(2022/09/23) Author's Note: Hello!
I was able to get this chapter done sooner than anticipated, and it was a doozy. When I finished the draft, it was a whopping 9,100+ words! My longest chapter of any written work to date, which I think is something worth celebrating. It's also come to my attention that this fic reached over 100k words as of the previous chapter update a few weeks ago. The funny part is that this portion of the fic is just past the 1/3 mark... so we still have a long way to go.
Also, this chapter might have some content that may be disturbing, as there are mentions of sexual assault (which doesn't happen, only in a nightmare my OC has) and trauma stuff. The next chapter is another that has been sitting in my drafts since the spring, and it might be uploaded sometime soon (depending on things going on in my life's schedule). I will try to get that one out sometime within the month - but we'll see when we get there!
As always, thank you for reading! xx
Content advisory: mentions of rape (dream sequence), trauma
Chapter 18
Nomasaki V
It took nearly all of her strength and willpower to get out of bed that morning.
Darkness.
Nightmares began to plague Nomasaki's restless nights, reminding her of her past failures and curses she inflicted upon her naïve self. Tojiru – her treacherous vulpine-masked comrade under the tracking unit – made himself welcome in her thoughts once more. She imagined him strangling the life from out of her, his bloody hands twisting at her throat until she no longer had any air left to breathe. His neck oozed black, crimson blood as his mask grinned at her demise, relishing in her choked begs for mercy.
Even Kenzō began to make appearances.
The moment she saw him, her tongue would burn and swelter in her mouth as if a raging fire was erupting from within. It was the curse seal on her tongue, back to bring her misery and agony. The bastard himself had his head reattached to his vile decayed body, watching her writhe and scream on the cold cave floor. When she opened her eyes, she saw Koga leaning over her and forcing himself onto her. He breathed into her ear, holding back her struggling with ease, "I told you I'd have my way with you… one way or another!". She was helpless. She tried to kick him, claw at his face, bite his hands away - but she was frozen to the will of the seal at her back.
Not even her screams from the pain made him stop, nor the burn on her tongue that grew worse every passing moment.
And his blade sliced her neck – ending her life.
Nomasaki shot up in bed, sweat beading to her forehead.
She frantically ran trembling hands across herself, trying to make sure her body was still intact. Feeling her beating heart through her silk nightgown, she let out a long exhale and caught her breath. Another nightmare, she realized, Thank heavens that's all it was. Gaara was not in bed with her, as he had left for his office nearly an hour ago. He hardly made a stir when he woke, and always kissed her forehead when he was about to leave. She hated waking from a nightmare when he was trying to sleep. He already worried about her enough, and she did not want him to have any more reason to be concerned for her well-being. He had enough on his plate as Kazekage as it was. He never considered her a burden, but she did not want to tread too closely to needing the distinction. As long as she awoke in their bed, the nightmares were meaningless.
Sliding off the mattress, she pulled her nightgown over her head and got dressed.
She donned her black pants and tied the thin sash of her mesh-sleeved yukata across her waist. Upon seeing her reflection in the mirror, she brushed aside the stray strands of gold that were in her eyes and lingered. She had eye-bags. If her restless nights needed any proof, this was it. If she was not careful in the future, there might be more than one tanuki in their family. Nomasaki rubbed at her eyes, hoping the action would spring her awake. Still there.
She sighed.
She could sense Meiyumi in the kitchen with Kyōkurō, his tiny, vibrant chakra giving some comfort to her distressing thoughts. Her nightmares were only secondary to the anxiety she already had going to bed that previous night, for today was the first day of her memory recollection training with Shijima. The Hōki woman studied day and night since they returned from Konohagakure. And now, weeks later, the bitter work was complete. Before heading to bed, Nomasaki told Gaara as she was preparing their clothes for the next day. He was not originally in favour of the jutsu in question, but she felt his attitude had changed since Shijima took up the task. If it were the Uchiha, he would not relent in his protest – and she would understand.
She felt his glance at her back, his chakra warm. "My Third Eye will make sure you're safe -,"
"No." She spoke, her quiet voice firm. "I need to be alone. It will only distract me. Besides, the Sealing Corps has a natural barrier around it. It's the safest place in Suna for someone like me…"
When she turned to join him in bed that night, his eyes were uneasy but accepting of her choice.
