I don’t think there are any words to explain it to anyone who hasn’t been there. Who doesn’t already know.
    I could try, I suppose. When I first awoke, the world was dark and warm and soft and moist. Concepts I only learned by later learning their absence. And all around was Presence; a person in that condition has no need to go seeking Kami-sama, for they dwell within that one, which provides all nourishment, which protects and enfolds.
    Not everyone remembers that, afterwards. I know most humans don’t recall it consciously; but they must on some level, or they wouldn’t have so many gods of that type, and try to remake even very different kinds in that image. And I don’t think foxes remember it at all (although I only asked one; he might be an exception).
    But I remember it. And I remember, even then, reaching out with my new mind to explore the World, and encountering Other. Oh, the fascination of it… the humans, whom I now dwell among, have many tales of encountering space beings, and in much of them there are echoes and reflections of that wonder. But they are only pale shadows; most people only know, then, of themselves and surrounding them the World, the Kami-sama. When they first discover otherness it comes crashing upon them like a great wave. Only a few know what it is to have oneself and the World, and within the world, another, similar, and yet unimaginably different.
    Truly a wondrous wonder, a marvelous marvel, that within the world there should be me/alive, and also not-me/also-alive/similar-yet-different! Reaching out like me, and equally marveling: here we are similar, there we are different, and the idea that there was such a thing as ‘we’ at all; and the knowledge that because there was such a thing as ‘we,’ even though we were different, we were part of the same thing, and therefore not separate fully; not even as separate as the World/Kami-sama from us.
    I think it is only after birth, with the shock of things that are different and hurtful, that children come to fear and disparage the different. And those that were born singly; how can they help but think the world revolves about them, when they were its sole occupants for the first ten or nine or five months of their lives?
    Because I know that when I first discovered Other, in our shared delight and wonder that otherness existed at all, so far from fearing or distrusting each other or distancing ourselves one from another, we knew that there existed one-living/not-me, and therefore one-to-be-loved. In the long slow dreaming-together, we would wonder if perhaps where two existed another might come to be, and whether the World might someday change its countenance, and about the fragmentary memories that surface and unsurface in that dreaming-together. I can no longer remember any of them; but I remember telling the Other about them, and so I know what some of them were.
    These memories were, I think, what we clung to when the World squeezed tightly about us and we were forced, will us, nill us, out of it and into a different place, which was bright — oh, how bright! — and cold, although that had little meaning for us, and vast, and dry, and noisy, and parts of it full of air currents while others were shockingly hard. And then we were separated. We, who had known, who had been sure that even if the World should change into some barely-imaginable configuration, our essential we-ness, our two-ness, would not be disturbed, were separated one from the other, and it was little enough comfort that the link formed when we had first Reached each other remained, although what we could transmit through it had been diminishing steadily since we were born.
    That link is still there, you know. I could always sense, through it, when my twin was in distress; sometimes I could even identify what kind it was. Hunger, although far fiercer than any I had ever felt. Great physical pain of one kind or another. Some sort of — ‘violation’ is the only word I can find for it — that I still don’t understand, except that it was awful and horrible and sometimes mixed with pain. Reaching out for love and finding none, none, none anywhere.
    Youkai and humans are very similar in some respects. We both need something to love if we are to stay sane. I had all the world around me, in its beauty and its tenderness — yes, and its sometime cruelty. My twin — had me. Always and only.
    And so, of course, when I was old enough, and prepared enough, and trained enough, I went to find him. Because I love him. Because he loves me. Because he ought not to be living the life he was. Because we belong together, even when we choose to be apart for some time.
    And because — I couldn’t go on living my comfortable little placid life. Not when I knew his to be anything but. Not when I knew it to be rightfully his, and his to be rightfully mine.
 

