Izuna's knees buckle but Kaoru is there to break his fall, making Tobirama turn to look down at him. Izuna hates it, hates the way the Senju look down at him, an inequality that shows physically and which he has no way of counteracting. The natural order of things cannot be changed, it seems to telegraph. He grimaces as Tobirama approaches him and leans down.

"Are you feeling faint?" The damn Senju asks.

"I am well," Izuna grits out. "Merely tired."

Tobirama nods. "You have performed well," he remarks.

Izuna's hackles rise at the patronising tone. His body hurts all over from all the times Tobirama had either slammed him into the ground, kicked or punched him. "How respectful of you to not hold back," he spits.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow. "I thought it would be insulting for me to hold back, considering I hold you in high regard as a warrior."

Izuna has to either deny or accept the compliment, but he cannot bring himself to do either. "Kaoru," he says instead, "we leave for home. I wish to know what has happened during my absence. I need five more people."

Kaoru bows and leaves without comment, which makes a hidden knot inside his belly untwist. They still listen to him. Kaoru has not deserted the Uchiha. He stands up straight, facing Tobirama.

The Senju is frowning. "It is too late now," he says, gesturing to the darkening sky. "And you are tired. You should rest."

"The scarf you gifted me shall bring me warmth and solace on the way," he mocks.

"You are not well enough."

"But I am," Izuna retorts heatedly. "You said it. I am well enough so there is no reason to stay here." He takes a threatening step forward. "Unless you have an ulterior motive?"

Tobirama does not answer. "Wash at least," he says.

"I shall do so at home," Izuna replies easily. "Thank you for your care ," he says, voice laced with irony and leaves. The cold bites at his cheeks, but the scarf keeps him warm.

He walks briskly in the main street, towards the main exit to the compound, passing by the tantalising food stalls with nary a glance.

"The exit is to the north east," Tobirama says from behind. Izuna stops.

"The demon's direction?" He asks, grinning, willing the Senju to react.

Tobirama's face remains impassive as he personally escorts Izuna to the gate. People pass by, greet and bow, some even smile. There are quite a few children, Izuna remarks, whose smiles are freely given, even to him.

The imposing fate has carved guardians to protect against evil spirits. Not an invitation for the demons to enter then, but a protection, showing their will to battle and protect the people inside.

The light fades gradually while they wait in silence. The clouds gather in a thick blanket on the sky. Izuna has to stop himself from stomping his legs from the cold. The wind had picked up, sharp as a blade. The visibility will be poor tonight, Izuna reflects. The air smells of snow.

Kaoru finally comes at the gate as well, accompanied by three Uchiha and two Senju, all kitted with warm cloaks and furs. Courtesy of the Senju, no doubt.

"Irie and Naoko will accompany you," Tobirama announces calmly. "They will monitor your health and message me."

Izuna bites the angry retort. He can always cut the medics' throats and leave them in a ditch if they do not comply with his orders to leave him alone.

"See you again, Izuna," Tobirama greets.

"Farewell," Izuna replies curtly, signalling to his team to move into formation and starts at a walk to conserve energy for the first leg of the journey. The Senju are, of course, slower to react and interpret his meaning. He sighs in displeasure as he looks into the darkness in front of him.

"Izuna-dono," he hears Naoko say, "should I take point until we get out of our territory? I am more familiar with the terrain."

Izuna throws the older woman a sideways glance. "Are you fast enough?" He asks.

Naoko inclines her head as she hitches her enormous backpack further up. "I will keep an appropriate pace," she replies as she starts at a light run. Izuna and the others follow.

The first snowflakes dance into the air and settle on their hair, melting on their foreheads. The landscape gradually blurs to whites and greys, marking their passing with stark dark lines upon the pristine snow.