Adjusting her thin sash across her waist, she left the bedroom behind and met with her son and Meiyumi before heading to the Sealing Corps headquarters. Kyōkurō was six months old – and growing fast. His purple eyes followed her everywhere she went, and his cooing was turning into his own little voice. And his fangs were becoming more prominent each day – much to the fear of the visiting handmaids and elders. She waved to him meekly and assured Meiyumi she would be back before noon and left the residence with a heavy heart.
The journey to the Sealing Corps was a brief one.
Guards stationed outside the chambers allowed her in, and Maki was there to greet her herself. Before long, she was within the large and empty chambers where she learned the blood-sealing fūinjutsu. The old stains of her inscriptions were vaguely sprawled across the sandstone floor as if remnants of some ancient past she cared not to remember. Shijima was waiting for her in the room's center beside a cushioned velvet chair with aged wooden armrests. Nomasaki felt her chest tighten.
"Are you ready, my lady?" Shijima spoke first, her voice echoing against the high sandstone walls.
"As ready as I'm ever going to be." Nomasaki glanced at the worn seat. Unease grew in her chest, and she sensed her heart rate begin to rise. "The chair…?"
The Hōki woman followed her gaze. "For your comfort. Maki brought it in."
Nomasaki huffed out a breath to quell her nerves without saying anything and started for the chair. She sat down carefully, placing her arms along the finely crafted wood that was chipped and faded from use. The velvet cushion at her back was comfortable enough, but the cushion which she sat on felt hard as stone. No doubt, the person who owned the chair formed it to their liking. To say it was an old chair was an understatement.
She looked up to Shijima, who was readying herself across from her. Worry clawed its way to her throat, stealing any sort of calm she forced herself to feel. "And you're confident you grasped the technique from Kakashi?"
"Yes." Shijima nodded as she began to untie her sealing cloth from her eyes. "He told me all I needed to know. The Konoha Intel Division even went as far as to give us permission to browse through the classified documents detailing the Uchiha clan. I learned… what I was able. I'll do my best to serve you in any way I can… as I swore to my elder sister and to Kazekage-sama."
Nomasaki grasped the armrests tightly.
There's no turning back now, she thought, This is the way… I chose. "Shijima,"
The Hōki nodded. "As you wish," Forming the hand-signs, her eerie red eyes began to glow, and the scent of a vile chakra filled the air. "Tsukuyomi!"
And Nomasaki's vision darkened…
White.
It was soft, powdery fragments of white that fell from the skies upon her rosy cheeks.
She was back at her clan's worn homestead so many years ago. Her mother was out in the gardens picking carrots and leeks while smoke slowly drifted from the chimney of their large and aged manse. The scent of pine and ashes clung thickly to the cold air, and her heart eased when she saw her mother's gentle smile. This was how her life was supposed to be – what it should have been. A peaceful life of seclusion in the cold mountains of the north, where shinobi dared not to travel and beasts could roam freely without the prying eyes of poachers.
It was a dream Nomasaki knew she could never make a reality.
When she blinked, the freezing winds swam against her cheeks, and the warmth of fur lay under her. Before she knew it, she was riding on Hanone's back through the thicket. His paws, mighty against the snow-covered earth, crunched the white beneath as they dashed through the winding forest. Towering trees covered in frost passed them by, leaving only their shadows and woody scents behind. The snow fell smoothly from above, melting as it touched her face. She felt the freedom it gave and clung to it for as long as she could. Nothing would ever feel as free, as safe – or as exhilarating.
And darkness loomed forth.
Nomasaki saw fire next, consuming everything in its path. Fear swelled into her heart, reminding her of her weaknesses. Flames licked the night sky as her mother lay still on her pyre of animal furs and snow lilies, waiting for the god of death to claim her mortal body. The fire began to spread through her vision – and when she blinked, she found herself surrounded by walls of hot orange flames as the screams of her villagers filled her ears. A gleam of black-plated armour caught her eye, and she followed it to the sight of their blade covered in her chieftain's blood.
Kōga grinned down at her. "I found you… and you're just a pup! All this trouble… just for you."
A violent shiver passed through her.
He raised his blade. "Don't worry… it'll be quick. You'll be with your ancestors soon enough!"
