All your life, you fight to get to the top. You start at the bottom of the cliff, scramble to get to any foothold you can find. Claw at unmoving rock, staring desperately at the summit, an uncertain goal you're laboring for and almost knowing you can never have.
The pressure is gone, but an even heavier weight clings to your back. Dragging you down. Itachi turns the moon crimson, taunting you with dark promises. Determination. Courage. Have faith, brother.
Even if he's left you with none.
But you can imagine what the top of the cliff is like, even if you'll never get there. Feels like the weight is finally gone—like the moon has set. Like you can stand up. Grab a fistful of the sun, put it in your chest and call it your heart. That's what fox-boy's trying to do.
But Orochimaru hisses, the sound of fine silk on steel, and you're down again, at the bottom of the mountain, looking up at the setting sun who doesn't want to leave you behind but is and realizing—it's too late to climb again.