He was out of water.
Even as he lifted the canteen to his parched lips, craned his head back as far as it would bend, squeezing the canteen as hard as he could, he knew it was no use. He must have run dry hours ago. He pulled his scarf back over his hair, it had fallen off when he had leaned his head back. Every part of him, head to toe, was covered in sandy, dull colors and oceans of material. The only exposed skin on his body was now his eyes, as he pulled the scarf back up over his nose when he discovered the water was gone. They were blue, the only bright color on him. Wind clutched at him, blowing sand into his wide eyes and he winced, blinking fast.
Where was the nearest village? Sunagakure, maybe… but, no, he was too deep in the desert. It would be faster to go to Konoha. Even now, his pulse skipped a beat, even thinking the name. How many years had it been…? One? Five? Ten? He hadn't seen civilization in over a month, hadn't asked for the date in… well, so long ago he had no clue when it was.
"Konoha…." He whispered to himself. His cracked voice, parched with thirst, echoed of longing, remorse, and remembrance. Did it still look the same?
It doesn't make sense to go all the way to Konoha, a deep, gravelly voice sounded throughout his mind, reverberating through his chest but not making a sound. Get to a river somewhere, get water there.
But he shook his head at the voice. I'll have to go to the forest to find a river, and if I'm already there, I might as well go see the village. Not for long, stay one night, two at most, then leave. I won't forget about our mission, don't you worry about that.
Hmph. The gravelly voice seemed disgruntled, but did not press further.
The wind and heat and sand buffeted him and his knees shook. He rather wished he had some water.
A/N ah, my short stories never seem to have purpose at the beginning, do they? Or, rather, their sense of purpose is rarely revealed… I'll write an actual story, soon, don't worry.