Author's Note: Those of you who know my style know that most of this story will be in first person, save for a few third-person chapters. The viewpoints will switch between Kiba and Kankuro. I hope it doesn't confuse you too much!

Two. Mercy, Mercy

Kankuro

I kept rubbing my eyes, to make sure I was seeing things properly. No, he was still there, lying in a bloody heap on the ground.

I dashed down from the trees, weaving between branches. My feet landed with a pronounced thud on the ground. The rest of the forest was completely silent.

I knelt down next to the body and rolled it over. A hand at his mouth confirmed it: he was still breathing. Then, as I swept blood-matted pieces of hair from his face, my heart began to flutter.

I knew this shinobi.

He wasn't like the standard Konaha shinobi that normally passed through, falling into a few traps. He was…different. A familiar face. It saddened me, to think the war was hurting someone I knew…someone I'd willingly helped…

"Kiba," I murmured.

"Unh," he muttered. He stirred, and his hand twitched. His eyes remained closed, lashes glued shut with dried blood. His normally tan cheeks were stained even darker with a layer of dirt, which was streaked in some places from sweat and drops of blood.

He was a disaster.

I got up and turned back towards Suna, bending my legs to leap back into the trees.

"Hey…you're not just…" Kiba's voice came from behind my ankles, and I could feel a light tug where he'd gripped the hem of my pants. His mouth silently gaped, trying to form words that wouldn't come. "Don't leave…me…"

My mouth hung open a bit. I hadn't though he'd be able to talk in his state. "I…can't save you. I'm not a Konaha shinobi. I'm from Suna. Saving you would be a crime against my country." There. It was an explanation, even if it wasn't a very good one. I needed to get away. Guilt was already rising in my throat, begging for me to help him.

Save him.

I broke his weak hold on my pants and set to take off again.

"Kan…ku…ro…"

"You know?" I asked. How did he know me...know my name? Was it the sound of my voice, or the shape of my body? Maybe he had just guessed and it was sheer luck. Either way, by the time I had turned around, his arms were limp and he was lifeless once more.

Had he used all that was left of his energy, just to plead with me? He could have saved his energy to drag himself away, or at least attempt to heal himself. But to call for me, to say my name…we were enemies.

I put two fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. He was fading quickly, but he was still alive. For now.

I had to find the wound and stop the bleeding. His clothes were soaked through, both the mesh shirt and jacket he wore. Some of the blood was also staining the hem of his pants, as well as the waistband. He was so messy, it was hard to tell where the blood ended and began, or where it was coming from.

I pushed his bangs up with one hand. He had a small cut in his forehead that was barely worth noticing. It was still bleeding plentifully, however, so I quickly tore a strip of my shirt off and wrapped it around his skull.

One wound down.

And, in frustration find his other wound, I took a kunai from my kit and tore his mesh shirt, tearing it off along with his jacket. He had a deep wound in the stomach, not unlike one I had seen him with before. I tore another strip off my shirt, finally opting to take it off and shred it altogether. I had just begun to cut a thick strip of cloth when it occurred to me.

Why was I saving him?

Granted, he was someone I knew, but that didn't seem like enough of a reason. He and I weren't even friends. More like…acquaintances. We'd meet up on the street and say hello, maybe talk for a bit, but it wasn't like we ever did anything together. Friends…I had never had a friend of any sort in my life.

So why…why did my hands tear my shirt into strips of their own will, ready to stop him from soaking the forest with his blood? Was it guilt? Yes, that seemed the most likely explanation. I wasn't a cold-blooded killer like Gaara, but I had mercilessly taken the lives of more than a few.

And, if I was answering myself honestly at all, I did feel bad about it. I didn't like taking other's lives like I had the right to. It seemed so…wrong. Like I was playing God, but really it was the other way around, and God was playing me like a puppet, moving my strings silently until I did what he willed me to.

At least, I wished that it was God making my decisions for me. Because if I was obeying Gaara's orders of my own will…I shuddered at the thought. That meant I had killed because I was told to, not because I was meant to. And I wanted to be no one's puppet except my own.

I found a bottle of sun-warmed water in Kiba's kit and quickly unscrewed the cap, soaking the last of my rags. I the used the cloth to carefully wash his face, removing the blood from his eyelashes and the dirt streaks from his red fang tattoos.

When I was done, he almost looked like the Kiba I had known once. My heart quivered a little. He was going to live. I could feel it.

Then, horror washed over me. Where was I going to take him? Konaha was not going to accept a Suna shinobi, no matter who he was carrying on his back. And if I took Kiba back to Suna…they would kill him.

There was no doubt in my mind of what I had to do. I would have to take him prisoner. That was the only way he would survive: he would have to be claimed as a hostage of Suna.

I didn't want to condemn him to that. Still…there was no choice. It was imprisonment or death, and the latter was not something I wanted him to experience anytime soon.

I stood over him now, having finished with my repair job. It wasn't much, but it would hold him together. Still, though, for him to be so sick like this…he wouldn't receive medical treatment in the prison. The only way for him to receive treatment of any kind was for me to administer it myself.

But Gaara would be suspicious if I came home with a shinobi on my back, especially when he evidently wasn't one of ours.

I would have to hide him, and there was only one place in Suna Gaara would never think to look for an enemy shinobi: the Kazekage's Mansion. I would have no choice but to hide him from Gaara's ever-present sight in Gaara's own house. I heaved Kiba onto my back, using Karasu's cloth to bind him to me.

Damn, this was going to be difficult.

And so, prisoner in tow, I set off for Suna. Time was running out, and there was little sunlight left. I would have to hurry. And even more importantly, I would have to be careful.

After all, night was the time when Gaara was the most awake.