Thirty
She was the healer in this simple village. She had lived here since she left Konoha, setting off to find something better in this life. At thirty, she was as beautiful as ever, though there were small lines etched in her forehead and around her mouth. She doesn't have to tell the villagers where she came from and why. They all have a story. They understand.
It was tucked away in the mountains, a place that was almost constantly cold. Yet in those sparse summers, it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. Even in winter it was that way, endless beauty. It made her sad sometimes, that she could never share this beauty with people from her past life. But that didn't matter now. It never would.
She lived away from the villagers, her home tucked away in a series of caves. They came to her with the sick or wounded, trusting her with the lives of others. Sometimes she lost them, and when she did she mourned as much as they did. It hurt to see their tears; she helped as best she could.
But her best wasn't always good enough.
There had been one child, a boy, his body being eaten away from the inside. It pained her to hear his cries, especially when she powerless to help him. She tried, but had to settle with holding him in her arms, weeping as he died.
She was the only one. He was an orphan.
And she felt empty, like losing her own child.
The hollow ache that had never left returned, filling her soul. Without thought or reason, she began to drift even fart her away, secluding her self to her own life. Always the same thought gnawed at her, plagued her mind.
Was she good enough?
She didn't think that she could answer that.