.
It is the unknown we fear when we look
upon death and darkness, nothing more.
Step, step.
One foot in front of another.
Mud squelched underfoot, each stride I took leaving a chasm in my wake.
Left, right.
It was raining; a relentless downpour that tore up the Land of Fire's countryside each and every spring, with this season no different. There wasn't a moment of reprieve from it during, not a single day during the three days I walked through the sprawling forest around me, an echo so familiar that it turned to a background buzz in my ears.
The world was monotonous. The sound was the same, the landscape was the same, all painted in the dull gray tones of fresh grief that blurred every sense and nerve-ending in my body. The physical exhaustion did that too but in its own way. Two pains that combined to turn me into a walking zombie with only two thoughts in my head.
I have to find him.
Dad told me he'll be here, somewhere.
I have to find him.
I hadn't sat down in two days. My legs ached, sore from walking and cold from the constant layer of wet fabric that smacked against my skin each time I took a step. The gnawing in my stomach, born from two days of not eating as well, helped nothing. I couldn't stop, though. Not with the ever-present threat at my back. My father told me not to stop, no matter what because if I gave them an inch they'd take a mile and I wouldn't die, not now, not this soon—I wasn't going to stop.
It was the last thing he asked of me. The only thing he asked of me.
The forest became a blur in the corner of my eyes. Time dragged.
Step, step.
The goal my father set for me was all I had.
Forward.
Forward.
Forwa—
I hit something solid and rebounded.
A hand on my shoulder held me upright and anchored me in place, the sudden contact a shock to my system like glass dancing along the ends my nerves. Panic burst inside me. I tried to pull away, desperate, but the hand didn't even budge.
"Hey, hey," a male voice rumbled. Young. Gravelly, the way the young men from Kiso who smoked all sounded. The rasp gave an edge to his words that, and I found an odd sense of comfort in the familiarity. "Calm down—"
I screamed and writhed in his grip. "Let go! Let go, let go—"
"Stop." Both hands settled on my shoulders and my eyes snapped up to look at him.
The man stared at me with calculating onyx eyes and a ponytail of the same colour hung limply at his shoulders, drenched through. His lips were thinned, a grim line carved into stone features. He looked intimidating. A couple of scars marred his skin. There was something uncanny about his gaze, too sharp, too knowing.
My eyes moved up to his forehead and I caught sight of the headband across his forehead, a flash of silver with the leaf symbol carved into it.
"A ninja," I mumbled. "You…"
"Just keep going, okay? Follow the path. It'll take you where you need to go. You need to find Tsurui. It's a village. It'll be the first one you find. Go to the restaurant—it's the only one in the village. Find the man with the metal headband. Tell him your name, he'll help you. He's a shinobi."
I don't answer. Papa shakes my shoulders, hard.
"Tell me you understand, Kasumi."
"I—I understand, papa."
"Good. That's my girl. Now, go!"
The man's lips moved. I shook myself. "I—"
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice firm and direct, even. His hands didn't move but he wasn't looking at me anymore, scanning our surroundings instead. "Where're your parents?"
"I'm Kasumi… Kasumi Kurosawa…" I swallowed. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes but I forced them away. "Mama and Papa are gone."
His grip twitched—it didn't tighten, but I felt the reaction through his hands, the desire to tighten held in check by the same control that kept his facial expression blank. "Gone?"
"Papa just—he said to run, find the village… I dunno where he went… and mama…" My words evaporated into a whimper.
A spurt of blood flashes in the corner of my eye and a scream pierces the air, high and feminine. The hand holding my own goes limp. Something warm splashes onto the sleeve of my shirt.
I couldn't choke out another word.
"Damn it," the man muttered. He bit out a sigh. Even without me finishing the sentence, it was obvious where it was going—I was in a four-year-old body that wore blood splattered clothes. "It's not safe here. Where…" He frowned.
I tried to keep my attention on him, to see what he would do, hear what he would say, but my eyelids began to droop. The exhaustion crept into my bones.
The adrenaline that splashed over me like cold water upon meeting this shinobi had worked its way down my body and leaked out of my feet, pooling beneath me and leaving my senses dulled once again. I was the closest to safe I'd been since papa left me alone.
My vision swam and I blinked to try and clear it. Once, twice—my knees buckled.
I felt myself get swept up into a set of arms.
Everything went black.