Disclaimer: No, I don't own Naruto. -.- I do however own this story line and this little material that I have written.


Seal

Chapter One: Caged Bird

By: animeanne


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On the surface, Sakura Haruno did not look like your average spoiled brat. And in some ways, she was not. She didn't yell, raise her voice even, or tug, or pull, or cry like kids her age usually did to get what they wanted. She didn't respond harshly when the servants would gossip about her behind her back—saying cruel things that somehow by chance, she'd always overhear.

She's not really a Uchiha—why should we treat her like one?

She's abandoned. No one here really wants her here.

Will you just look at her hair? It's such a ridiculous color. Bet she got it from her whore of a mother. And look at how she ended up.

She walks like she's better than all of us, but we all know that she's just like us. Why else would they always send her to the back of the courtyard to work when guests come? They're ashamed of her.

On the surface, Sakura was a mountain—blank, strong, and calm. The Uchiha household had taught her to be that way. She ignored what she could ignore and when she couldn't ignore them, she got even.

Sakura had very delicate features, a heart shaped face, a sharp chin, a figure that was too thin for even a girl her age—bony and jagged. She was tall for her age, stood about the same height as Sasuke-san, but was well diminished when standing next to the other three Uchihas—Mikoto-san, Itachi-san, and Fugaku-san.

When she walked, her back was so straight, her neck long and elegant; she had poise that was beyond her age. You grew up faster walking within these Uchiha walls.

She always walked quickly and quietly through the house as if she never wanted to be seen. She didn't do it on purpose, but rather it was a long practiced habit—she knew Fukashi wouldn't want to be disturbed. There was always something about him that frightened her.

When she was outside, she liked to run—as fast as she could, through the long grass, hearing the thumps and thuds of her footsteps, feeling the wind through her long pink hair, and feeling as though she could fly away.

No, on the surface, Sakura didn't appear to be a spoiled child at all. It wasn't until you gazed into her sea-foam eyes that you began to understand how anyone could see her as a brat. Her eyes shone with a kind of untamable fury—a primal wildness. Though her posture and movements indicated a perfected grace and delicacy, when you looked into her eyes you could see behind them that there was a force waiting to be released—a fuse waiting to be lit.

She got what she wanted in subtle ways—subtlety was a Uchiha trait. She learned to do things quietly, without being seen. She never got angry, per se—she just got even. When she heard one of the servants saying nasty things, the only hint of her fury was contained in her eyes. A spark, and then gone.

Most of the time, nothing happened. Occasionally though, something did. Perhaps a flowering bruise would appear on the servant's cheek. When asked what happened, she would say in a somewhat tremulous voice that it was nothing, just accidentally tripped and fell on her face. Or perhaps jewelry from Mikoto's box would be found under that servant's pillow. They would always deny it:

I don't know how it got there! I didn't take it!

Well it sure didn't crawl there under your pillow all by yourself did it?

Most of the time, they were asked to pack their bags and leave by the next morning. Stealing would not be tolerated under the Uchiha rule.

So even though the servants gossiped—they kept it in whispers—only the stupid ones were loud enough to be overheard.

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"I'm tellin' you, it was that Haruno brat again!"

"That's absurd, that little weakling? She couldn't hurt a fly even if she wanted to, much less kick that bitch out of this house. You have to admit, Hatsu was one tough bitch, if I've ever met one. That Haruno brat would stand no chance against her."

The two servant women were bent over in the laundry room scrubbing the heavy, white bed sheets on scrubbing boards. Their hair was tied and wrapped up in cloths, and their hands were red and raw from scrubbing for so long.

The elder, plumper woman replied,

"I ain't sayin' Hatsu didn't deserve it with all the trouble she's been causin'. That Hatsu, spreadin' all the rumors about everyone, and slappin' around all the new girls like a cow herder. But I ain't fallin' for that weak lil helpless face that Haruno brat goes aroun' givin' everybody. 's all I'm sayin'."

