There had been something unbearably unfair about the way that Sesshoumaru's hair never seemed to tangle. It fell to his hips like heavy silk, soft and smooth and slick and always perfectly clean and white.
That was what made seeing him like this so shocking.
Kagome’s heart hurt as she looked at the youkai lord, still unconscious from his long confinement under the shrine. His hair was stiff and dirty, gray with filth. It had moss growing in it. He shouldn’t have to stay like this. So, while he still slept, she went and found a brush, and carefully began.