When he entered the room and sat where the servants conducted him, the un-named woman was sitting across from the sliding door. An attendant sat to either side of her, washing her pale hands with scented water. Kakashi bit back a comment on the lovely smell. Perhaps too presumptuous. He contented himself with a slow unassuming smile. Her hair is too long, he thought. It stretches too far down her back. By Kami, is it pooling behind her? Under less formal circumstances he might have craned his head to verify. He resisted admirably. After all, he spoke to himself, the Hokage would never forgive me if it was said that I had treated a member of the Umo family like a sideshow attraction. No matter how absurd the hair. The rest of her appearance was mercifully unexceptional, even plain. Her robe was of fine quality but far more informal than what he had expected. Of course, he hadn't known what to expect. Did no one speak to you in this house unless ordered?

Kakashi noticed his smile had been slipping as the attendants exited. The door slid shut with a barely audible tap. Minutes passed in silence. What was awkward at the first soon became... dreary. He suppresed a yawn, blinking back tears of boredom. It had been a long walk to the secluded Umo house and upon arriving they had not offered him the smallest of comforts. In fact, they seemed affronted at his extended presence.

Breaking the silence, the woman spoke as if she knew his thoughts, "Very few would be given such access to our grounds, Kakashi-san. My family is jealous of our secret and will share it with no one. I begin to wonder what allows you not only to walk freely here but even to watch my working of the Fukon".

Kakashi did not answer immediately. If the silence had lasted, he might have been caught napping and it still took a moment for his head to clear the fog of approaching sleep. "Well you see Ms... Ms...," He trailed off but all she offered was a level look. No name then, he mused. "As I am sure you know better than this humble messenger, the esteemed Umo clan was one of the great clans of Konohana. Although you have isolated yourselves for years in order to keep your family's technique hidden, the current Hokage has seen fit to call in some favors... as to the specifics, I am afraid you must ask the head of your family. Even I was not given any more information than that." Though I could hazard a guess or two, Kakashi whispered jovially.

The conversation seemed to only darken what was already a frosty mood. Brining a long finger out, his host pointed at the table. Her voice was abrupt, "Place the object on the table and we will begin."

Kakashi bowed from where he sat and drew a forehead protector from his pouch. He ran his fingers through the blue cloth, eyes tracing the gash struck deep into the leaf symbol graven on the surface of the metal. It thunked as Kakashi set it on the table. "The owner's name is Uchiha Sauske."

"Such information is unnecessary," she sniffed. Small fingers steepled and with graceful and efficient hand formations, she began. Slender hands crooked and curled into the shapes as if each was divine. The motions were smooth and lovingly exacting. He watched as her fingers slid down her palm to rest her thumb at the base and then just as fluidly begin to strike upward into the next form. Kakashi watched silently as each shape played out before him, slower than any set of hand formations he had seen. A ninja did not have time for such grace. More important things were demanded of his time. However, Kakashi said to himself, no ninja has the capacity to do what he was watching. The method, as she had said, was jealously hidden. "What memorization" he thought to himself as her hand motions stretched on and a servant came to refresh his tea set on the table between he and the young woman, "She is as impressive as promised". The tea had been refreshed thrice and still she moved with the same purposefulness. There was never hesitation in her actions. Each thumb and finger always in perfect form. The last motion came as a reflection of the first, her steepled fingers together. The very pads of her fingers pressed firmly but without strain. Her left hand curled as she gently placed her right over the forehead protector laid on the table between them. The breath went out of the room. The very air crystallized and Kakashi felt his eyes tighten from the pulse that sent his scars and eye tingling as if under revolt. Whatever she was doing was powerful. Powerful and undefinable. He felt no chakra, saw no outward sign of anything happening at all. The methodical actions of the young woman were some of the most common of hand formations used for genjutsu but no chakra was discernible. Although it would have been incomprehensibly rude, Kakashi mused, he would have liked to have seen her work with the aid of his left eye. Though he doubted even an eye from the Uchiha clan could have divined the method in front of him.

The woman closed all fingers but one on her left had. It descended like an alabaster spear, resting softly on Konohana's mark impressed into the forehead protector. Kakashi realized he was holding his breath. Shock waves burst through the room as she was thrown backward, her head knocking against the far wall. Kakashi stood in alarm, looking down at blood trickling from a shallow cut on his shoulder. He had no time to check on the young woman. She was already back to the center of the room, her gentleness washed away. The room felt hot and closed in as her face had darkened with concentration, three fingers touching the forehead protector. Her hair whipped in the condensing wind as she pursed her lips in agitation This time, Kakashi was behind her to cushion the fall as she was thrown back again, the room reeling from the explosion of power. He felt a twinge of unhappiness that she did not spare him a grateful glance as she attacked the table again, this time, all of her left hand pressed against the cool metal of the Konohana symbol. From his position, Kakashi could no longer see. He began to move for a better vantage point but nowhere else seemed safe from the immense wind He was curious about the Fukon, but not enough to bear the cutting winds unnecessarily. He shrugged and clamped his hand to his shoulder while he watched the woman's bare feet dig into the ground. They rasped across the wood as she struggled to maintain her place. He was a bit concerned that perhaps this was not normal and she seemed so delicate. "I will not be beaten back," she snarled and kept her hand firmly on the smooth metal, "I am the master here. I am the god-head. Disgrace, I would kill you if I could. I may yet if you continue to grapple!" Her voice broke out in a frenzied pitch and the forehead protector flashed softly. The room was still.

"Kakashi tangled his fingers in his hair, palm clasped to his head in bemusement as she slumped over the table, breathing shallowly "Well that was anticlimactic..." Chagrined, he retrieved his fingers, forgetting for a moment about the blood. He shook his head and walked over to the forehead protector and watched it. There was nothing different. It was the same as it was when he brought it here. Though he did not know what to expect from such a technique, the situation held little promise. He sighed and slid open the door to allow her attendants in. They lifted her together and began to conduct her into an adjoining room, frowning at his bloodied hair. "Oh forgive me for the blood kind ladies! I'm afraid there's a bit spilled over here!" The was no reply. Before they closed the door, the young woman opened one dark eye. It rolled across him as if dreaming, or about to slip into a terrible sleep. Her lips barely moved as she spoke, "Konohana and my clan have something in common after all, Kakashi-san. We both owe a man his funeral." The door slid shut.