Storm
Sometimes, Yashamaru thinks that he can forgive Gaara. When the sun shines down on his smiling face, the beautiful blue eyes lit up with pleasure, all he sees for a moment is a sweet child, free and innocent. But then the rays highlight his dark, wine-red hair to the colour of blood, and he is reminded that this is the monster that killed his sister.
Other times, when he is curled up by the fire with Gaara in his arms, he thinks he can love him. Gaara's kiss on his cheek is as soft as feathers, and he dreamily thinks that it is such a sweet, sweet child that he embraces. Then Gaara squirms, and he is transported back to those hours of blood and screaming, his sister laid writhing on the bed, as the monster claws its way out of her abdomen, not bothering with the niceties of birth.
During storms, however, there is no doubt that he loves his nephew. His expressions are exactly like Karura's as his wide eyes observe the raging elements with quiet, childish fascination. Yashamaru wraps his arms around him from behind, savouring the sweet smell of his hair and for once not dwelling on its colour. Gaara shifts a little to make himself more comfortable, and Yashamaru thinks fondly of the times Karura would do that, and how delightful that the trait has passed onto her darling son.
Ironically, as he draws his last breath with the sight of Gaara's devasted face above him, it begins to rain.