2.
Obviously Sand village didn't know fashion when they saw it. As he had walked towards the exit heading East, beyond which laid the desert and then Fire country, people had simply stopped and stared at him. Something between horror and pity had crossed their faces before he'd simply squashed three and injured seven. Honestly, if they had just said something rather than make faces, they might've lived...Maybe.
No use apologizing to the slaughtered cow, now. Thick waves from the sun bore down on him and on the sand. Normally, he would've carried his sand gourd on his back, but not today. One, it was too hot. Two, it would get his new clothes all sandy, not that they weren't already. Three, he didn't feel like it. Sand followed him wherever he went anyway and if it couldn't be found, he could make it.
Minutes after pondering his latest predicament an uncomfortable feeling crawled up his spine and settled in his stomach. Stopping next to a particularly large sand dune, Gaara turned and squinted off into the distance around him. No one was in sight. Letting out a soft hum, he raised the pink atrocity he was wearing (commonly known as a dress) and let loose on the sand. The fluid hissed into air seconds after it landed, evaporating quite nicely. When finished the pink dress was placed in the original position and he continued on with his journey.
Ah, and what a beautiful journey it was. NOT. If he could have been born in any village, it certainly wouldn't have been the Sand. What was the point in belonging to a village that barely survived in the desert? Not only that, but look how desperate they had been to create Gaara. Most ninjas took pride in where they had been raised and trained, and then of course, there were the ones who hated their village. Normally, if one no longer wanted to be one of his village's ninjas, he just left. While he certainly would have been proud to leave the nasty little pit behind, it was also realistic to assume that he would not be left alone. What people couldn't control, they destroyed. What people didn't understand, they destroyed. What could be used against them, which had once belonged to them, they destroyed.
He honestly couldn't assume that they would leave him to do what he wanted as long as the Sand existed. Certainly that was a disaster just waiting to happen.
Stopping for the second time that day, Gaara stared at the trees that seemed like mere toothpicks in the distance. It had taken a shorter time than expected to reach the Fire country, something he was silently glad about.
Obviously Sand village didn't know fashion when they saw it. As he had walked towards the exit heading East, beyond which laid the desert and then Fire country, people had simply stopped and stared at him. Something between horror and pity had crossed their faces before he'd simply squashed three and injured seven. Honestly, if they had just said something rather than make faces, they might've lived...Maybe.
No use apologizing to the slaughtered cow, now. Thick waves from the sun bore down on him and on the sand. Normally, he would've carried his sand gourd on his back, but not today. One, it was too hot. Two, it would get his new clothes all sandy, not that they weren't already. Three, he didn't feel like it. Sand followed him wherever he went anyway and if it couldn't be found, he could make it.
Minutes after pondering his latest predicament an uncomfortable feeling crawled up his spine and settled in his stomach. Stopping next to a particularly large sand dune, Gaara turned and squinted off into the distance around him. No one was in sight. Letting out a soft hum, he raised the pink atrocity he was wearing (commonly known as a dress) and let loose on the sand. The fluid hissed into air seconds after it landed, evaporating quite nicely. When finished the pink dress was placed in the original position and he continued on with his journey.
Ah, and what a beautiful journey it was. NOT. If he could have been born in any village, it certainly wouldn't have been the Sand. What was the point in belonging to a village that barely survived in the desert? Not only that, but look how desperate they had been to create Gaara. Most ninjas took pride in where they had been raised and trained, and then of course, there were the ones who hated their village. Normally, if one no longer wanted to be one of his village's ninjas, he just left. While he certainly would have been proud to leave the nasty little pit behind, it was also realistic to assume that he would not be left alone. What people couldn't control, they destroyed. What people didn't understand, they destroyed. What could be used against them, which had once belonged to them, they destroyed.
He honestly couldn't assume that they would leave him to do what he wanted as long as the Sand existed. Certainly that was a disaster just waiting to happen.
Stopping for the second time that day, Gaara stared at the trees that seemed like mere toothpicks in the distance. It had taken a shorter time than expected to reach the Fire country, something he was silently glad about.