wildflowers onto the grave. Kohaku's grave. It was on the outside of the ruins of their village, in a beautiful secluded place Sango knew he had loved. After Naraku's demise, Sango had wanted to return, as if to deliver the news herself that everything had settled. She had come out before dawn and whispered it to him, among other things.
Thankfully, Naraku had been destroyed by Sesshou-maru, though apparently Kagura had worn herself thin and in the end, Naraku had made sure she died with him, frustrated about his plan, whatever it had been exactly, having failed. Sango liked to think, though she had not known Kagura well at all, that such an ending allowed her to die in peace. A happy ending for all of them, then. She had certainly gotten part of hers, she mused, feeling Miroku's hand brush against her shoulder; he had gotten remarkably good at finding and navigating her body without his sight.
It felt miraculous to be alive, to have somehow managed to come out of the entire ordeal in one piece. Through all of it, the tragedy and loss, she had fought. She had fallen, of course, but she had gotten up again every time.
Miroku could hardly be prouder.
"I love you," he whispered quietly in her ear.
And quietly, he heard her respond, "I love you too," before she was overcome with a tearful laughter that was swept away with the wind.