She shut her eyes.
Silence…
And then voices began chattering, talking over another and arguing.
When she opened her eyes, she saw the finely crafted bleachers and stands of the Desert Court. The elders lined the stands at the front of the room while the Kazekage sat silently and iron-faced amongst them in the centre, clothed in the traditional green and white robes of the village leader. Gaara. The Kazekage covered his expression beneath the veiled hat he wore, but she could sense the intensity of his chakra regardless. It was palpable. In the centre of the great court, a large iron cage sat before them, containing an unkept man clad in ragged robes and chains binding his arms and legs. The prisoner was missing one of their hands, and upon seeing their scarred and bearded face, she recoiled.
No, she thought, Not this! Anything but this! Please, no… Not again!
She looked over herself frantically and soon realized that she was within her past self. Her dress was the old kimono that she used to wear, the one with the white trimmed sleeves and blue fabric. She could not control her body, but she glanced at her wrist and saw that she was not wounded or scarred. The mark she received from Tenbu had not yet been given. Her heart dropped, shocked and horrified. She was no longer a child but a young woman grown – only a few years her junior.
Seventeen – the age she defected Kenzō and fought in the war.
The age she stood trial.
Her thoughts ran rapid in panic. She was merely looking through a body that had no will of her own. She was trapped, forced to replay everything that transpired. She felt her stomach grow uneasy, tight with all the nerves she was suppressing to no avail. For what she was about to witness for the second time was her ill-met trial of Kenzō for his crimes against Sunagakure.
Her trial.
The disgruntled voices of the jury and councillors grew restless, angry at the prospect of the case, and some sounded as if they were shouting directly at her. Just as she remembered, she was seated between two veiled ANBU of the village at the witness bleachers, away from the shouts and cries for democracy. Sōhei sat further down from where she was, but she could not tell him apart from the others without his signature owl mask. She kept as calm as she could, grasping her knees tight and practicing deep breathing.
Some jurors and spectators questioned why she was not held to trial as well, and their yells denounced her and called her foul. She was used to 'traitor', but new words she heard towards her graced her ears, like 'she-wolf', 'wolfish whore', and 'foreign bitch'. She kept as calm as she could, hiding her fangs behind her lips and resisting any urge to lash out at the fools. Gaara sat as still as a statue, dignified, calm, and attentive, but his ringed-eyes held contempt for the man he saw caged before him. She wondered if Temari or Kankurō were also there, but they were not anywhere to be seen. She peered past the Kazekage's seat and then caught a glimpse of Temari's war-fan and one of Kankurō's treasured puppets.
She did not know if she should feel comforted by their presence or disarmed.
She felt hopeless.
The voices grew louder, booming.
"Silence!" Zarō shouted, slamming his fist onto the stand. And the voices soon faded to a pitter-padder of whispers. Finally, he cleared his throat, eyeing the jurors and witnesses sternly. "This is a trial of utmost urgency… regarding the actions of former councillor and advisor to the Fourth and Fifth Kazekage - Kenzō-sama."
That man, she thought bitterly, That bastard…
"Kenzō-sama has been charged with the following…" Zarō opened the scroll, reading each charge so loud that his voice echoed through the chambers. "…high treason to conspire against village rule. War crimes relating to the failed Konoha Invasion. Theft of village property. Fraud. Suspected accessory to the assassination and murder of Rasa-sama, the late Fourth Kazekage. Suspected accessory to the capture and attempted assassination of Gaara-sama, the Fifth Kazekage. War crimes relating to the torture and imprisonment of his subordinates…" He adjusted his glasses, sighing. "Due to the dire nature of these charges, Kenzō-sama is not permitted to testify on his behalf. The gravity of his sentence will be decided upon by the jury, council, and the Kazekage." He glanced at Gaara. "Kazekage-sama, the trial is ready to begin."
Gaara met his glance, and for a moment, Nomasaki swore she saw his glance travel to meet hers – desperate and afraid. He gave a calm nod to his head-councillor. "Very well." He turned to face the room, his glance firming. "The trial is now underway."
One of the court clerks stood. "First witness to testify against the defendant, Sōhei - a former aide to Kenzō-sama, and tracker-nin under the command of Moro-sama."
