Haku remembers his mother.
He remembers her face, because she was beautiful with her wide, clear eyes and tender smile. He can remember her long dark hair that he used to get his hands tangled in. He remembers reaching out and placing his tiny hands on her warm, pink cheeks, and laughing when she did the same to him.
He can remember her warm arms around him and he can remember feeling safe. She didn't smell like flowers, or cinnamon, or any other pretty scents, she just smelled right.
He remembers her voice, low and sweet, when she sang him to sleep, rocking back and forth. He remembers how she would always tell him that it would be alright, even if it wasn't going to be. He remembers her telling him that dreams were the most important things in the world. He remembers her saying that he was going to make her proud.
Haku can remember seeing his mother kill for the first time. He remembers her expressionless face as she lets the kunai fly. He remembers her strong, pale hands twisting into signs that were so strange to him at the time, but now he makes the same signs with his own pale hands.
Haku doesn't remember his mother's name. He doesn't remember why she killed, or
how she died. He doesn't remember how her laugh sounded. He sometimes
wishes that he did. But he remembers her, and that's enough.