The Silent Fox
Chapter 1 – The Festival
9th October. The sky was awash with grey. The clouds broke with torrents of rain, lashing down across tiled roofs and paved streets. A few bedraggled civilians hurried through the streets of Konoha, coats pulled tight about them against the wind and rain. Here and there a shinobi would blur past at top speed, eager to be out of the dismal weather.
At the orphanage, a gaggle of all too skinny children huddled around the rear windows of their bedrooms to see the latest spectacle. That blonde kid was always trouble, or so the carers said. He had to be kept locked away in the attic since he was dangerous, and whenever they saw him up close, he would just stare and stare, never saying a word. They thought he must really be scary since the carers didn't seem to touch him. The rest of the children had bruises here and there from when they'd gotten a little too annoying, or stepped out of line, but the blonde kid was always fine. Since everyone knew that he was naughty and dangerous, it must've been because the carers were too scared to hit him.
The children watched in fascination as the rear door of the orphanage slammed open, and the ageing yet formidable matron strode out into the rain, dragging the little monster behind. She had a death grip around his upper arm, and he squirmed against her hold, moaning in pain as she practically held him up, his feet dragging small furrows in the garden path.
She reached the end of the path, already wet through from the heavy rainfall, and kicked the rear gate open. Hurling the blonde kid out into the alley behind the orphanage, she screamed after him "Don't come back you little monster. Go! Stay away!".
From their perspective in the upper floors, the children in the orphanage couldn't see out into the alley, but as the matron turned back from locking the gate, burying her head in her hands, some of the more sharp eyed children were able to see a flash of yellow just peeking above a garden wall in the distance, as the blonde kid sped away into the rapidly darkening evening.
TSF-TSF-TSF
The rain pelted his head and shoulders, stinging a little with its force, but at least it covered his tears. He placed his hands against the grimy, wet alley floor, and struggled laboriously to his feet as the screams of the matron echoed hollowly through his mind. He looked up at the heavy clunk of the gate being locked, only to see the matron turning away, not giving him another glance.
No second glance for him then either. He turned and sped away down the alley, barely looking where he was going. His bare feet slapped thickly against the ill maintained paving slabs, and the puddles, that were already murky from picking up the filthy silt of city back-alley, sprayed up at him, quickly coating him in a layer of grime.
Coming to a junction with a main street, he stopped, unsure of where to go from here. He'd never been too far from the orphanage. He was mostly locked in his room, although every other day he was dragged outside to either the front or rear garden and forced to maintain them. Not that being outside made things much better. Sure, inside, he got beaten anytime somebody, usually the matron, had no choice but to come within arms length. But outside, outside wasn't safe either. If he was at the front, on the main street, he had to deal with death glares from passers by. The braver ones threw insults too, like monster, or demon. Or told he he ought to be dead. The back garden was just as bad. No adults to shout at him, but the local kids would get together away from the prying eyes of their parents and throw rocks. Nobody really ever stopped them either, although one time, they had been chased away. One of them had put a little more strength behind it than could be expected, and sent it sailing through a ground floor window, to be met with a furious matron who ran them off. When the matron had returned. She had dragged him by the collar back to his room and beaten him bloody, and then left him alone to die for almost a week. Pity for her that he was tenacious.
He stood, still unsure, at the junction with the street for a few moments, until he saw a haggard civilian struggling along against the wind. Scared of being seen, he shrunk back into the shadows, hugging the wall of the alley, it wouldn't do for him to be seen now. Sure it was bad, but at least if he stayed free out here there wouldn't be a matron to hit him any more. He shivered, and pulled his sorry excuse for clothing close about him. They were more rags really. Second hand t-shirt and shorts that had been worn so many times by so many different people that they had faded to grey rather than whatever colour they had been originally. Now that he'd stopped running, and his heart rate had begun to slow, the cold was really setting in. Time to try and get warm, he thought.
There was no way he could go back to the orphanage, and he didn't want to go anywhere with adults, so he guessed he had better stay outside. Just something to keep the rain off was all he would need. He poked his head out again, checking if the coast was clear. Looking around a few times till we was satisfied, he stepped tentatively out into the street. Out of the confines of the alley, a strong crosswind caught him from the side, throwing him careening to the floor once again. Rolling a few times head over heel he crashed loudly against something, bringing him to a halt.
He realised what caused such a clang as he inspected the corrugated iron lean-to which was against the house just next to the alley. Looking inside, he saw a couple of full bins. They stank something rotten, but at least they were sheltered from the rain. Holding his breath, he forced his way inside, nestling himself in the small gap between one of the bins and the wall. The stench was awful, and despite the heavy rain, a few stalwart flies still buzzed around in the shelter. Despite the shelter from above, the filthy water pooled beneath him, even as it ran in rivulets down the street barely a foot away. Keeping as much of himself raised out of the water as he could, he leaned against the wall, and tried in vain to make himself comfortable.
TSF-TSF-TSF
The night passed incredibly slowly. He was exhausted from a day of exertion in the garden, and then the heightened emotions of his expulsion from the orphanage. Despite his tiredness, however, sleep did not come. He was soaked through and shivering, and sitting in a rancid pool of water did nothing to make him feel any better. Every now and then the wind would switch directions, giving him a short but terrible blowback of garbage smell, making him gag almost every time it happened.