Nomasaki felt her entire body tense as she saw Sōhei stand from his seat and start for the witness stand as his ANBU guards followed closely. It was only a matter of time before it would be her turn – and she was absolutely dreading it. Once seated, the council began asking carefully vetted questions to him about his ties with the disgraced councillor. How old was he when Kenzō first approached him, when did he join his ranks, how long was he serving him, what he did under his command – everything.
With a firm voice, Sōhei spoke and answered all their questions with as much detail as he could give. In his cage, Kenzō glared daggers at the young man but remained still and wordless. Sōhei did not show signs of the curse-seal activating – not a stir or a cry of pain. His tongue did not burn in the slightest. Not even the story of his escape from service was met with any ill effects. Not even the mention of the lashes he was forced to give his own comrade – Nomasaki herself. Perhaps the curse was powerless now. At least, that was what Nomasaki depended on.
Once he was finished, his ANBU guards escorted him back to his seat while the voices whispered at his back and filled the room with gasps and scattered shouting. Zarō roared for them to quiet, and so they did. Nomasaki watched him carefully as he returned to the bleachers, her heart at her throat as she sensed her muscles tighten across her shoulders. He glanced at her from a distance as he sat, seemingly to assure her she would be alright. "If I can speak, so can you" was what his expression appeared to say, but what it did not say was, "Kenzō doesn't care if I talk, it's you he's after".
Stress swirled within her, prompting her to look away in defiance.
"Second witness to testify against the defendant… Nomasaki of the Yamamori clan, Assistant to the Kazekage and tracker-nin under the command of Moro-sama."
And she felt as if her soul had left her body.
Weightless. She stood from her seat and proceeded down the steps to the witness stand. She could feel the eyes of her ANBU guard at her back and the glare of Kenzō from his cage as she passed by.
Don't look at the bastard, keep walking – keep walking.
Feeling a glance upon her, she paused at the foot of the stand and looked up to see Gaara gazing down at her. His eyes were not full of contempt or suspicion, but guilt – or at least sympathy. She blinked away and took to the stand, seating herself cautiously as her ANBU escort fell behind her. When she saw the audience before her and sensed the chakra of the jurors and councillors to her right, she lost the ability to speak. There had to be at least two hundred people in that room. And now, of all times, they were utterly silent. All of them were waiting to hear what the wolf-girl had to say.
Her chest tightened.
"Tell us what you can." An elderly councillor spoke smoothly. "Remember, you're safe here."
No one is safe as long as this bastard still lives.
She bit her lip and nodded. "I was… approached by -," She hesitated at first, taking a frantic breath. "Kenzō-sama… when I finished the Chunin Exams. I was fourteen." His name did nothing when she said it. A small sliver of confidence grew, pushing down the fear. "When I was promoted to Jonin at sixteen, I was approached by him again after I… was appointed as the Kazekage's Assistant."
Zarō leaned over his stand to watch her closely, his glance suspicious. "After this second meeting, you began to serve under Kenzō-sama… is that correct?"
"…Yes." She averted her eyes shamefully. "He… forced me under the threats to harm Gaara-sama and… by using the guise of locating my father as leverage. He said he wanted to use my abilities, saying he… 'sought' after them. I served under… Kenzō until I defected shortly before the war. I escaped with barely my life, after… being lashed several times as punishment… as Sōhei spoke of."
"What was it that deserved punishment?"
She faced the onlookers, her expression clean of emotion. "…I went against his orders." Sensing Kenzō's chakra grow aggressive, she glared at him. "On the morning of the day the Akatsuki arrived, I was told to stay in Sunagakure unless summoned for duty. After Gaara-sama was captured, I was forbidden from leaving the village… and I was branded a curse seal."
A burning pain shot through her tongue.
As she clutched her throat and coughed, a councillor rose up and pointed to the prisoner. "Restrain him! Kenzō-sama may have one hand, but the seal only requires a finger!"
Guards rushed to the cage and tightened Kenzō's chains.
Soon enough, the pain passed, leaving a tinge of ash in her mouth.
Gaara turned to her. "Are you alright to speak?"
"…I think so…" She replied, taking her hand away from her neck.
Zarō entered. "What else happened?"
