Disclamer: Naruto is the work Masashi Kishimoto. It is not mine. This is merely a fanfiction and as such it is not to be used for profit or gain of any kind. Let me repeat: It is not
mine. Do not sue.
He was back again. Every night, day after day, he would appear, his face covered by the long black hair that fell over him like a curtain. Like clockwork, just as the sun finished its descent behind the horizon, he would appear at this spot nestled deep in the woods surrounding the village.
Stooping down the man drew a long slender candle from the sleeve of his kimono and in one swift motion rammed it into the earth below. Rain hadn't fallen in the village for weeks now and the ground visibly cracked with thirst, but the candle seemed to easily pierce through the land dry enough to crack a workman's shovel. The man never brought a candle holder; the only support with which he would bequeath to it was torn from the earth beneath his feet.
The man reached into his kimono again, but the boy already knew what he would draw out. Producing the small box from its place in his robes, he drew a match from it and in a short time the candle blazed to life, hungrily sucking in the night air to fuel its flames. A small bead of wax dripped down.
Why did sensei always send him here? Why did he care how the man spent his time? Sensei didn't even like the man, and yet he had gone so far as to teach him a concealment jutsu complicated enough that he would be sure to avoid detection.
Three beads dripped down now, the last quickly followed by a fourth and then a fifth. Like rain they fell, splattering onto the earth below and quickly vanishing into the cracks in the soil, disappearing as if they were never there in the first place.
The minutes passed by as bead after bead dripped down. They were flowing faster now; the candle was already but a shadow of its former self, withered and shrunken by the lick of the flames. It looked so weak, as if even the morning breeze could render it into dust and send it falling to lay along side the long forgotten beads of wax the flame had robbed it of. The man just continued to stare.
It would be over soon now. The candle was hardly even a bump on the surface of the earth, discernable only by that fire which was so slowly killing it. Soon the candle would die and the man would do as he had done every night before. He would stand and continue to stare at it for a few minutes, gazing at it as if it was all that remained in his world worthy of attention. Then he would frown slightly and walk away.
Any minute now and it would be over; the flame was practically touching the earth, illuminating every ridge and pebble with a sickly light. The boy waited for the expected end, but blinked in surprise when the man moved again. He never moved while the candle still burned; only stared. Reaching into his robes he drew out another candle and slowly moved it towards its dying brother. Touching their heads together the boy watched silently as the flames jumped to the new wick, sending it alight as if it was happy to escape the sinking ship upon which it was lodged. Holding the new light in his hand the man watched the former candle sputter out and die before ramming the new candle into the earth as he had done to all the former.
And there he stayed long into the night, burning through candle after candle, watching the flames now free to dance to their heart's content. He stayed in that fashion long after the night had left them, sitting there still as the sun rose to greet the sky. Looking up at the morning sun the man nodded to himself before reaching to the ground and pulling out the candle from its lodging.
Straightening he turned to walk slowly out of the thicket, the burning candle in hand and a small smile glowing on his face.