    When we “found” each other again, I knew him instantly. At my first sight of him. I couldn’t not have, not with our spirit-link. The bond we had shared for so long sang a paean of triumph, thickening with proximity, and I wanted nothing more than to run to him, to throw my arms around him, to pour out my joy and relief and gratitude and love into his ears.
    But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d dreamed of this for so long, for so very long, and now that it was upon me I was near-paralyzed with shyness.
    He was all that I’d dreamed him, and more. Strong; oh yes, strong, as the years that could not break him had tempered him even as the blade of the tachi he carried. Skilled, in the use of that same tachi and with other things. Powerful and stubborn: oh, so THAT was what those odd sensations of pain and integration and using some sense I couldn’t identify had been. Good-looking, as I’d always known any relation of mine must be; although I suspect I would have found him beautiful to my eyes if he’d resembled a banana slug. Intelligent, and clever, and protective of me… I could go on detailing his virtues all the day long.
    And so I followed his lead, as he made no mention of our relationship. I thought perhaps he wished to have our first reunion in private, out from under the others’ eyes, he would not wish to be overmastered by feelings, particularly not before an audience, such as Kurama-san and Yuusuke-san.
    And particularly not Kazuma-san…! I do not know why they cannot get along better. Kazuma-san is a little strange sometimes, but he’s funny, he makes me laugh, he’s such a gentle person… I like him! Why cannot two of the people I most care about care more for each other? Is that too much to ask?
    At any rate, I mentioned my search for my brother. I think if I had concealed that I should have burst. And he… he offered to go search for him!
    I thought I had deciphered that. I thought he would go off somewhere, and compose himself; surely he must have looked forward to this reunion as long as I had? Then, when he had regained his control (which would be iron, I am sure), he would come to me.
    I would say, my eyes dancing, “Have you… found my brother?”
    And he would say, “Yes, I have.” He would pause for a moment, and we would both smile, sharing our secret. And then perhaps he would say, “Here I am.” Or perhaps he wouldn’t feel a need to; after all, we both knew it. And THEN we would have our reunion.
    But that wasn’t how it happened at all. He says no, he has not, every time he comes to visit. He apologizes. If I did not know that we share a link between our spirits… a thread of silver, or perhaps ice-blue… I would think that he somehow did not know me to be his sister. But even though I receive impressions of him far better than he does of me (his skill lies in transmitting what he feels, shuttered as it might be from everyone else) it cannot be that dead to him. Especially not with the Jagan he acquired from somewhere.
    So that leaves only one conclusion.
    It’s me.
    I’m not good enough for him.
 

    I know he loves me. I can sense that through our link.
    But he loved me because I was the only thing he could bear to love, and he needs must love something. Even though now he has other people about him, other targets he can shower love upon if he chooses, one cannot simply stop loving somebody. It takes long and long and LONG to fade, and he is so accustomed to loving me.
    He is… as I said, intelligent and strong and skilled and powerful. He’s a wizard with a sword, and mastered the use of a Jagan that was not even his to begin with. He tamed the Kokuryuuha, which nobody has managed to use successfully in — maybe a millennium, I’m not sure, it has been a very long time — out of pure stubbornness (or even pig-headedness; he WOULDN’T give in, so eventually it had to). He has survived things I can barely conceive of. Youkai go out of their way in order to avoid places where he’s likely to be.
    I have… some small healing talent. I managed to get myself captured by a wealth-hungry human, and had to be rescued by other people. I don’t think I could fight if my life depended on it. (Although if it were that of one of my friends, or his, I would try.) I’m not much compared to him. No wonder he’s ashamed of having such a sister.
    I’m basically a happy person. I know that. But this almost always makes me cry… more than I ever did for that captor of mine. I don’t want to worry the others or invite awkward questions, so I don’t let them see me do it, and I hide the tears away. I made a little hole in my pillow, so when I cry myself to sleep I can push the tears in there. The pillow’s grown a great deal fatter.
    Shizuru-san once said that while he is by doing, I do by being. That doesn’t sound like much. Not like much at all. Although it is true in many respects. And merely by being, I go on doing the one deed, the one that drove me out of the city of my mother’s people, the one I would take back if only I could.
    Maybe it’s that that keeps him from loving me enough to acknowledge me. From deeming me worthy to be acknowledged. I don’t blame him, if that’s so. I have been regretting it since the day we were born. Not for me. I’m glad — glad — GLAD to be as I am now. I would not give it up for anything except him. For him, whose birthright I selfishly took.
 

    During the long slow dreaming-together, the half-memories had given us information, including the name for one of our differences: a minor one at this point, merely in the shells with which our connections were yet tenuous.
    I was ‘male,’ and the other/not-me was ‘female.’
    :That is not fair,: I had complained. :I want to be a girl.:
    :Here, you can be the girl,: not-me had offered.
    :Really?:
    :Sure! Let’s switch.:
    I’m still not quite sure how we managed that, although I recall it being a bit precarious. I don’t think we could do it again. Well, I’m sure we couldn’t now; our connections to our bodies have grown much, much stronger.
    :I still get to be oldest,: not-me had announced when we were done.
    :How do we manage that?:
    :I think you need to be on top of me.:
    Moving Through Liquid While In A Fluid-Filled Sack really ought to be allowed to the things that a tournament exists for. We’d eventually managed THAT contortion.
    :And I will always protect you,:  not-me had promised.
    :And I will always believe in you,: I had affirmed.
    :And we will always be together.: That had been both of us.
 

    Tori-san, do you have any siblings?
    Birds probably don’t feel the same way about siblings as people do. That was a silly question.
    I really don’t have anything more for you to eat, tori-san. You may as well fly away — but thank you for listening, even if I were only speaking inside my head. I’m going inside now.
    No, no, tori-san, don’t worry about me! I’m happy. I’m happy, see?
    After all, I’ve got everything. Everything, but…
    Everything but…