Butsuma sat alone in deep contemplation, absentmindedly swirling the remnants of his sake in its lacquered flask. His dark eyes burned an imaginary hole in the tatami mat, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight filtering through a narrow gap in the shoji doors. A candle stood by his side, a staunch and silent companion throwing shadows at the walls to its fancy.

Somewhere in the house, his youngest was snoring up a storm and his wife was preparing to turn in for the night, humming a melancholic lullaby. A breeze eased into the dimly lit room, cooling his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and his mind drifted in the mid-autumn haze.


A sombre atmosphere hovered over the two men. His wife, Aoi and Tsubo left some time ago after their dismissal. Before him, Manabu sat ramrod straight like the trained soldier he was as he held the long and piercing gaze of his superior.

Something was bothering this man. Butsuma sensed it where Kiyohana couldn't; it came with the grievous baggage of being leader to a powerful clan with a myriad of enemies. And without preamble, he asked for a detailed report on the girl's rescue.

Butsuma ignored the look of bemusement. He had a written report submitted by a witness in the drawer of his desk in his study, but there was an undeniable advantage a black and white paper did not have over learning how events unfolded from the witness himself. He sat back, waiting for a response.

Manabu was visibly torn between questioning and obeying his superior's order. Realising he was given no rooms for arguments, the man eventually yielded under pressure.

Butsuma listened with rapt attention, as if this was the first time he was being briefed.

Rain coming down thick and fast; the eye of the storm approaching, skimming over the eastern border; Manabu calling the patrol off; Manabu and his team heading back to the valley; a deep rumble sending tremors beneath their feet; a loud, ominous crack and a flash of light; they turned around; one side of a mountain had vanished; the patrolling team arriving at the scene of destruction –

"We didn't rescue her," admitted Manabu, voice bleak and hollow. He could no longer look his superior in the eye. "We found her unconscious on the roadside, close to the landslide. She must have pulled herself out and walked away from the wreckage."

"What made you call the order to turn back?" The groan of rocks, dirt and trees splitting and crumbling away? A hair-raising scream?

"… It was the light."

"The light?" echoed Butsuma, intrigued. "What about it?"

"It was gold." Manabu blinked, the look of a defeated man faded away. "No, maybe it was more yellowish-red? We were at the foot of the mountain, some distance away and our backs were turned." At this point, he was talking to himself.

"It could have been lightning striking a tree," rationalised Butsuma. There were several charred skeletal remains of trees dotting around the mountains and forest, a testimony of the typhoon's sheer power.

Manabu nodded distractedly. "Perhaps… perhaps…"

"Manabu," Butsuma heaved a sigh. "The landslide – the way the girl is right now – those were not your fault." There was no condemnation in his voice. "So, stop beating yourself over it and move on."


The tranquil night was disrupted by a loud crash from the entryway, the animated voice of the eldest announcing their return from a training session, drowning out his two siblings' exasperated pleas – which were soon joined in by a fluttery Kiyohana's hushed admonishments.

A sigh of exhaustion escaped Butsuma. He set the empty flask and cup on the tatami floor, uncrossed his legs and rose from the comfortable cushion.

Best get that letter to the Uzumaki clan sorted.


A hand reached out to brush the tatami mat in a pensive manner, feeling the minute bumps and loose straws prickling back. It was a hand of a child, the fair skin roughened from grasping the hilt of a kunai or sword, performing feats unachievable for one his age were he not born into the Senju – and well, were he not who he resolved to be.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Who came to visit last night?" Itama asked, holding a tenacious Kawarama in his lap to stop his baby brother from wandering over to the edge of the porch. He glanced at the tall and slender figure of his mother, who was hanging laundry in the backyard. "We saw three people walking from the house in the opposite direction. One of them was very short."

Tobirama removed his hand from the mat. "Was it someone from a village coming to talk to father?"

Kiyohana resisted a smile. Her second was being uncharacteristically nosy. "What makes you say that, Tobirama?"

"There were two Senju, but the third's chakra is different from the rest of us."