The middle aged woman said,

"I think your overestimating that ten year old. Did you see how frightened she was when ever she saw Hatsu?"

"I'm tellin' you. 'S all a front. You betta be careful 'round that girl. There's jus' somethin' about her. She gets this funny look in her eyes…"

A soft voice suddenly interrupted,

"Amako, do you have any laundry for me to dry?" Speak of the little devil. Both women turned sharply to see the pink-haired monster standing innocently before them.

"U-Uh there's the basket o'er there, Sakura-san." Amako, the elder woman replied as she pointed at a pile of laundry that needed to be hung. She inclined her head slightly as a small bow of respect.

"Gomen nasai, Amako." Sakura said quietly before carrying the heavy basket of laundry and walking up the stairs and into the back courtyard. She smiled slightly—if it could be called that, a mere tilt of the lips, when she saw the two servant women shooting each other uneasy looks.

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It was warm outside. How long had it been since she had gotten to feel this wind on her skin?

She rarely got to go outside. Mikoto always told her to stay within these stone walls, to be careful, don't talk to strangers, don't stay out for too long—someone might spot you. And for this reason, Sakura was unusually and unhealthily pale.

Sakura carried the laundry basket to the back courtyard where the laundry lines stretched. One end of the laundry line was tethered to a high branch of the oak tree while the other end was tied to the top of the white washed wall of the house. If Sakura stood on her tiptoes and stretched her arm as high as possible, the line was still about a few feet out of her reach.

She had run into this problem last time too. Mikoto had not realized that she set the young pink-haired girl to an impossible task—but she had seemed in such a hurry to get Sakura in the back courtyard when the guests came that she did not notice.

Sakura walked toward the tall oak tree. She carried the basket in one arm as she concentrated all her chakra to her feet. She felt the familiar tingling in her body as the warm energy traveled from her stomach to legs to ankles and then to the pads of her feet leaving a distinct kind of warmth welling there.

She placed her foot on the root of the oak tree, concentrating all her energy on the bottom foot—feeling her own warm chakra melding with the tree's cooler chakra. She took one step after another up the tree, until she found herself completely parallel to the ground. She took a few deep breaths before continuing as she felt a few sweat beads forming on the back of her neck.

Sakura swayed slightly with the load of laundry in her hand as she walked on the thin laundry line. From a distance though, she looked like a graceful tightrope walker, adjusting her center of balance when she hung each piece of fresh laundry on the line.

It had taken her a while to meld her own chakra perfectly, and even now she had trouble doing it for so long. If only Itachi-san could have taught her a little more. Sakura learned all she knew from the glimpses she caught when she saw Itachi-san training Sasuke in the open courtyard. She had once asked Mikoto if she could learn—after all, from what Sakura saw, the arts of the ninja were beautiful, graceful, and powerful and in an innate way she felt a strong inner drawing—hunger, towards that power.

Though Sakura saw a tinge of regret on Mikoto's face, before she shook her head, refusing consent, Sakura couldn't help but feel a little hateful towards her mother—why did she feel like a bird in a gilded golden cage so often?

So Sakura broke the rules. Well, not entirely, at least in her own opinion. So she peeked in occasionally on Sasuke's lessons—it wasn't as if Itachi-san were actually teaching her.

She had seen Itachi-san teaching Sasuke to climb the tree by drawing chakra to his feet. What Sakura had the most trouble with in the beginning was actually drawing all her chakra. It was as if her chakra were flowing so scarcely through her veins that she couldn't even find enough to draw. Sasuke, on the other hand, had trouble with simply manipulating his chakra to certain areas and controlling his ample supply of his energy to the right places. This, Sakura had no trouble with—she found manipulation quite easy, and therefore she was proud to note that she learned the first lesson much faster than Sasuke, climbing to the tip of the oak tree where she found she had a unprecedented view of the Uchiha household.

