Zabuza looked down at the sleeping form of his… newly acquired tool. Her breath came in little puffs and her mouth was opened slightly in her sleep. Her hair was long and wavy, in a shade of raven that was not wholly uncommon in his country. Despite this he knew she was not native to mist. Maybe not even water country as a whole. Her skin was to tanned, her dialect strange.
What had she been doing in those woods? There was no village within civilian walking distance, dressed as she was with nothing on her but a... had that been a lamp?
He turned his thoughts to her strange blood-line limit. Never had he heard of such a thing, to be able to produce two completely opposing techniques with the same power- to destroy and to mend with the same touch. She hadn't even use any hand seals, not even the simple fake ones to help with concentration.
She'd just… done it. Called it up like raw chakra. Raw chakra did not do the things he saw her do. That hunter-nin had been on his last leg, or arm so to speak, he was obviously green in his position as many shinobi of Kiri were with all the losses from the war.
This girl was not shinobi, she did not move with the grace required for close combat, with silent steps and a closed expression. Nor was she civilian though. She had seen battle- he was sure of it. The way she had reacted to the danger posed to her was not seamless, but it had also seemed as if she was familiar enough with the movements.
Zabuza grinned to himself. The way the hunters flesh had burned, like acid. Even death could not take him from her touch; it had spread across his face like disease. He felt his blood lust rise at the memory, aching to see more. He clamped it down hesitantly; now was probably not the time.