"I left the village." She said flatly. "I went with Temari-senpai and Kankurō-sama to the Land of Rivers… where I used my sensory abilities to find the Kazekage. I was pursued by one of his men, his right-hand… his name was Tojiru."
A councillor peered up at her from his documents, a questioning look in his dark eyes. "It was said in Kenzō-sama's testimony that he wished to charge you for murder in the disappearance of Tojiru. You were not charged due to the Kazekage's insistence, but for the nature of this case, the trial deems it necessary to ask. Did you kill him?"
Fear swelled up inside her, but she pushed it back down.
"Yes. I killed him." She admitted. "I turned his blade against me before he could kill me himself."
Gasps sounded from the room faintly.
"And the body?" The councillor pressed.
Nomasaki eyed him unabashedly and spat the words. "I dumped it in the river."
Shouts erupted from the crowd of onlookers. Some shouted "fratricide!" while others shouted variations of "traitor!" and "bitch!". Words are wind, Nomasaki thought, Words mean nothing. But even with years of dealing with prejudice in Suna, the words soon built up against her well-prepared armour. She wanted nothing more than to silence them, to bare her fangs and slash their tongues – but she had to stay seated and stay calm. Even a wolf must pretend to be a sheep once in a while.
But the hate cut her spirits.
The shouts grew louder, some onlookers even standing to yell obscenities.
Gaara stood, his sand slamming the table with a mighty clangour. "Silence! Let her speak!"
And the room quieted, leaving only a few scattered whispers.
"And of Kenzō-sama's charge of high treason… do you have any recollection of acts that may be considered treasonous?" Zarō questioned. "Tell all that you can."
"Right… sorry, sir." Nomasaki took a breath, calculating what to say. "I… heard mentions of the 'operation' since my servitude began, most prominently during the Akatsuki attack." Her purple eyes narrowed in thought, remembering dark times. "When the Kazekage and his siblings left for the Five Kage Summit, I knew what he planned to do to me."
"What did he plan to do?"
She did not want to say it out loud, but she knew she had to.
"He… wanted to kill me - slowly." She confessed, her brow furrowing in her shame and anger. "He wanted me to suffer. He gave me this curse-seal I can't erase or release with fūinjutsu, so he summoned me to be punished." She glanced to Sōhei, who observed from the bleachers. "…I was lashed five times by one of my own comrades that is here today. That comrade stopped against Kenzō's wishes and defected with me. Kenzō had been preparing a coup d'etat for quite some time… and thought it was the opportune moment to strike. I refused to take part and was lashed – but I escaped."
Zarō pressed on. "Are you certain it was a coup?"
She nodded. "He said he wanted to 'take back' what was rightfully his… saying that he would make a better ruler. He attempted to kill the Kazekage in the Land of Rivers when I accompanied Gaara-sama to the Land of Claws – by sending a missing-nin named Kōgen after us -,"
Her tongue burned once more – and more intensely.
Her words grew choked, and it was not long before the jurors and councillors realized what was happening. Gasps and whispers of voices filled the chamber, but they fell on deaf ears as Nomasaki could hardly gather their words from the agony that ripped through her. Grasping her throat, she fought through the pain. "A shinobi keeps their oaths, following their duty until the end… I… went against his orders and broke my oaths, but I did it to do the right thing!"
The pain grew, coating her insides with an invisible hot fire.
She coughed, gnashing her fanged teeth as every part of her body cried out. "I decided… I would rather die than continue serving under such a wretched person…! Ah -!"
Blood ran from her nostrils as her vision blurred.
With her screams, she collapsed off the stand to the cold sandstone floor below, clutching her throat with clawed hands. The agony was too much. Writhing, she cried out until she lost consciousness, tears flowing from her eyes and seemingly vaporizing upon her hot cheeks. Onlookers from the audience and jury stood in utter shock, horrified at the scene, as shouts and calls for the death penalty rang throughout the court.
"Bind his hand with chains!" Gaara's voice yelled. "Quickly – now!"
Medics from the court soon attended to her, carrying her to the bleachers while the court erupted into utter chaos. "She's still breathing!" One of them said. "Her heart rate is stable, and her vitals are okay."
In a matter of seconds, Gaara appeared at her side with his sands. "Nomasaki! Open your eyes!" He grasped her shoulders desperately. "Can you hear me? Nomasaki!"