So, when she hung the laundry on a laundry line that was too tall for her, she found that it was much easier (and of course more fun) for the ten year old to apply what she learned secretly. The trouble did come though, when she attempted to balance on the thin laundry line—Sakura was light, but not weightless. The line would sink from the pressure and since the line was not a living thing like the tree nor was it a flat surface, her chakra did not meld with line successfully and therefore caused Sakura's feet to wobble uncontrollably and for her arms to flap to no avail before she dropped ungracefully to the grass like an awkward turtle on its back.

For a while, Sakura took these falls without being discouraged from her course of action before finally, with dirt and grass stains on her normally pristine white kimono and a sweaty brow, two brilliant ideas came to her: One, she would make herself weightless—or at least as close to it as possible—she would force her own chakra to push her own feet upward. And two, she would manipulate her chakra around the wire so that it would meld with her own chakra. Brilliant. She thought.

The theory was much easier than in practice. To manipulate strands of chakra was easier said than done—especially for a ten year old who had no one to help her. However, Sakura practiced. Hard. She divided the chakra on one foot into two pieces—then four, then eight, then sixteen, and finally thirty-two thin strands. She stepped onto the wire and melded all the strands around the wire and tested her balance. Many of her test runs failed—she crumpled to the ground—leaving purple bruises on her arms, knees, hips and even one on her cheek.

"Sakura, what happened to your cheek dear?"

"an acorn fell from the tree where I was hanging the laundry" Not a blink of her sea-foam eyes to belie her innocent façade.

"an acorn?" very dubious tone of voice.

"yes, an acorn. The squirrels in the oak tree seemed to be grumpier than usual today, I suppose."

A raised arch of a skeptical brow.

And at last when she was finally able to balance successfully as to not even allow a wobble in her step, she was so surprised that she instantly lost all concentration and fell to the familiar ground in a heavy thump.

The sudden memory brought a genuine smile to Sakura's lips.

She sighed in satisfaction as she dropped the empty laundry basket to the ground. The gentle spring wind blew her pink hair into her face—she closed her eyes, angling her face toward the sun that warmed her cheeks, listening to the sound of occasional bird song and of tree leaves shifting, breathing in the open air--she felt filled to the brim.

But the sensation was only there for a few seconds before Sakura suddenly felt herself sinking—her chakra was at her limit. Her eyes snapped open—everything was too bright—she felt her feet collapsing—there was no use for flapping arms, she braced herself for the familiar fall—it would only hurt a little before she would just get up and try again later—a blur—

But the fall didn't come, neither did the pain. Instead she found that she was held in a pair of strong arms, and a pair of blood-red sharingan eyes were gazing down at her intently. His face was like a dark shadow that had eclipsed the noon sun overhead.

She whispered his name without knowing why, softly like a prayer,

"Itachi-san…"


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AN: don't call me evil for ending it there. :D I hope this chapter wasn't too boring—I feel like I needed to fill the readers in on Sakura and who she is and the background of where she is and what she lives like. If you haven't noticed, yes, this is going to be a long, slow, fic... Hopefully long since I'm not really sure how long I'll be amused with writing this...but so far I'm enjoying writing it! Anyway! Please please review, because I really love getting feedback, and because I will be a lot more motivated and therefore will update faster if you do! Which reminds me, THANK YOU FOR ALL THOSE WHO REVIEWED FOR THE LAST CHAPTER!! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOMEEEE! I'm always amazed by people who read and review first chapters—I never have the patience to read or review on works in progresses because I like the satisfaction of knowing what happens next or at least until the 10th-ish chapter. What can I say, I'm cheap… Anyway, coffee and cookies for all!

THANK YOU: crazyevilgirl, bloodyhellanothername, Sakura Rei Yuki, numberoneklutz, Friesenator, won't be the Victim, kittyciao, SweetAssassin, les-liasons-dangereuses, Staring.out.my.flooded.window, and Trinity Blood Fox.