He didn't know how long it had been, but as the sky began to lighten once more, the rain had eased up, and then finally come to a stop. It took a few more hours for the puddle beneath him to drain, only leaving behind a soggy coating of grime, but as the streets became busier, he finally lost himself to his exhaustion.
It was several hours later when he was rudely and abruptly dragged from his rest. He blinked frantically, clearing his blurry eyes, and grabbed his leg in pain as the tall man standing over him drew back his leg to give the boy another vicious kick.
"Get out of here you little rat! Nobody wants you stinking up the place!".
He was, for the second time in as many days, grabbed unceremoniously and hurled out of what little shelter he had. Landing painfully against the still damp slabs of the street, he stared up at the giant man standing over him, tears forming in his eyes. The man turned and grabbed the last of the bags from the bins. Striding past to throw them into his cart, the man gave one final vindictive kick straight to the boy's face, knocking him backwards.
The boy's head rang as it smacked against the ground and as he sat up, regaining his sense of balance, he looked around to see the man was gone, although the busy street had plenty of people walking past, albeit giving him a wide berth. One spat on his face as the passed him, and the boy jumped to his feet, turning and running into the alley from which he had came the previous night.
Looking up at the sky, he could see that it was already well past noon, with the sun already closer to the horizon than its zenith. A few cautious minutes later, he had made his way back to the mouth of the alley, although he kept to the shadows as much as he could. The street was busier than usual. Amid the usual hustle and bustle of people going about their daily lives, craftsmen were putting up stalls along the streets, unloading boxes and setting them up. It was a festival he thought. He'd been able to see a few of them before from the tiny window of the orphanage attic, and there were always stalls selling food, drink, toys, and trinkets. It probably didn't bode well for him staying out of sight, but maybe he'd be able to steal some food in all the busy confusion later.
It was a few hours later, as the last rays of sun were retreating over the horizon, that the festival began to get into full swing. There were couples and small groups of friends making their way around the stalls, mostly civilians, but he could see a scarce few hitai-ate, denoting shinobi, here and there. As the crowds began to truly thicken, the boy eyed up his target. There was a stall about ten metres away from the mouth of his alleyway that was selling steamed pork buns. Enough to warm him up and fill his belly, and easy enough to snatch and run away with, he thought.
He screwed up his courage and began to slink forwards. He was small enough that most wouldn't notice, and his grey and tarnished rags of clothes wouldn't be too eye catching. Sticking close behind a man that was far too interested in his female companion to notice, he got closer and closer to his target.
It was done in a flash. He dashed out and snagged a bun with his hands, since they were slightly too large to fit in just one. He turned to run, but there was a shout of ""Hey, stop!", and suddenly his arm was dragged into a vice grip. He was spun around by the grip and found himself face to face with a stony faced ninja, if the hitai-ate on his forehead were to be believed, along with the flak vest that he was wearing. Time seemed to stop for a moment as he stared at the man's face. He had a large scar that ran horizontally across his face, cutting straight across his nose. The man's eyes were fierce, although curiously not as filled with hate as the boy was used to, until suddenly they were filled with recognition and the man drew back in shock, releasing the boy's arm.
He fell back to the ground with a thud, the pork bun scattering out of his hands and rolling across the street a ways, all but forgotten. As the stall owner shouted "Stop that little demon thief!", the boy was galvanised into action. He shot up and ran back towards the alley. He didn't need to look over his shoulder, he could hear the pounding of feet, accompanied with shouts of "It's the demon brat.".
Not good.
His breath hitched as he tried to run faster, but he could feel that they were bearing down on him. Within half a minute, a familiar gate loomed on his right, leading to the back garden of the orphanage. Safety he thought. He was wrong.
He screeched to a halt at the gate, tugging with all his might, and hoping to get inside and lock it behind he before he was caught. The gate clanged against its hinges. Locked. He looked up to see the matron standing in the open doorway at the other end of the garden. She stared back at him, eyes cold. Then it hit him. Wham. A great force to the side of his skull, as the toe plated boot of a civilian worked smashed against the side of his head. He fell to the ground, and raised his head groggily. He began to drag himself backwards on his hands, as at least ten men loomed over him, stepping forwards menacingly. Behind them, against the backdrop of the night sky, as the final rays of sunlight fled across the horizon, fireworks bloomed. The leading man raised his foot once again, and then fireworks bloomed within his skull as well.
a/n: So chapter 1 complete, hope you enjoyed it, chapter 2 to follow shortly I hope. FYI I don't have a beta for this. Honestly unsure if I want one, but the position is there if someone wants to make a compelling argument in favour I guess.
I found some parts of this chapter really hard to write, mainly because I'd decided that Naruto would not know his own name, since nobody ever called him by it (an idea that I picked up from reading far more harry potter fanfics than is healthy). This made it a bit of a challenge to write from his perspective since it would be weird for him to think of himself as "Naruto" when he doesn't know himself as that.
One thing I feel I should make clear, is that Iruka (and props to anyone that recognised who it was from the vague reference) only called out a child that he caught stealing, and did not follow along with the mob to chase Naruto after raising the initial alarm. Didn't go stop it either mind you but its a nice smoking gun for later and everyone deserves a shot at a redemption arc. Also he's approximately 10 years older than Naruto, so in my mind he's 16 at this point, and a freshly minted chunin.
I had originally planned for this and the next chapter to be as one, but this ran on a little and I want to get chapter 1 up tonight along with the preface for sure. Plus I feel like a break here makes sense, even if I have to retitle the chapter.