I sat on the ground, clutching my shoulder. Blood streamed from in between my fingers, landing on the ground with soft plops. I winced every time I heard one of those plops. It was like a scream to me, shattering the silence. The only other sounds were the mist ninja on the other side of the tree. I sat there dumbfounded and wide awake at the same time. I was dead. They were going to slaughter me. I was dead. Everything had been pointless.
Plop, plop, plop, plop. "Hey, I think I heard something from over there." I froze. They were coming. Plop, plop, plop, plop. I was about to throw up. Footsteps, coming closer every second. Each one seemed to double my heart-rate. Leaves crunched, and the sound continued towards me. Plop, crunch, plop, crunch.
Then there was another noise. A new noise. A noise I had thought I would only hear once for the rest of my life. It was a whistle. The whistle of a kunai flying through the air. The grass ninja dropped to the ground next to me. It took all my will-power not to scream. Two more whistles. The others dropped around me. I slowly rose to my feet and turned around, seeing my two teammates. I grinned, shaking a little as I did so.
"Hey guy-" I was cut off by a solid punch to the jaw. "You idiot!" My friend Riana screamed. "You went off on your own, AGAIN," She shouted at me. I flashed a guilty smile. "Sorry Riana-chan." She sighed and brushed a lock of raven hair out from in front of her face. "Promise me you won't go off like that on your own again, even though you probably will anyway." My other teammate, Hank, decided to but in. "Can we go? We may have gotten rid of one team, but there are plenty others."
I searched the grass ninja's bags. No scrolls. Unfortunate, but we would have to make due. That must be the story of my life. When I was born, my parents dropped me off at an orphanage as soon as legally possible. I had never known my mothers face. Heck, I didn't even know my last name. Ever since I was born, it had just been Kaze. The orphanage was a piece of crap, and the care-takers might as well have been wearing t-shirts that said: 'I hate my life. Someone shoot me.' Twelve years into my life, I finally got out of that godforsaken place, but that's a story for another time. Right now, I've got to get out of this forest.
End of Prologue for It Will Have To Do