It was a cloudy night and the street poorly lit to make out their features from the distance, Tobirama wasn't sure who it belonged to. He scowled at his mother. He knew without a doubt she was present at the meeting. She was pretending to be clueless.

Hashirama poked his head out from behind a linen, juggling a wooden bucket of laundry too large for his arms for his mother. "Is that true?" This one clearly wasn't.

An impish glint entered her red eyes. Kiyohana quickly smoothed it over. "Tobirama's right, Hashirama. But it wasn't just anybody."

"So, who was it?" Tobirama, Hashirama and Itama asked in unison.

"A girl named Aoi."

"The short one?" asked Itama, the same time Tobirama said, "What business does this girl have with father that late at night?" the same time Hashirama spoke in rapid succession, "Aoi? Who's that? Where is she from? Come on, mum, tell me! It's my birthday for crying out loud!"

'Of course, Hashirama doesn't know about her new name,' Kiyohana thought gleefully.

She loved messing with Hashirama, it quickly developed into a hobby. Second to turning her rigid husband and second eldest into spluttering messes.

"Oh, silly. You know who she is, Hashirama," Kiyohana hinted with a teasing lilt, causing the demanding tugs on her komon to stop.

Hashirama tilted his head. "I do?"

Kiyohana nodded sagely.

Snapping his book shut, Tobirama abandoned his novel, marched over to the porch. He looked at his mother pointedly, arms crossed over his chest. He might have taken after his dearest mother in terms of appearance, but it was during times like this that it was obvious he was more Butsuma than Kiyohana.

"You're no fun, Tobirama," his mother pouted. "Fine, fine. I'll spill. Aoi is the girl Tsubo-san has been looking after."

Ah. So, it was the 'mysterious' child everybody was talking about. The one his elder brother rambled on and on about after his secret visits to the cramped hut.

Hashirama's jaw dropped wide open. "That girl!? Are you certain that's her name, mother?"

"Sure as the wind blows, sweetie."

The eldest stamped his foot on the ground hotly, screeching. "Her!? Her!? Why did she tell you and not me? That's not fair! Not fair! Not fair!"

"Maybe she doesn't like you," tittered Kiyohana.

Hashirama squawked.

"Or she's afraid of you," Tobirama intoned, sending his brother careering back on his feet. Indifferent, he turned back to pick up his novel from the floor.

Frankly, Tobirama was disappointed it was not a mission request. He was getting stir-crazy staying within the clan borders, his body ached for some actions even if that meant taking down a mere bandit. A girl was not worth faffing over.

"Regardless." Kiyohana steadied Hashirama before he could fall back on his rump and drop the clean laundry on the dirt. She ruffled his bowl-cut hair affectionately; Butsuma was not at home to scold her for coddling the children. Her children, for God's sake. "Please be more sympathetic to the poor girl. She's in a delicate situation."


After ensuring the armours were securely strapped, Manabu shoved on his sandals and hauled the entire weight of the polished metals and himself up. Turning around in the entryway, his eyes fell upon the redhead peeking around Tsubo's legs.

Aoi was swathed in a mismatched set of clothes they managed to scavenge around the house that was not moth-eaten or torn at weird places from being nicked by sharp weapons. The clothes had belonged to him when he was younger and taller. The bottom of the faded green haori reached her knees, and the hems of the black trousers were rolled up and tied with straps. It was much preferable than suffocating in Tsubo's clothes though, and the komon Aoi originally wore was ruined beyond repair.

"I will be back in time for dinner," Manabu informed his wife.

Tsubo nodded in understanding and passed his sword. "Stay safe."

Aoi didn't understand what border patrol involved until she heard the pleading undertone in those two words. She didn't know where she stood; there was no trace of worry or nervousness in the larger man's countenance.

"I will."

Aoi decided she liked his voice despite the gruffness. It carried a hint of warmth she'd hear whenever Tsubo spoke to her.

She glanced from one to another, wondering what secret messages they were sending to each other in their strong gazes. The adults stood as if the world around them had faded away and it was just the two of them.

