There is a thing- that happens to souls over centuries. We'll call it flaking. In short, bits of soul flake off like skin from a particularly dandruff-ridden scalp onto the shoulder of centuries. Religions the world over might disagree on the exact nature of the almighty forces that govern the world and all its workings, but there is more or less an agreement on the fact that all souls of all things possessing souls- what exactly possesses a soul and what, exactly, doesn't being an entirely different prospect- are accounted for. That is, every soul that exists is registered. Counted. What then, of the bits that flake off in the course of centuries' wear and tear?

They must be fetched back, of course.

This is all, well, conjecture. But, if you want evidence- look at what is there. What you can observe. Demons are very real- the sun rises in the east, and demons come from the west; spirits roam the lands. Fetches swallow bits of soul that have flaked off into the world and bring them back to be sorted and restored and recirculated as centuries permit.

But, as they say, Shit Happens.

On a completely different note, the initial evidence for the lineage of a set of triplets born in the Land of Rivers- which used to be the Land of Rain, but that was before the Second War- on the edge of Wind Country, is not terribly apparent. Born on the eve of a war, hard luck, hard luck, but Nadeshiko was paid well by the ninja man, too trusting Leaf nin- her mother was right. He'd paid her to keep notes on the area, keep watch for him, paid well indeed- he'd bought out her contract and paid her for a year's work, paid her twice over- she'd swindled him quite well, spent a night's pleasure with him, and now she was paying a price for it. It was not a price so terrible, no, not at all; and Nadeshiko is her mother's daughter in all things.

The pain of that evening is indescribable later- then, it is all she can do to remain silent, to obey the old woman's creaking voice and push, push, roll her hips and push and open a window, please, she can't BREATHE-

When it is done, she has not one but three. They have- well, they will have, as right now they look like bloody screaming jellybeans- white hair. Bright white hair.

And one of them- the one that was born first, and the weakest of them- has just been struck by lightning. She's still attached to her mother by the cord that grows in such cases- somehow, the mother and her sisters are unharmed.

Somehow, she is unharmed.

But she is not unchanged.

No.

Not unchanged.

(Unnoticed are the Wind and the Rain that come with the Bolt from Heaven. They're always there, in that border town- why should that day be any different? Though it was. Different.)