'Stardust in his brains; he's got the wanderlust,' the elders would grumble, even as the boy wandered to the edge of the camp, away from the safety of the campfire and the caravans to stare out at the expanse of wasteland, with his face exposed to the night cold. The boy's mother would always have to drag him back, fussing over him as she did so; brushing remnants of sand from the thick weave of his long robe and tucking his head-cloth around his head until all skin was covered and only dark eyes peeked out.

Every night this would happen and the caravan elders knew how it would end. The boy's attempts at play were spirited, as with any child, but the mind behind was too focused on other things. His eyes lingered too long on the backs of the escort shinobi and when the Puppeteers put on small shows for the children, he looked at the deft movements of their fingers, rather than the stuffed dolls and wooden animals loaned by the children for the performance. A Puppeteer noticed and said nothing, his painted face as immobile as a real mask. Once the performance was over, however, he instead threw away the comment; 'He's a serious little thing, isn't he? Knows where to look. If he ever gets tired of the caravans, we could use someone like him.'

The comment sent the boy's mother practically into a frenzy of trying to be the perfect mother, so that her boy would never want to leave for anything. But when she finally collapsed from the strain, sobbing, into the arms of her fellow mothers and the older matrons, she felt her little boy fling his arm around her skirts and tell her with his blunt but soothing words that she was already the best mother anyone could want. She didn't notice his eyes straying towards the dark smudge on the horizon that were the walls of Sunagakure no Sato.

The caravans of the Tadayou Sakyuu always came to Sunagakure for the annual Winter Storm Festival. They were, after all, practically family; intermarriage was common and it was a chance for families to reunite. Also, it was a Festival.

Evening always descended early at this time of year, but all were protected from the harsh winds by the great canyon in which Suna was housed. Coloured swathes of cloth stretched between rooftops, any gaps letting in the starlit sky framed by brightly-lit paper lanterns with streamers. Smells, smoke and sound filled the air as the market cooks slapped thick pats of goats cheese onto slabs of meat hissing furiously in large woks, stirred noodles and broth in massive steel pots, some shinobi good-naturedly offering their services in slicing onions at blurring speed, beleaguered but grinning assistants shooing away sticky fingers from child, adult and shinobi alike and laughing patrons simply enjoying the food.

Even wounded shinobi made an appearance, arms in slings, hobbling on a crutch or with bandages peeking out from under their kimono. Any pain or disadvantage this might have afflicted upon them was not visible as they laughed and talked and ate with the rest; laughing as shinobi children and Genin played Ricochet in the alleyways off Mainstreet and between the balustrades of Underbridge, trailing lanterns and ribbons behind them. They were joined a bit more slowly by civilian and caravan children, held carefully by the shinobi who carried them and who took the opportunity to relive their younger days with the dangerous sport.

The animals here were friends and partners of the shinobi; unlike the caged beasts in the menageries of the nobles, these roamed free. Scorpions of varying sizes, ranging from the size of a mouse to that of a large cat, clung to the backs, shoulders or head-wrappings of their respective shinobi, their backs daubed with bright paint in decoration for the Festival and to mark them as nin-animals. Vultures and hawks perched regally upon shoulders, stooping to take the food offered to them while Jackals and large-eared foxes darted between legs and begged food from children and civilians. Horned vipers, Thorny lizards and other reptiles sought the relative darkness and quiet of their partners' sleeves, collars and head-wrappings. Large golden moles, the sizes of terrier dogs, snuffled through the legs of the crowd while smaller or younger ones were carried in satchels or baby slings.

Matrons and young women displayed their needlecrafts to sell, while a whole row of merchant tables glittered with metals both precious and practical. The craftspeople themselves bought things from the shinobi and the few vagrant traders; sheddings from nin-animals and the skins and bones of ordinary ones, shells and stones collected from beyond the borders and plants good for dying cloth, as well as gaudy bits taken from the bodies of bandits and robbers.

As the bronze gong tolled the late hour, the crowds drew to the edges of the streets as a carnival of grotesque and deadly forms cavorted and tumbled over the packed dirt. Puppets of all kinds moving in all sorts of ways; dancing, crawling, shuffling and leaping. Between the wooden figures were the black-swathed ones of the Puppeteers, some moving in the macabre dance alongside their creations while others strode along with only their fingers in motion. Behind the cavalcade of painted faces, twin venerable elders in white glided. Many shinobi in the crowd whispered and bowed their heads in respect.

"Chiyo-hanshi."

"Ebizo-chinō soshiki."

"I hear Chiyo-sama is retiring this year!"

"That's been said for the last six years, but it's never happened."

"No! It's happening for real this year!"

"Really? What was the last straw?"

"According to one of my cousins, she's to be a grandmother."

"Who's taking over the Corps?"

"How should I know?"

"Ssh, it's time!"

The boy poked his head around someone's leg in time to see dark cloth swish imperiously by, a glittering aura of iron filings trailing in the man's wake. He barely had time to look before the man bent his knees and jumped, soaring over the crowd before alighting on the roof of one of the houses. Everyone broke out in cheering. It was the boy's first look at the Sandaime Kazekage.

Instead of the white and turquoise robes of office, he instead wore an open-fronted black haori over a cream-coloured hitatare of fishtail-braided strips and beige hakama. His dark blue hair framed his face with short spikes and choppy side-bangs with the rest pulled neatly into a reverse chonmage. Eyes like burnished bronze, thinly ringed with black and graced with a long curving line of khol swept the crowd, accompanied by a grin. The people fell silent and still and, carried by chakra, his voice thundered a message of friendship, prosperity and endurance.

Halfway through, a person in a demon mask had appeared in the shadows with a teenaged boy by her side. He wore Suna's forehead protector, had the same thin line of black not-khol around his eyes and his hair was a dark puce colour. A few of the other shinobi muttered, but otherwise the two were ignored.

Baki didn't notice at all. It didn't matter. Nothing would change his mind now.

When the caravan left after the Winter Storm Festival, Baki did not go with it. His mother wept.

Baki followed the wind and pledged himself to it in blood.

Notes:

Hanshi is an honorific used in the context of a particular martial discipline to refer to a 'teacher of teachers' or 'Grand Master'.

Someone's profession can also be used as an honorific. Hence 'chinō soshiki'=intelligence organization. Baki states in Shippuden that the Honoured Siblings have an extensive information network. However, Chiyo would have been busy with the Puppeteer Corps.

The Sandaime's robes are those shown as being worn by the Kazekage statues in the council chamber. I'm saying that that outfit is worn for intra-Suna-specific occasions, like Festivals.

A hitatare is an older and more formal form of a kosode. For reference, Inuyasha wears a red hitatare.

The reverse chonmage is the bun hairstyle the Sandaime wears, he just doesn't shave the rest of his head. The modern-day 'man bun' is actually a messy chonmage.

Rasa is ten years older than Baki.

Suna elects it's Kazekage by direct blood succession, so it's pretty obvious who Rasa's father was(Jiton, anyone?). They even have similar faces. Also, the Nidaime had no eyebrows, so did that just skip a few generations?