Seconds stretched into a minute. Aoi was tired of carrying the bundle in her hands behind her back as instructed. She shifted from foot to foot, growing restless in the prolonging silence.

Startled by the sudden movement, Tsubo and Manabu broke away, wearing matching red ears and looking more mortified in front of the girl than last night at the main house.

Clearing his throat, Manabu strapped on his sword with clumsy fingers. "Don't worry about a thing. I'm always careful."

"R-right," Tsubo stammered. Gosh, they were acting like they just met each other on their matchmakingday. "Oh, I-I almost forgot! Aoi?"

As if on cue, Aoi came forward and presented the bundle, wrapped in a cotton cloth, to Manabu. Instead of the rehearsed words, a strange noise emitted from the back of her throat. She clamped her mouth shut, feeling the heat rising to her freckled cheeks, and dropped her eyes dejectedly to the floor.

A large, blatantly masculine pair of hands reached down to gently remove the bundle from her trembling hands. Without something to hold, her arms fell uselessly to her sides.

"Is this packed lunch for me?"

Aoi nodded timidly at her bare feet.

"Thank you, Aoi." There was a pause. "I'll see you two tonight."

The armours rattled. Aoi looked up in time to see Manabu throwing a wave over his shoulder before the dazzling sunlight swallowed him whole.

"Well done, Aoi," smiled Tsubo, patting her head in a consoling gesture.

"B-but I –"

"It's alright to make a mistake. It was your first attempt anyway."

Aoi nodded and leaned against Tsubo, seeking comfort from her warm presence. It melted the woman's heart that the child felt safe around her.

Tsubo glanced at the empty doorway, worry worming its way into her heart. But, it was not the usual anxiety at seeing her beloved husband walking away from her, bearing armours and weapons.

She had sensed the uncertainty in Manabu. Was he having second thoughts about Aoi?

Tsubo shook her head furiously. No. Manabu made it clear that he felt sorry for Aoi. That it was dangerous to dump her in a stranger's hands, even if that stranger was an old ally.

Her caramel eyes landed on the dirty dishes by the hearth, where they had taken breakfast, and she instantly brightened at an idea. She had taken the day off from work to help Aoi settle down, and the doctor wouldn't be here until late afternoon.

Beaming, she turned to Aoi. "Would you like to help me clean the house?"


Genta was a stout man in his mid-sixties with fine wisps of salt and pepper hair skirting a gaping crown bald spot, yellowy teeth, and stood with a hunch at their doorway. When Tsubo first started out as his assistant, the doctor was working in shifts between the infirmary and making house calls, until it proved taxing to juggle so many responsibilities at a certain age. Genta refused to end his profession when the clan needed his expertise, enduring the long walks and hours each day to visit his patients at their homes with Tsubo in tow. Though he had retired from his post at the infirmary, there were times when he was called back to lend a hand – as in Aoi's case.

"She heals fast," commented Tsubo, wrapping a fresh roll of bandage around Aoi's forehead.

It had taken much cajoling and bribery (in the form of daifuku) for the girl to sit still for Genta during her examination. He always left foul-smelling balms for her wounds that made her stomach churn.

"She's young, this one," Genta lazily replied from the porch, turning the long and delicate handle of his trusty smoking pipe between his thumb and index finger. "It's not surprising."

Yet, the long scar running along Aoi's left arm was smooth to touch and already fading. It had been deep and required stitches.

Genta shrugged it off and took a long drag from his pipe. He watched the tendrils of smoke rising and dancing in the air. The sky was tinted pink and orange by the sun sinking behind the mountains. He admired the scenery before him for a few minutes of peace before extinguishing the pipe.

Tsubo was picking up the old bandages from the floor when he entered the house. The girl sat in her new dressings, munching on a piece of the sweet confection. Genta eyed the baggy clothes draped around her small frame. He didn't comment on the choice of clothing, as he ambled towards his cabinetry by the entryway.

Aoi gave a little jump when he passed her and scuffled back until her back hit the wall. She drew her knees to her chest, wary eyes tracking his movements.

