[ that isn't fair. the feeling surges up in him and slices through his lethargy cleanly as a blade — all of a sudden, Tomoe slams his fist against the wall, tail lashing behind him. those words don't mean anything from anyone but Mikage. it's not fair that he hears them from someone else while the one person who matters left him alone here. ]

That's not enough! I'm a shinshi! Without Mikage, I—!

[ whatever he was going to say catches in his throat and dies with a pitiful noise, a fox's whine. the anger that had briefly flared dies out just as quickly, smothered by cold and silence. it would be one thing if Mikage had disappeared from the world, as gods sometimes do. Tomoe isn't sure what would happen to him in that case, but something would change. instead, Mikage is alive. he just isn't here. he said he was going into town and hasn't come back, hasn't said a word to Tomoe in two decades. the only thing Tomoe can do is wait. ]

A shrine is empty without a god. [ a shinshi is nothing without a god. unsaid, but it's there in the defeated slump of his body, his head hanging forward. his tail curls low between his ankles. ] You can patch up the holes in the roof, do whatever you want, but it won't matter. This place won't recover. I'll still—

[ he shivers, and curls in on himself. his voice is small: ]

... It will still be cold, here.