Her mind was hazy, awakening slowly as the burn faded from her treacherous tongue.
Images of violence flashed before her eyes – the Tsukuyomi breaking. Tojiru's bloody mask spewing crimson all over himself, her agonizing curse seal upon her tongue, and the deaths of Sōhei and Commander Moro intruded on her memories. It was all her fault. She may have admitted to killing Tojiru, but she was guilty of their deaths, too.
She knew it, and she could never forgive herself.
When she blinked, she saw Gaara's ringed-eyes looking down at her as he held her by the shoulders. A medic-nin held a wet cloth to her forehead and began asking her questions. "What's your name?"
It was hard to form words. Her lips could barely move, but she managed to croak out the sounds. Everything ached. "N… No… Nomasaki."
Traitor. She-wolf. Whore.
They took her pulse by checking her wrist. "What is the date?"
"October… 28."
The day I sealed my fate.
"And where are you?"
She blinked, her vision blurry from the tears that remained. "…I'm at the… Sunagakure Desert Court, near the estate – in the main district."
I'm in hell. All I see is their faces.
Breath violently gasped from her lungs.
Nomasaki heaved in the chair, grasping the armrests tight enough to pierce the wood with her clawed hands. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her gold hair stuck to the moisture on her face. The hunger for air was too intense, and she felt her spine shudder. Her glossy eyes focused at last, and she was back in the sandstone chambers with Shijima.
The present day.
"My lady, are you alright?" Shijima pressed, her red eyes fading their glow. "What… what was that? A trial?"
"My trial…" Nomasaki panted. Her violet eyes narrowed to the floor, memories of the pain rippling through her. "I saw all of it… Everything came rushing back." She leaned her head back against the chair, breathing evenly. "Shijima, I can't handle anymore… not right now. I need to rest."
Shijima nodded. "As you wish."
As her bodyguard began to reseal her Sharingan eyes, Nomasaki gazed down to the floor. Her gold hair fell over her face, masking her anguish. "I didn't think the jutsu would be so vivid, so real…" Bile swam up her throat, and before she knew it, she retched on the sandstone. Coughing back the rest, she wiped her mouth with her closed fist. "How long was I out?"
"Forty minutes," Shijima answered. "Kakashi-sama said my Tsukuyomi doesn't trap the victim in a world with a separate time-space. The world you are placed within my eyes occurs in real-time, so time passes in that world the same as in ours. It's more of a hypnosis, as he described it."
Nomasaki sighed, hanging her head low. "No wonder I'm so exhausted…"
"Did you want to finish today? We can try again tomorrow -,"
"No!" Nomasaki shook her head, straightening her back against the chair. "I must get through this – all of this. Shijima, please continue."
With a hesitating nod, Shijima obeyed. "Yes, my lady." Summoning her chakra, the Hōki woman formed a hand-sign as her eyes glowed an eerie red. "Tsukuyomi!"
And Nomasaki was thrust into her memories once more.
The world was white with snow and serene quiet.
It was the forests of Yama again – and Nomasaki found herself with her mother. She was a child once more in her memories, following her mother through the snowy thicket of the mountain. She near did not recognize her mother at first, as she was dressed in hunting furs and a warm wool tunic rather than her signature red kimono. Even so, her mother was still beautiful. Her long gold hair was tied into a messy bun, the stray stands swaying past her ears as they tread carefully through the thick snow at their feet.
And before long, the silence ended.
"Can you hear it?" Her mother whispered. "Due south, seven paces… a doe."
Bundled up in her worn fur cloak, Nomasaki peeked out from the cover of frost to see it. The deer timidly stepped out of the thicket towards the pond of scattered ice. Its ears flicked cautiously, unaware of the wolves that lurked beyond the spruce and pine. She saw it exhale a vapour against the frigid mountain air as it lowered its neck to drink from the clear spring. She never saw a deer up close before – the closest being at the dinner table. Her violet eyes widened in childish wonder, yet a tinge of fear shivered her beneath her furs while she clung behind her mother.
Nomasaki put a hand onto the frosted bark, staring at the creature. "A doe?"
"It's getting closer," Mikomi hushed, preparing her arrow from the quiver on her back. "Stay silent. Any sudden moves, and it'll run away."
