Charred

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

To Daastan Go, my friend.

The mud yielded to the pressure of his feet. After he stepped out of it, the soiled water coated his bemired footprints. The freezing rain cascaded upon all in sight, but he was warm and dry underneath his outerwear. The cold night wasn't merciful as nature bent down under its own never-ending onslaught. The vegetation dripped with moisture and appeared to be appreciative of the gift; its gratitude was wasted.

He crossed into a clearing and peered at the other side. The verdurous brush divided, and a welcoming yellow light beckoned to him.

Sasuke felt his hands tense as he glided towards the light cautiously. The area was familiar to him, so he was confident it was unnecessary to display such discretion. To his disappointment, he was correct.

The light was home to a little hovel on the other side of the screen of tangled, knotty greenery. Sasuke surmised there would be supper within the abode, heated by a fire and embodiment of good company. Maybe there was a family in there and a friendly pet basking in the comfort of their meager success. The monotony of life was something they treasured. With his eyes, he could check to know for certain, but there was a beauty in the unknown he didn't wish to perturb. He would rather speculate.

Sasuke saw himself approaching the home with purpose and knocking on the old oak door. He would be courteous and present a polite demeanor to them as they opened the door to see him on their stoop. He would ask for shelter or perhaps even just a bowl of stew to curb his hunger.

And he saw them smiling back.

At first, they would show him kindness and welcome him into their hovel. They would ask his name, and he would be succinct with his reply. They wouldn't push it. They would offer their best seat by the fireplace; he would humbly oblige. He would answer their questions of where his travels were taking him and what adventures had blessed (or cursed) his way. Their food would be good and simple. It would heat his stomach and fill his soul.

But, sooner or later, they would know. They would recognize him. Maybe it would be a result from his answers to their questions or maybe his eyes. It might even be the way his words carried a knowledge, a cynical view of the world only his clan brandished. After their revelation, they would glare at him with a semblance of aversion. Their smiles would vanish, and their food would sour in his belly.

He could see them trying to grasp their civilities just enough to not appear boorish, summoning all their willpower to showcase their infinite altruism. They would ask him if he would like to spend the night, and he would deny their request. Relief would wash their features, and he would leave. But before he would step out of their warmth, (out of their escape) they would mutter the same words he had always known from them:

We never needed you.

After he would pretend not to hear them, he would pass off into the night without a word. The rain would enclose his existence, as if he were only a specter of their fears. They would lock their door after he was gone and forget his visit as swiftly as they could.

Sasuke's vivid vision flowed down with the icy water and pooled into the mud below. He surveyed the little home with a complex countenance. Those events were not assured, but they were to him. They were etched into some ancient stone only he was conscious of, and it would prevail there like a memory.

Warmth and rest were not his allies. Sasuke embraced the freezing rain and the shadows of forethought and discipline. They were all the company he required.

The Hokage probably enjoyed the luxuries of his own work and could view his rewards plainly. Sasuke felt his heart lift slightly at that notion. The fool was probably with his new wife in the village and could witness his achievements without hindrance. He knew his friend constantly requested for him to join him, and Sasuke found the sentiment to be tempting.

Yet, in the end, his compensation was far greater. The esoteric burden he carried was comprised of a different variety than the Hokage's; it was charred and cumbersome. It was unique; however, and no one dared to glimpse its inky essence.

Sasuke drifted away from the home and moved east to where his reconnaissance could be extended. His own muddied path was riddled with obstacles and rueful scowls, but it was still his path. He was the guardian of the realm, and he protected the hovels of well-mannered (insensible) families. The fireplaces that burned with amenity and slow understanding was something he cherished from afar. The best sentry was not allowed to relish such things. No. He had to remain vigilant and cold to those gifts.

He passed through the harsh night as the rain became stouter and crystallized to flakes. The snow fell upon his face and kissed his eyelashes. The flurry quickened, and the temperature repaired the foible. The mud became frosted by the snow, and there would be no reminder of it in the morning.

Before he slipped off farther into the whitened night, Sasuke spied a curious spectacle. A lonely, hollowed-out stump stood alone in a small glade. The glossy snow lazily swept around it, and his morphing red eyes took in its frame. Furry creatures slept underneath the fallen tree, unmindful of the storm outside. Sasuke wondered if they were thankful for the stump.

After some minor deliberation, he supposed it didn't matter. They were safe. Sasuke carried on and became the specter. The falling snow covered his footprints and permitted his journey of isolation. He was the only one who could do it.

The End

This was written as an attempt to take a little break from what I typically write. I want my writing to flow better, and it's pleasant to type these kinds of stories out. I hope to do more of these in the future.

-CM