I am a sword, and a sword kills.

I am a healer, and a healer is free.

I am only a tool, and tools have no wills.

I am myself, and myself is me.

I serve no one, my choices are my own. I can heal if I wish or deny it, protect my bearer or leave him to his fate. I can call back the dead, and yet I have no voice to call with. I cannot heal alone, cannot wield myself. I have no power without one who has the strength of character to bind the fleeing souls. I have chosen my wielder, and yet I wonder: Did I do right?

I was forged to do no harm, and no harm I have done at his side, and yet no good. I wait here, sheathed, ready, waiting to do what I was made for, full of doubt. I could have left long ago, if I wished. Slipped from his side one day, and waited to be found by someone who would use me for what I was forged to do. And yet I have not. All this time, he has called me useless, pointless, a sword that does not kill, and therefore nothing. Yet he has not thrown me away, and I have not left him.

Perhaps it is only our kinship that holds me. I come from his father, we could be called blood kin. The son of the Inu no Taisho seems the right one to bear me, and it was his wish, and the wish of Toto-sai. My parents wished me to go to my brother, one might say, and I do not quite wish to leave.

Perhaps I am only like that wretched Jaken creature, who he treats as a worthless fool, and whose life he so often threatens. He has threatened to break me, to grind me down, to destroy me, the reminder that he was not his father's favorite son. And yet both of us remain with him. Perhaps for the same reason, though I hope not. I hope I am not so weak.

I do not know why I have not gone. But I think it may be that I know he could wield me, if he wished. If he could come to care enough to do so. I know that if some day he uses me to bind together a shattered soul and help a mangled body, he will be on his way to growing more like his father, to becoming a wise man. I know there is kindness in him. Though he sees it as weakness, and tries to banish it, I, who am always at his side, have seen it. Not toward warriors or threats, not when faced with pleading and fear and pain, but when he is alone, and there is only one helpless being, in trouble. I have seen him lift drowning children from rivers and spring traps that held minor youkai, though he did it with a glare that told them that if they spoke of it they would die. If I had a face I would smile at the thought of that glare.

And now he lies here in the forest, all but paralyzed, shamed and torn, but alive. Alive because of me.

I did not think about it, when I stopped the blow that should have killed him. I did not consider whether he should live or if I wanted a new bearer, who would take me from the sheath for something besides insults. I simply acted, and that barely fast enough.

I did think, when he lost his arm. I could have protected him from those blows. Tetsusaiga is strong, but I am hard to budge when I take a stand. I could have shielded him. But I was angry. After all, why was he in that fix at all? Because he wanted Tetsusaiga, whom he knew was meant for his brother. Why should he prefer my sister sword over me? Why was I not good enough? Why would he want the Steel-Cleaving Fang when he had already the Healing Fang?

But I knew why. It is because I am a sword, and I cannot kill. As I am a healer who does not heal. Worthless.

So he lost his arm, and fled, and both of us were put to shame. I, because I had failed in my charge to protect my wielder, he, because he had lost to his half-breed brother. But he is not my wielder, after all. He does not wield me. He has never let me be what I am in all the time I have stayed with him. If I am to be what I was meant to be, I need a wielder with a healing heart. I need a partner in my work, or if that cannot be had, a master with the right notions. I do not want to leave him. I want him to become a healer with me, and doing so be healed, for if he uses me, I can heal his heart. That poor stubborn heart. Oh, take me from my sheath, Sesshoumaru, and help me, so I can help you!

But he cannot hear me. He has never heard me. His armour is too many layers thick. I cannot keep waiting forever. I cannot. I will wait a little longer, and then, if nothing changes, I will leave. As soon as he can move, I will leave him, slipping from his side as he flies. The fool. I will miss him. But he will not miss me. He will not hunt for me.

After all, I am a sword who cannot kill.