Haruno Sakura and Yoko were born three hours apart, and when born they had wildly different reactions. Sakura, the older, was born screaming, crying, with limbs flailing. Yoko, their dainty darling, was born quietly, her breathing labored in the nearly silent delivery room. Yoko was silent even when the doctor sucked the fluid from her mouth and throat, even when the doctor lay a sharp smack on her fluid covered bottom, and even when her small, now clean, body was laid on her mothers milk producing breast.
Yoko knew she was too quiet, she knew that at 8 months old she should have been wailing when she fell on her sister, or soiled her diaper, but she kept quiet; she had even developed a way of communicating with her parents, the small motions of her baby soft fingers and large milky green eyes portraying far more in the span of a second than her flailing lips and tongue could do at the age she was.
Kizashi and Mebuki both worried after their daughters, and while they grew and progressed much like their friends own children, none of their children were quite as quiet as their little Yoko. Mebuki had even gone to one of her Yamanaka connections for a mental check up, only to find that there was nothing wrong with her over quiet child, and after that, she simply accepted the quiet nature of her young daughter.
Yoko was careful as she grew, she kept rigid control over her body, training in the quiet of dawn while her sister slept and her parents listened quietly. At the young age of five and a half she found that while her body was limber, her days of dancing may never arrive again.
That was the first, and last time Mebuki and Kizashi had been able to comfort Yoko, choosing to sit at her side while her body shook with uncontrollable sobs, a hand on her head or shoulder all the comfort she needed.
Yoko sat in seiza, her knees and ankles no longer aching from sitting as such for long periods of time. Sakura sat next to her, her own seiza rather sloppy, her ankles twisted at an angle and her shoulders slouching in with the weight of her tired head. Mebuki and Kizashi sat before them, seemingly guilty looks on their faces as they observed their children. Yoko seemed to be bursting at the seams with energy, tightly controlled energy that Mebuki could see pool around her body, a piece lashing out and 'licking' at Sakura's lazy toes, which she promptly curled properly as she straightened her shoulders and spine, simultaneously flicking a playful glare at her more poised sister.
"Sakura, Yoko." Kizashi began, a hand running through his spiked hair. "Your mother and I have-I mean-We're going-"
"Kizashi!" Mebuki scolded, her jade eyes flashing an inner fire at her sheepish husband. "Yoko, you father and I will be going on a trip. The Oba-san down the block will check up on you two to make sure you're going to school, and if you need any forms from the school to be signed, she will have legal rights to do so."
Yoko could feel her toes prickling from lack of blood circulation, but she nodded her head, having realized only a few months ago that Sakura's parents were traders-and nomad traders never stayed in one place for long. She was surprised they had stayed even as long as they did, but Sakura did need a lot of looking after, so she understood.
"But Ka-chan!" Sakura pouted, her pink hair bristled and her face marred by a deep frown.
"No, Sakura, your father and I will be back in four months, but we will write every week." Mebuki sternly soothed, her husky voice mellow in the evening light.
"I-I hate you!" Sakura suddenly exploded out of her seiza, anger and fear and sadness warring in her stomach and heart, tears welled in her beautiful jade eyes. "I'll never forgive you for leaving me!" Sakura screamed, her feet swift in their retreat.
"What are we going to do about her?" Mebuki asked, voice soft and tone resigned.
"She'll grow out of it. I'm sure of it." Kizashi claimed, although he doubted it would be anytime soon.
"Yoko, you'll take care of her?" Though Mebuki phrased the question as such, it was a statement, a sure claim that she knew would always be true.
Though Yoko didn't respond verbally, the sure nod of her head confirmed Mebuki's rhetorical question and the blonde smiled, her hand automatically going to pet the soft hair of her child. When she found that Yoko's pastel pink hair wasn't under her palm she looked at her standing child in confusion.
"What's wrong?" Mebuki asked, her eyes following her daughters line of sight to the edge of the forest, where an ANBU crouched, blood running in rivulets from numerous injuries-but Mebuki couldn't see the ANBU, and neither should the young girl have been able to.
Yoko simply shook her head and began to walk into the forest. She knew her parents couldn't see the darkly dressed figure, but her keen eyes picked up the undulations in the scenery, and she blatantly began to walk in that direction.