February is cold, blossoms have permafrost attached throughout the cycle of the day, water streams briskly and the chill in the air nips lightly through gusts. Shadows are small, people don't linger, and those trained to see are blinded ever so slightly. A spare blink, an ill-swift glance in the necessary direction./
The scraping of kunai, one missing and grazing an arm or cheek and the sensation of burning before chill overtakes it. One wrong step, a simple swing at the correct angle can take a life. An ounce of chakra exceeding what's pushed, making the difference between a small bruise and a shattered sternum. The decisions forced in a split second, are pre-determined before the thought is formulated and only follows the action.
This is war.
Note: I didn't realise it chopped my document up, most of it didn't even save so am sorry about that .