Pulling on the leather straps over his shoulders, Genta mentally snorted with mild amusement. "I'm going home," he announced, not missing the look of relief on the child's face.

Tsubo saw him off at the front door. "Thank you for coming all this way, sensei."

"It's fine. I understand your worries," Genta mumbled around his pipe's handle. He peered around Tsubo. "Look after your mother, kiddo."

Aoi pulled her teeth away just as she was about to take another bite of the half-eaten daifuku. She looked around to find the doorway empty.


Ignoring the heated protests and perplexed onlookers, Tsubo half-dragged and half-led a chagrined Genta through the street down her home. Once they were out of earshot, she released the wrist from her strong grip and let out a breathless sigh. She looked around and found themselves in the bamboo forest behind the street. In the distance, the tan house roofs in her tiny neighbourhood peeked out from between the towering stalks.

"There better be a good explanation," Genta grumbled tetchily, adjusting his pipe between his teeth. He rubbed his wrist. "I nearly dropped my precious pipe on the ground. What if it broke, huh?"

Tsubo had the decency to look shamefaced. "I'm sorry about that. It's just…"

She didn't want anyone – including her sister – to know. The less the better. But there was no hiding after what happened in the house. She had acted on reflex. And she betted a year's worth of wage that the shrewd doctor already connected the dots after he discharged Aoi from the hut.

She felt a stab of guilt. They had known each other since she was employed in the infirmary at a time when children were already expected to contribute to the war efforts. She was nine. The troubled woman trusted him to keep this a secret.

Genta listened without interrupting, as Tsubo dove into a condensed version of the private meeting with the clan head and matriarch. Nothing had been decided. Unless Butsuma received responses from the Uzumaki or otherwise, she didn't want to give Aoi (or herself) false hopes.

His assistant might be unaware of her own actions, but Genta had noticed how Tsubo acted with restraints around Aoi back in her house. It was a huge contrast. He had watched from the hut's doorway – the retreating figures of woman and girl holding hands, Tsubo's face glowing with excitement – and assumed a lot of things.

He knew of her suppressed longing. Something must have had happened in between, and he desperately needed a smoke.

The stick struck the matchbox with a scraping noise and a fire hissed into life, briefly lighting up Genta's craggy features. He shook the matchstick vigorously, putting out the fire, and took two satisfying puffs.

"The Uzumaki?" Genta spoke for the first time in a while. "Ah, I see. Butsuma will have no luck with them."

Tsubo stood straighter. "What do you mean?"

"Some members of the Uzumaki clan are noted for their red hair, for sure. But that girl's hair doesn't come close to auburn. Hers has an orange hue." He gestured towards the tinted sky with his pipe.

Tsubo looked up. "Now that you mention it…"

"This is just my gut feeling," Genta grunted, starting towards the direction of his home. "It's not worth losing sleep over."


The house was a wedding gift from the clan, as per tradition. Next to the bedroom Tsubo and Manabu shared for eighteen years, there was a spare room used for storage.

Tsubo lifted the oil lamp in front of her and examined the dusty interior. A dull pain and longing she had buried a long time ago resurfaced in her heart. The room was intended for a child that never was.

She stole an anguished look over her shoulder, at the small figure perched on the porch. The last light of the day caught on the cascading ginger tresses. For a breath-taking moment, the woman was confident Butsuma's efforts would be for nought.

It frightened her.


"Don't get too attached, Manabu. Once her relatives come to claim her, she will leave."

The front door closed with a clatter. A shattered Manabu dragged his heavy feet across the entryway and plopped down on the raised threshold that separated the clean tatami interior from the entryway. He pulled off the white headband, damp with his sweat, and hunched his weary body.

The enticing aroma of steamed rice and grilled fish wafted to his nostrils, whetting his appetite. His stomach let out an appreciative growl.

"Welcome home," a tiny feminine voice greeted, causing his shoulders to twitch.

Aoi was on her knees, placing three cushions around the hearth where a warm fire crackled. She sat back on her heels, openly staring at his back.

Manabu coughed into his fist to cover his embarrassment, the thought of hunger thrown out his mind. "Ah, I'm home."

