He had out-lived them all..
And dark things lived in the desert. Dark, unmentionable things that thrived and flourished in the dead of night where not even the sun could reach. They squirmed beneath the heaving sands, always unseen. Always reaching through the unbreakable surface to grab at unwary prey.
Over the years, Naruto learned to think as of the mind of one. When they squirmed, he squirmed. When they broke for the surface, he broke for the surface.
Needless to say, they never latched around his feet.
The sea was like sand - No. That is to say, the sand was like a sea; a great, thriving, massive sea tainted yellow. The color of gold, the color of a pulsing sun.
There are no roads, where he has gone.
The sky ends into land. As far as the eye can see is one horizon, one long line of wild blue burning into gold. Gold, gold, as bright as the sun - No. Brighter even. A fury of fire sweeping beneath his feet.
The grass ends, the ground ends. There are no roads here.
Only fire.
Dark things live beneath the ground. Dark, unnatural things.
The sand is pitted against itself. It is a thriving sky unto it's own. It tosses and thrashes, darkness falling between flat dunes. The shadows rave.
They call, sometimes .. It is an echoing, almost enchanting sort of melody that leaves no words. What is almost not a voice moves through the underneath, lingers there.
The sound chills his bones.
A wave, a wave of wind and grains carts over the horizon, flashing into being with a screech and a roar. It churns and rolls, more than water could ever hope to be, and covers everything seen with a deadly fog.
And then, the heavens part, and he steps forth.
It was as simple as living into eternity.
Age was always one of the old curses, driven to those with doom that could not be quelled by mere death or punishment. Being unable to die was, easily, the harshest thing he could have imagined one to suffer.
Naruto never tested the limits of his own body for it's capacity to heal from extreme odds and stress, but as he entered his adult years, he already knew his life would be different.
There his friends were, growing old beside him and dying while he never changed. Never aged.
They grew fat, their bones started collapsing onto themselves, like broken towers falling. Wrinkly skin that thins itself out until not even what was left of skin could cover their fading bodies. Naruto's friends grew old and died.
Konoha grew old. Vines reaching up from underneath, buildings wearing down to termites and sun and wind. The grass conquered the roads, and what home he could remember quickly passed away.
Every hour he spent in that village, as his family grew old without him, was a torture of itself. It was a punishment, for being different, for not changing. Why should his hair still be so bright? His eyes unclouded with murky white? Why should his skin still be strong and tan, and his muscles never wither away?
Why should he live, while they die?
It was as simple as immortality. And this immortality was something that Naruto just couldn't bear in a village of humans, knowing now that he wasn't. Knowing what he was..
So he left, and traveled to the east, heading every day into the rising sun.
Until the day that the sun never set, golden sands burning around him in all directions. His eyes burned, his skin burned, like he was being consumed by flames, on fire from the inside out.