With a steady hand, Mikomi held the bow as strong and as quiet as she could manage. The bowstring was tight and wound with mountain hemp, the most robust material an archer could ever hope for. With cautious grace, the doe slowly turned away from the pond and started back towards the thicket of ice and pine. Mikomi eyed the creature with one eye closed tight, taking aim with as much focus as she could muster.
A crack in the thicket sounded.
The doe froze, immediately on guard with its ears raised and its tail erect in alarm. Nomasaki flinched behind the tree, her breath hot against the cold air that danced around her. Just as the doe was about to flee, Mikomi saw her opportunity. Opening her eyes, she let her arrow fly.
Then, a thump echoed in the wood.
The deer groaned, falling to the forest floor of snow and ice. Although the chilling noise was a distance away, the sound still filled Nomasaki with uneasiness and fright. Taking a calming breath, Mikomi untied her bowstring and swung the bow over her back, starting towards the kill. Timidly, Nomasaki followed closely behind but soon slowed as she saw the dead animal in her vision. Her mother bent down and removed the arrow from its throat, cleaning it off with her fur cloak and putting it back into her worn quiver.
Noticing her daughter was not beside her, she turned back and gave her a comforting smile. "It's alright, Nomasaki. It felt no pain, and we must hunt to survive. If not, we'll go hungry."
That much was true.
Life in the mountains was peaceful and quaint, but it was a harsh life to live. Winter reigned for eternity in these lands, and survival was the only instinct that mattered in the eyes of the forgotten mountain gods of old. The homestead they lived on was hundreds of years old with a great hearth and bountiful vegetable garden in the yard, but there was still the threat of famine if the harvest was poor. Others in the village were not as fortunate – and some froze to death in their homes if the storms were long enough. Mikomi was a farmer, a hunter, her mother, and a wolf by blood – and the survival instinct was almost second nature to her. Nomasaki was still a child and knew nothing yet of the realities of mountain life.
She hesitated to look at the deer, gulping down her fear as she felt a shiver in her throat. "But the doe… -,"
Mikomi stood and walked towards her, kneeling down and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. A gentle smile formed on her lips, her eyes kind as they always were. "The gods of this mountain blessed us with the hunt." She assured. "This is the way."
As her mother returned to the kill, Nomasaki stood in the cold and watched with a heavy heart as her mother tended to the dead animal. She could smell the thick scent of pine and the musk of the deer that lay dead on the snow – and the smell of blood. Something inside of her hungered for the creature, but another part of her twisted at the thought of killing something that seemed so innocent.
She knew her mother was a wolf and that she was herself by birth rite – and that she should be proud of that heritage. But knowing that she herself would be hunting, a chill shuddered her.
"Mom,"
"Hm?"
Nomasaki hesitated at first, eyeing her boots in the snow. "Why do you… Why aren't you using your wolf-form, the Okamitoko? You're a wolf, so why didn't you… -?"
Mikomi paused in silence, contemplating for a moment.
"…Sometimes it's best to be as discrete as possible, even when in this forest." She spoke, her voice even as she kept her back to her daughter. "If the villagers were out hunting like we are, and they saw me in that state… well… they would be afraid of us. More so than they are already." She continued tending to the kill while Nomasaki watched, rosy-cheeked from the cold. "We are wolves, but we are also human. Sometimes we must choose which skin to wear. Remember that."
Holding back the scarce tears that swam to her eyes, Nomasaki swallowed them back and nodded.
With a single push, Mikomi rose with the deer carcass slung over her shoulders. The doe was large enough to last them a month, but the wolf-woman was able to carry it with ease despite her slender frame. After seeing a nod from her mother, the two began their trek from the forest back down the mountain. The village was a ways away, but they would return to their clan's empty homestead by dusk. Her mother said they would skin the deer together and prepare a stew for supper. Already, Nomasaki could feel her stomach grumbling at the thought of a hot meal.
A gasp sounded in the mountain air.
Mikomi paused in her steps, leaving Nomasaki to bump into her suddenly. When she looked beyond her mother's figure, she saw a man dressed in shabby furs with a bow slung over his back and a series of hand-woven snares in his hand. Her mother did not say anything and turned to meet the man's widened stare at them.
"I-It's you!" The man gasped, nearly falling back in his steps. "T-The beast-woman!"
