Characters: Temari
Rating: PG
Word Count: 450
Warnings: possible spoilers for chapters preceding 567
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. No own, no profit, no sue.
Notes: Written on Dec 24, 2011 for Round #45 at the LJ community prompt-in-a-box.

Survival is not so much a skill as it's a necessity. You stay alive, because you have to, as long as you can. If she were a believer, she'd say luck was the main ingredient. But she's not – it's unfair to say her fallen comrades were unlucky, as far as you could talk about fairness in this world; it would belittle their sacrifice. And the enemy's power as well.

As much as she hates to admit it, they're up against an overwhelming force. If they had less or weaker shinobi on their side, the war might have already been lost, her loved ones dead or dying and the ninja world under control of one Uchiha Madara.

She considers all this possible and has no hopes for any outcome she might like. She prefers it's with her skin intact and with her brothers and allies left alive. She prefers it, but expects the worst, or nothing at all.

It's what you do on the battlefield, you blossom in the void of thought, whether facing a horde of man-eating shape-shifters that may just wear the skin of a trusted friend, or one lone fighter with both offense and defense impenetrable and absolute: you empty your heart to all that was and all that will come. You can mourn later, at the end of the day, when dragging the bodies (or what's left of them) from the frontlines, hoping to save someone so they can die at a later date, somewhere else, from other causes; you can mourn when the war is over, should you survive to see the end.

It's all a matter of usefulness – as long as you're alive and able to fight for the Great Ninja Alliance, saving you is worth the risk of sending someone weaker into a potential line of enemy fire. See, your strength decides how expendable you are.

It's what Gaara told her once, "you're of no use to me dead." It sounded heartless, but the truth doesn't care for appearances. She has no illusions about his meaning. What he needs are strong shinobi able to fight unimpeded by the baggage of thought. (She could only hope to find another layer between those words, because Gaara can't decipher feelings, so how could he know about his actual needs, if times were different...)

These are times when hope doesn't fit the requirements of survival, when neither luck nor overthinking can save your skin. Call it unfair, but it's how they were raised: emotionless like tools and sharp as a sickle. They were born for this life – not to care, but to kill – and whether intended or not, they would die for it, too.

Thanks for reading!

The next five drabbles are older ones included for the sake of completion. After that, there will only be updates when the Muse is gracious.