Hands darting to the sword on his hip, he began to unravel the straps. There was rustling behind him; Aoi, seemingly content with his response, resumed her task – much to his relief.

Manabu bent forward, not realising what he was doing until three pairs of footwear – his sturdy sandals, and Tsubo's and Aoi's straw slippers – arranged neatly side by side stared back at him. His eyes glazed over before he shook himself back to reality.

There was a clutter of random objects outside the spare room. It was a meagre collection of what the room held, but enough to throw Manabu off balance and send him stumbling to his feet. He marched past a nonplussed Aoi, watching him with intrigue, and peered inside. Some of the boxes had been moved around, clearing a space barely big enough to fit a person in the centre of the room. Three more days of cleaning should sort this out, he dully estimated.

Manabu slapped his forehead. His wife's motives couldn't be any clearer. 'Tsubo! She's getting ahead of herself.'

He had the mind to talk her out of it. His foot turned sharply at an angle that would guide him to his wife grilling tonight's fishes at the backyard.

He had not taken the first step when he felt the pull on his pant leg.

"Would you like to have tea?"

The small redhead was watching him uncertainly through her lashes, wringing her fingers in the hem of the haori.

It took one innocently phrased question and a downward glance to shatter his objective to pieces. Manabu was unable to stop the look of amazement dawning on his features. That was the most he heard her spoke in one sentence.

Aoi was soft-spoken and polite. Whether it had anything to do with the head trauma or her timid nature, he wasn't sure – but she did possess remarkably good table manners


The next morning, Aoi was no longer hiding behind Tsubo when they saw Manabu off at the entryway. There was still a trace of timidity in her countenance but managed a whispered "For you" as she placed his packed lunch in his waiting hands.

Manabu exchanged a few words with his wife before he bade them farewell. He sent a fleeting smile Aoi's way, the clan head's grim voice ringing in his ears.

"Don't get too attached, Manabu. Once her relatives come to claim her, she will leave."


Manabu was summoned to the main house. A week had passed since their secret meeting at the main house.

He sat rigidly, face tensed as Butsuma relayed the news. The Uzumaki and the villages he contacted were not missing a child of Aoi's description. A swift decision was made, albeit a difficult one.

It was a moonless night the following evening. With a heavy-eyed elder and the clan head present as witnesses, Tsubo and Manabu were signed as her legal guardians.

Aoi

An unassuming name, inspired by a flower that carried a deep meaning, was entered in the clan register.


The mid-autumn night was chilly and still, broken by the muffled voices of night sentries and the occasional hoot of a hiding owl. It was hard to tell time without the moon's presence, but it must be late, judging by the muted silence drifting through the bamboo forest like a cloak of mist.

The paper lantern in Manabu's grip emitted a soft amber glow, guiding their way through the dense forest towards home on the outskirts – far away from the din of the central military area and close to the tranquil terraced paddy fields.

Idle chitchat floated around the happy couple. Each had a hand around the smaller one belonging to the girl, dressed in a bright purple komon, between them. As their house came within view, the conversation died off. A low, out-of-tune folksong soon filled in the silence.

Tsubo regarded her husband out of the corner of her eyes. There was a look of peace on his tanned features. She laid a hand on her chest where her heart thrummed with his singing, the knot of unease in her stomach becoming undone.

"Does this mean, I can call you father and mother?" Aoi suddenly asked. She had not spoken a word at Butsuma's house, preferring to sit quietly between her new parents and observe the proceedings with curious eyes, while maintaining a chary distance from the clan head.

"Of course, my child," Manabu let out a deep chuckle, as he opened the front door. My child! "Do you know what father and mother mean?" He was jesting of course.

"They love and protect me," Aoi replied in an odd tone, oblivious of their stunned looks. "That's what family is for."


Let me start by saying thank you for those favourites, follows and reviews. I hope you've all enjoyed the latest installation. Please let me know what you think of this chapter! I have an inkling that Tobirama likes to think he's always calm and collected.

To the guest, Sam: Thank you! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter.