Disclaimer: Naruto does not belong to me, but to Kishimoto. Oh, how I wish the very cool ninjas were mine. Alas.
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The body had no face. Its fingers were familiar, long and blunt at the edges, the fingernails neatly trimmed. The legs were still there, and the arms. He knew the hands were, too; he had seen part of one peeking out from under the body, still attached to the curiously twisted arm, and the other was spread open, a shuriken driven through it to the ground.
Whoever it had been had tried to fight. A tree trunk was crushed where something had hit it with a great force and a single kunai lay near the body's pierced hand. Short, light-colored hair was stained with a splash of blood. From the slashes on the body's arms, he thought it probably was all from the corpse.
How odd, he thought, as he felt his muscles seize up. Someone was behind him; dry leaves crackled under heavy steps. A man walked past him, didn't glance at the boy trapped by his technique. The man bent down, out of his line of sight. When the stranger straightened up, he was holding the dead body's skin.
He said "You will find me."
Kabuto said nothing as the dark-haired man walked away, wearing his father's face.