Chapter Two
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An inveterate recluse, he fled from the theatres at Leaf's pageant, whence colours broke upon grey and brought life to Fall's unforgettable call. The noise from folks, their dances, their voices, their colour, their vigour, induced unease in him. She wanted to stick around, watch flurrying garments; yet he would move away without a word; and, left with little choice, she would move with haste, fall into step beside him, right into his shadow, which she did not mind.
And like this they went, walking along the silt stuck between the lake's rain-shined pebbles, almost raspy brown against shades brutally stilled by Fall. She would take great care to walk on his right, not left, for she liked to hold his hand whilst they traversed the Fall-visited landscape.
He remained quiet, gait steady and slow, kept his eyes straight ahead, not stopping. On their left, forest twisted in subtle movements to breeze, rustling, shaking off life, forgetting spring for another year. From trees, colours bled into the ground, their martyrdom was more colourful than Man, which ended in a single colour—always.
Under their feet dried up leaves crunched, speaking out; everything spoke save him. She looked up to his face, and the subtle grey that hugged about his cheeks and throat, and espied his purple eye: it was living, never sleeping; she could not remember when she saw his eye without its presence. When he walked about, awakened from his light sleep, it stayed waking, too.
Curious, she asked him of it; and, without looking to her, he told her that it was a Rinnegan that which could not be sent away like his Sharingan. She skipped a step, playful, giggling, and tightened her grasp on his hand. He did not smile, though he did not tell her to mind her manner, too.
At last, he stopped at a depot and delivered a letter to a stout man; yet she kept looking to him, not the man, looking to the slow sunrays splitting open right at his head, for dusk's wounds this sky could not hide. A dusk opened up in her breast, too, rhapsodies of love—recitations of springs without a spring in sight.
She smiled, and walked away towards Leaf's boundary alongside him. The forest had turned quieter, Lake sleepier, upon which combers trembled to the shore, greys rolling about to splash on stones by their feet—their music was calmer than summer and spring.
To her surprise, he stopped by a tree and sat down where the grass was pillow-y and told her to go home. She told him that her mother would take care of herself and sat by his side. He did not press her, keep looking to the cored out welkin, from which darkness bled out without a course.
Soon, everything melted away into the night, and black fell upon the face of land. Without her Sharingan, she could see little save inky lines of lake and earth and foliage; yet his Rinnegan shone, and she liked its presence in his eye; a pretty jewel in a King's eye, it made a lesser daughter's heart fly, fly . . . fly . . .
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