OH YEAH IT'S FINALLY TIME
so another character week, this time for my all-time fave, so of course i had to get in on it! this could been seen as a companion piece to Shades of the Tempest, since i'm imagining them in the same world (and i'm sure once kank week finally rolls around i'll have a third to add to the collection!), or just read it alone, whatever floats your boat.
I wanted to push myself a little with this week, so I've tried looking at the themes from a slightly different angle than my initial instincts told me, they're perhaps not the most thematically tied, but hopefully they'll be interesting regardless!
enjoy!
Day 1 - Kazekage's Celebration
There was nothing in the world quite like the desert sky at night, especially out here, far from any cities or villages, atop a grand rocky pillar that jutted out of the sand – one of many in the area, covered in ancient, weathered carvings of a people long gone, whether they had shaped these stone monuments themselves, or simply placed their mark upon the desert's own creation was a mystery lost to time.
Here, the sky was not pure black, or deep blue, or purple, or any other colour, it was all of them. Dark and beautifully rich, dotted with a million stars scattered from the highest point above, to the furthest edges of the horizon; so thoroughly covering the sky that it would be impossible to find a single patch clear of them, whether bright and glittering, or faded and subtle, clustered together or standing strong and alone, together creating the effect of rippling, shimmering waves, a mirror of the shifting sand below them, the impossibly distant twisting colours of a galaxy painted across the dark.
Gaara didn't know when he'd started to smile, staring up at the sight, but he could only marvel how remarkable it was that he now had time to spare for such trivial things.
There was no moon tonight, which he was a little thankful for – those nights when it sat full and heavy in the sky were always a struggle for him, even now – and the winds howled, as they always did in the Land of Wind, ripping around the formation he sat upon as though screaming its rage at the obstruction in its path, willing it to crumble at its touch.
The monolithic pillar held firm against the onslaught, but Gaara knew the wind would win in the end. It always did.
He made no effort to shield himself from the bitter cold; though his chakra levels had always been great, age was starting to wear away at them and he would rather face the full force of the freezing desert night, than potentially lessen his ability to protect his village should the worst happen, besides, he rather liked the feeling of being so connected to his desert, at one with the land that had shaped his very being.
No doubt his family would scold him for staying out so late, Temari would snap about his reckless disregard for his own health, Kankuro would likely make a joke worrying about his age – ignoring the fact that he himself was sporting far more grey than brown in his hair these days – his children would want to bundle him up and send him to bed, fretting in that way that made him wonder what he'd ever done to deserve such love and concern, Matsuri would urge him to see a medic if he so much as coughed the next day…
Still, he'd always felt a kind of comfort out amongst the dunes, that not even his village and family could offer him. It was a place of refuge, where he was free to let his mind travel as far and free as it wished; whether it be treading old, long-hidden paths of his memories; or focusing so entirely on the sounds and sights and smells and touches of the desert, that he became a part of the landscape; or, like now, looking both backwards andforwards, seeing how far things had come, how much further they could go and accepting his part in both.
At the edge of the world, a crest of orange was just starting to spill into the purple, as the sun prepared to push the beautiful, calm darkness away.
He couldn't stay here much longer, but there was still something he'd come out here to do…
Swaying to the rhythm of the winds roaring around him, Gaara sang – low and soft, words whipped away by the wind's grasping fingers before they even left his mouth – an old Suna song that Yashamaru had taught him once, a song of hope and courage. A prayer for the future.
Carried away on the wind, he hoped that the desert would accept it.
Gaara stood, not quite biting back the grunt as weakened joints clicked their displeasure. He had done his part, now he needed to return home, after all, he didn't want to miss the Kazekage's inauguration.