This is a present for lulu42. She is our bard! The lyrics are from "The Sword and the Pen" by Regina Spektor. I would strongly reccomend listening to it in the background.
For those who still can recall
The desperate colors of fall
The sweet caresses of May
Only in poems remain
No one recites them these days
For the shame
The rain splattered harshly on the ground. It made the colors run as the mud swirled through the patches of grass, drowning the soil in a murky palette. It infected the sickly white toes of a crouching man as it washed his pale skin in splashes of dirty water. The droplets of rain jumped off of his skin as they made impact, surrounding him in a misty halo.
His entire body was wracked with violent shivers, but he employed his utmost resolve to keep still. He fixed a steely gray eye on the target. Its nails clicked as it cautiously made its way onto a slab of rock. Nervously, it swished its tail back and forth; large clumps of fur were missing, and the rest hung ragged off of the frame. The creature itself was lean and weak.
Patiently, the man watched the target sniff the stone. Its nose twitched, cold and wet, as it caught a familiar scent. He could see the leap of hope in its milky eyes as it scurried towards the tantalizing odor. It opened its jaw to bite down on what smelled like the most hearty nut in the forest. There was bliss on its narrow face as its teeth sank into the object.
The man leapt out of his hiding spot, snatching the creature by the throat. It had been instantly paralyzed by the poison in the clod of dirt, which had been doused in an alluring olfactory disguise, but he wanted to make sure it did not escape him. The rain had numbed his fingers, but he could still manage to snap its brittle neck.
He did not look at the squirrel as he shoved it into his pack. He had killed hundreds, thousands, of human beings, but for some reason taking the life of this one pathetic creature made him feel sick. Perhaps he identified with the cruelty of being led into a trap of food; more than once, they had lost soldiers to this ploy of their enemies'.
"You're in a better place now," he croaked, patting his bag gingerly. His voice was raspy with disuse. He looked up at the sky, squinting against the pinprick of raindrops. They fell from above a dreary canopy of dead trees. Gnarled, naked branches reached helplessly towards the thick woolen blindfold, hoping to pierce it and let sunlight through.
The man hooked two pruned fingers around the edge of the damp, dark cloth that clung to the lower half of his face. He tugged it down, stretching his tongue out to catch the rain. It was infuriating how buckets of rain were being dumped everywhere but on his extended tongue. A thin white film from the thirst covered his tongue, and it was dissolved a little by the occasional droplet of water, but nothing was enough to quench him.
Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. It would be dangerous to stay in the forest too long. Deciding that he had caught enough helpless squirrels for one night, he snapped his jaw shut and recovered his face, stuffing his hands into his waterlogged pockets.
He started running.
He sent small tidal waves crashing over the dead underbrush as he kicked up puddles, crashing through them with loud squelches. The hollowed trunks loomed over him. He used to think that the trees would provide some sort of shelter, but the storms that raged through this country made the forest dangerous. Besides, the leafless branches did not provide much shade or camouflage. It was safer to be in the rocky outskirts of the district, barely outside of the enemy's territory.
Soon he was out of the forest. He followed the familiar path through the tall grasses, which swayed violently in the building crescendo of wind. Their rustling was a mad screech in his ears. Gradually they shortened until there was no more grass: only mud and rocks. At first the rocks were merely annoying gravel, pebbles that knocked against his sandals and got caught in between his toes. However, as he narrowed the gap between his and the enemy's territory, the rocks grew taller and bulkier, until he had to slow down in order to squeeze between the hulking boulders.
Behind a haphazardly arranged wall of stone, he found camp. Several scores of shinobi were huddled against the wall, and he nearly tripped over them as he scaled it.
"S-sorry, sir," one chattered. "Just t-t-trying to get protection from the w-wind."
The man did not even hear him. He allowed routine to guide his body further into the camp, past small clutters of murmuring shinobi. He wove through them to find a petite woman at the edge of the camp.
He dropped his bag unceremoniously onto a flattened rock in front of her. A pale hand shot out from within her bundle of blankets, reaching to unclasp the top of the bag. She scooted forward and peered inside.
"Squirrels?" She wrinkled her nose.
"What did you expect? You only gave me the nut-flavored dirt."
"Oh, sorry." She didn't sound very apologetic. Sighing, she took out one of the dead animals, bringing it onto her blanketed lap. A green glow rose in her fingers as her hand hovered over the creature, extracting the poison that had been used to paralyze it. She deposited the excess poison into a covered bowl for later use.
"You're quiet," she said absently, not looking up from her work. "I was only joking about the squirrels, you know." No response. She looked up, pushing her damp pink hair out of her face. "Sensei?"
Kakashi looked down at her. Sakura's green eyes stood out clearly in the rain, whereas all of the other colors were muted. That and her pink hair, which hung limp around her round face. They were the only colors he really recognized anymore.
She tilted her head inquisitively. He cast one last, longing look on the forests just out of their reach. The trees were all dead, of course.
He stepped carefully over the makeshift table. "Work on the squirrels later," he ordered. Sakura hesitated, but she saw how the cold was making him shake and so she put the squirrels back in the bag. She lifted an arm, inviting him to sit beside her. He did.
A rush of warmth flooded through her. It was probably not physical, because he wasn't very warm, but she could hear his heart beating as he drew the blanket around them again. His legs were crossed, and his knee bumped into her lap. He slipped an arm around her back in order to hug her closer to him. Tucking his head in the crook of her shoulder, he moved his masked lips against her wet neck.
"Sakura..." he whispered. Her eyes darted around reflexively to make sure than no one could hear them. Nobody could.
He was still freezing, but a shiver of an entirely different sort ran down his spine as he felt her soft lips against the shell of his ear. "Kakashi..." she breathed. "Which one would you like to hear?"
He shifted against her a little. This was what he trudged through every dreary day for. Victory seemed impossibly far away, so he set himself the smaller goal of making it to the spot behind their favorite boulder and receiving his secret relief from Sakura. Her softspoken words validated otherwise hopeless days. "Tell me the one about spring," he said. His voice was hushed. "I want to hear about..." His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, defending himself against the continued assault of the rain. Over her shoulder he could still see the barren branches of the forest. War had stolen his home from him, and the twisted branches mocked him from across the disputed border.
"Leaves."
Kakashi felt her mouth stretch in a small smile. She began to speak. He closed his eyes, listening quietly as she softly articulated his favorite poem.