I'd like to thank Mylene (Tree_Of_Life on Lunaescence) for betaing my previous story— I'm sorry I forgot to credit you there! ;A; As well as Mini people for her input. Thank you!

I hope you guys enjoy this one too. I can't help but write for these guys. ;A; They're so adorable!

Please review/tell me what you think! I'd like to get better in my writing.

Thanks~

" fire boils water, water douses fire–

you are water, I am fire. "

The flames from below the small cooking-pot burn brightly, making a loud, crackling noise. They remind her of fireworks during New Year's, or, at least what they would sound like. She'd never heard them at all, not even once.

Amegakure was always crying, weeping for its sorrows, for the pain it had endured for so long. The land wouldn't allow any sort of merriment to touch it; this was just the way things are. Festivals couldn't run within it, how could they? Sadness was infectious, running through everyone's veins like some incurable disease. It lurked everywhere in Ame; even the stars cried, then threw themselves from the sky.

And the weather was always messed-up, as well. When the summers were supposed to be arid, dry and hot, they weren't. Winters were supposed to be cold and snowy, but bitter rain replaced the snow. Trees never changed the colour of their leaves during autumn, and delicate flowers never bloomed in the spring. The rain took it all away.

She sits across a man, as old as she is. His lilac eyes shimmer against the burning flames, skin almost translucent like a ghost's. Her lips part, as if wishing to say something, but they close almost immediately. He wasn't in the mood for conversation.

Fire is better, she tells herself. Better than the water that drowns.

She looked to his face, calm and serene. He stares over the boiling pot, clearly deep in thought. Perusing, he realises that she's looking at him, as if waiting for an introductory word.

Water is better, he tells himself. Better than the fire that burns.

He tries to ignore her, but the stark features of her face stiffen. He almost expects a smile to form on her pierced lips, but common sense catches him. It's rare for a woman like her to even part a small grin.

"... So?" he begins, then ends. What else was he to say? They both weren't the sort for small talk. Asking about the weather was utterly pointless, it was clearly (and always) raining. Raining, raining. Always. Winter, summer, spring, fall.

"So." she replies, no longer looking at him. Her eyes are looking down, the light of the fire casting a shadow on her face, her sharp cheekbones made even more distinct.

The two make no more conversation than that.

Daylight turns into nighttime, and the two are still silent.

"Speak," she says, almost petulantly, "I can't stand the silence."

"Hush," he says, almost coldly, "We must listen to the wind and trees."

The leaves rustle from within the nearby forest, cackling of birds echoing throughout. She with amber eyes look straight into his, solemnly, longingly.

"I really do mean what I said; the silence. It bothers me greatly."

No. More like the silence scared her. She was quiet for most of her young adulthood, continuing to now. Words were difficult to say– they meant something. What if she never meant what she said? A lie! How difficult it is to lie, but not to conceal.

"I haven't anything to say as of now." he replied.

"..."

"Nor have I."

Fire is worse off than water, she tells herself. It extinguishes upon contact.

Water is worse off than fire, he tells himself. They boil at first touch.

They look at each other, not wanting to speak at all.