The next morning, she was awake at dawn, the blue twilight filling the room with its sacred stillness, a pause in between the worlds of Darkness and Light, the world catching its breath for a few moments before the first birds heralded the sun. She drew herself up to a sitting position, carefully pulling her injured leg. Her shoulders shivered at the touch of the cold air. She closed her eyes, and inhaled, slowly, deeply, drifting into the moment before awakening her energy and focusing her chakra onto her leg again. Carefully, thoroughly, she went through the entire structure of bone, muscle, veins. All her careful studies in anatomy had been paying off: she finally succeeded, within two hours or so, in restoring the leg entirely.
By the time she was done, however, she was tired enough to slip back underneath the covers and take a nap that rested her till noon. When she opened her eyes again, this time she saw, in addition to a pair of slippers, a crutch by the bedside. The case of hide had been replaced by a brace, like a splint.
So, he had been watching, or else checking on her progress. This made her wary, but she still needed to move. Forgetting the previous day's instruction, she peeled off her covers, slowly swung her legs to the bedside and gingerly put the slippers on, and, holding the crutch, carefully tested her weight on the leg. No pain, but a grogginess coming from lying for so long , added to the exhaustion of overcoming the fever, made her sway a little, but within an instant she had managed to stand upright.
"Well done!"
Her head snapped towards the voice. He stood in the doorway. "I'll show you to the wash-room." She blushed, and, remembering her change of clothes, turned scarlet, but nodded and took a careful first step, followed by another, slowly going towards the door. Healed as it was, her leg felt still-new? Unfamiliar? She almost fell once or twice, and, unnoticed to her, he flinched each time, as if to support her, but did not come close.
He led her through a dimly lit corridor towards the wash-room. Handles had been -recently- installed into the walls, and she could manage to use it well enough. When she had finished, and washed her hands, she found him outside. "Come," he said, and took her other arm, gently supporting it by the elbow, and led her to the bath-room of the house. It was well-lit, tiled with a blue stone, like the colour of the sea on a clear day. It cheered her, as did the sight of the bath-water, steaming with promises of cleanliness, civilisation. Washing the grime and grit of travel outside the tub, she entered it for a relaxing soak. She cooled it with the bucket of cold water nearby, for it was bad for a body to be exposed to so much heat after such damage. The water took all that remained of her weariness, cleansed her of worry. She gathered her chakra again, and, this time, instead of focusing it on one spot, gently spread it throughout her body, circulating it, re-energising herself.
In the anteroom, a fresh change of clothes awaited her, a similar robe, but this one had an embroidered trim, depicting animals and flowers she had not seen before. Washed, dressed, and one with the rest of humanity, she stood up. She did not need the crutch or the brace. She opened the door to find him there. Without a word, she followed him to a cheery little kitchen, where a meal was set for two. Broth, bread, dried fruit, and cool spring water. Before they sat down, she asked, "I thank you for all you have done for me, yet I wish to know…Where is Honourable Grandmother Chiyo?"
He stopped as he was about to draw a stool out for her. "She is resting," said he, his voice almost faltering.
"Who are you?"
"We break bread first," came the firm reply.
They ate in sombre silence. Sakura hardly lifted her gaze above her plate in the beginning, thinking of Chiyo Baasama. She had saved her life, and he completed the task, but who was he? Her eyes went up, and rested upon the only visible part of him: his hands. Fine-boned, with oblong nails, moving with grace while performing even the most ordinary movements, they seemed unused to work of the kind that made beds, washed clothes, and cooked meals, let alone found their way to battle scenes.
The meal ended, and with it, the uncomfortable silence. She found herself having stood up together with him at the same moment, and not bothering to be surprised by this, they both cleared the table, and he took the plates to be washed. She stood for a while at the table, then tried to find her way back to her room. Her room? She had only been here for two nights, and yet.. ah, she had to return to the others! And there was the rendezvous with Orochimaru's henchman within ten days of their last combat..but this door was different than the one that led to her room. Should she? She wanted to see Chiyo Baasama, to know she was well. She wanted her own clothes and gear back. She opened the door and went in.
The sight that greeted her eyes was that of a dark room, where she could barely discern a bed. Tracing the source of light from a slit in the wall, she went towards it, and finding it to be the gap between two curtains, opened them to let in the sunlight. The window looked out upon a vast desert, stretching across as far as the eye could see, broken here and there by a few scrubs of dry bushes or plants, and what seemed like a cluster of trees – an oasis, perhaps?- taking refuge in the shadow of a small hill. Other than that, it was a great emptiness stretching out for what seemed like infinity, hammered by the sun into a whiteness that stung the eyes. She blinked and turned towards the room. She gasped, and rushed forward.
Lady Chiyo was lying on a bed, her eyes closed, her hair neatly combed and coiled to one side. Sakura said, "Chiyo Baasama!" and touched her lightly on the shoulder. Seeing no response, she was about to check her for life signs when a soft sound made her look up in panic to see a shadow in the doorway. "Resting! You said she was resting! Is this your idea of a joke? How could you?" Her eyes grew blurry as she patted Lady Chiyo on her shoulders, petted her, hugged her, and finally sank into her chest, heaving with sobs. " How? "
"She is resting. This is her final repose." His voice was flat.
She looked again at Lady Chiyo. Indeed, she seemed like she was but asleep. Her face was serene, oh, heaven, happy. Yet, medical training told Sakura that this particular tint of skin was not normal in death. She was too- vivid? She touched her Grandmother Chiyo. Yes, her comrade, but also her guardian, in a way. The skin of her face was – hard. Cold, cool, like glazed ceramic. Sakura recoiled with an instinctive loathing and horror, recovering from it in a split second.
"Who- WHAT in the world are you?" she said fiercely, lifting her head again. As she did so, she noticed the other contents of the room, and her eyes widened. Lining the wall were human-sized puppets, of all shapes and sizes. No, it could not be- or – could it be that Lady Chiyo had, in fact, made her greatest sacrifice, and made her dream come true?
It came slowly. It rose up from the soles of her feet, sweeping up in a giant, billowing, knowing, caressing wave of intense yet purposeful heat. Rage came in an army of triumph and posessed the soul of Haruno Sakura. Instinct and Training greeted it with violent glee and joined its ranks as she did not even notice that she had sprung clear over the final resting-place of the departed, her hand balled into a fist harder than steel, aiming for his throat.