Touch
How long had he been wandering like this? Kabuto had lost all sense of time and direction as he stumbled through the wooded area surrounding the former Sound Village. He couldn't remember if he had slept. He was positive he hadn't eaten. His robe was still streaked with blood and dirt. If he kept this up, his body was going to give out on him. He wouldn't have cared except for the one lingering hope that it wasn't just his body anymore. It was easier to think that way. Not to remember the dampness of the earth nor the chill of the grave as he had committed Orochimaru's remains to the ground.
He collapsed against a large tree, rough bark slicing through his hand as he slid down. The dull crunch of leaves beneath him. Withered. Sere. Dead. He fought back the urge to scream. Raising a weary hand to brush away an offending tear that was trickling down his cheek. Wishing desperately that he could be as numb and as hollow as Sasuke.
He rolled up his sleeve, examining his arm. Fingers running across scaly white skin. Cold as ice and yet the blood beneath feeling as if it were on fire. He pulled a battered book from his pocket. Jotting down notes with a broken, worn-down pencil.
Day 10: Subject is adapting well to the graft. The circumference of the skin patch has grown 1 inch in diameter over a two day period. Regenerative properties are unmistakable. Further observation is required.
Orochimaru's dark laughter echoed throughout the forest.
Kabuto couldn't help but laugh along with him.