redo, rewrite. sketchiness is evident.
Snow. This was a first. I had never experience snowfall in the harsh land of Sunagakure, cutting desert wind and hot sun was the norm, thought the desert nights could give this cold a run for its money. I shifted uneasily, flakes of white dropping down onto my hair. Moisture seeped into it, and a flash of irritation went through me. I disliked bathing.
The pale white was now stained bright red. All the better, I say.
Sand rippled out, crawling over the pale white, slipping, sliding, drinking the bright red. He danced in my mind, loud and obnoxious and mad, bloodthirst had ran in his veins for quite a while, and this was his first big killing in a long, long time.
It was supposed to be a simple assassination.
Simple, being the keyword.
An old daimyo taken out, in a conipicous manner. That should put a stop to his shady dealings within Suna.
But...
I had wiped out the whole family tree. Loss of control, for a few mere minutes. He works fast, he does.
After this blood feast, he is glad. I can hear him crooning to himself, low harsh rasps and growls.
In a way, I am glad too.
Shukaku sang, low and deep in my mind. Irritation brought on by the wet hair caused me to mutter, "It is not like your singing is any good."
He laughed, and cooed, his voice sandpaper and dust-wind, "Ah, my dear boy, you have not learned to appreciate the fine traditional ballads of Suna. Such a loss, such a pity, but youth this days -" And here his voice turned deeper and cracklier, " - have no such appreciation of such divine music."
I snorted.
Flakes landed on the ground, diluting the bright red. I felt him stir, felt an inkling of old rage.
"Diluting my share, would you? Snow. Pah! The sooner we get out of here, the better!"
Sand whipped out from the gourd, snapping up puddles bright red before anymore flakes could get to it. I sighed. Such childishness. I looked up at the dull, stormy sky. Yashamaru once said that snow and rain are tears of the sky.
"The sky weeps when she is sad, when she sees atrocity committed. So you must remember, child, to never make the sky weep. For to make such a divine creature weep, it is cruel and barbaric indeed. " I recited tonelessly to myself, remembering what that man had told me once. Shukaku was settling down. I glanced up at the dull grey world.
It is surprising then, that it does not rain much in the dry village of Suna.
end.