Mikomi brushed off the comment and simply smiled. "A fine day for hunting, wouldn't you agree?"
The man turned away, huffing as he ascended the wooded path in the opposite direction. "Gods save me… there's wolves around…!"
Nomasaki felt something in her chest shatter from his words, her glance following him until his figure vanished amongst the frosted pines. When she looked up at her mother, she saw her face washed of her kind smile. Her violet eyes appeared dulled, her face paler, and her expression empty.
It was melancholy.
And then the land of white faded to black…
Nomasaki shivered in her chair as she returned from the Tsukuyomi.
With eyes unmoving, she sat still and silent before slumping her head on her shoulders. Her fingernails dug into the armrests, and inside, her heart grieved. No fear this time or shame, only loss anguished. She stayed silent, breathing calm deep breaths to steady her rising chest.
Shijima's red eyes faded their glow, her lips hesitant. "Was that…?"
"…my mother." Nomasaki nodded, forcing herself to speak. "It was my first hunt." She clutched the arms lightly, her grip easing. Feeling the pain in her heart, a sadness swelled into her chest. Before it could rise into her throat, she swallowed it back down. Stoic – she had to be stoic. "In a way, looking back… I feel as if she was preparing me to survive without her. Almost as if… she knew. She knew she would leave me one day… as her parents did."
She wanted me to hunt, she realized, She wanted me to survive without her – to know how to fend for myself.
The thought of hunting brought back those painful memories.
Memories of being hungry, cold, and afraid of the world around her. Hanone was the one who protected her back then, but now Hanone was gone, and she was alone. She felt she could not bring herself to hunt after so long, her mind barely able to grasp herself drawing an arrow without a tinge of fear. Weapons were foreign to her mind after so long, and the only weapons she saw last were the ones from assassins and the ones used by the medics who operated on her swollen belly on the birthing bed. She shuddered at the notion.
But something within her cried out for the wilds.
Perhaps it was the wolfish nature that lay within her blood or the longing to return to her mountain in the north. Suna was wrought with bad memories, so the thought of returning to her homeland gave her solace that she may find some sort of peace.
She had to make the hunt.
One way or another.
Shijima's arms fell to her sides, her words striking her. A sullen silence stood between the two kunoichi, the room growing larger between them. Exhaustion marked itself in Shijima's chakra, poised to rest the pain that emanated in her red eyes. "Should we… take a break for today?"
"…Yes."
And so it ended.
Even the desert winds began to cool from the merciless heat of summer.
The village streets were near dead that afternoon. Shops were still open, but the merchants who often sat at the street sides were noticeably absent. It was the first time since her pregnancy that she walked the streets of Suna alone and without escort – although Shijima was following her from the shadows. She could sense her nimble, fair, and graceful chakra along the walls and buildings that flanked the streets. But what she could not feel was the chakra of any who were familiar to her. Not even Gaara's Third Eye dared to hover in her presence. In a way, she was glad – for she needed time to think without the draw of distractions.
Hunting.
When she last left the world of the Tsukuyomi, she saw the memories of her mother teaching her how to let an arrow fly – to hunt in the wilds. But the matter of weapons instilled a strange fear in her, a fear she scarcely had since she was a new genin recruit with Suna many years ago. She was a swords-master's daughter and skilled at the blade herself, but the thought of picking up a blade after the incident at the Sand Pits left her hollow.
A past conversation came to mind.
One of the nights following her last hospital visit, Gaara suggested something as they talked in the greenhouse. "You should talk with Matsuri,"
"Matsuri?" She was unsure. "Your former student, you mean?"
Gaara nodded, gently trimming the overgrowing branches of a foxglove. "She overcame a fear of weapons, somewhat similar to what you're going through now. It wouldn't hurt to ask her about what she did to condition herself."
And the conversation in the greenhouse suddenly made sense.
She heard Matsuri had a fear of weapons from Gaara and other Suna-nin over the years, so perhaps there would be some sort of benefit for seeking out her company. But Nomasaki also remembered that the previous Fifth Hokage developed a nasty fear of blood from witnessing the death of her lover in war, and it was decades until Princess Tsunade was able to conquer it. Nomasaki shook off the thought, forgetting the latter crossed her mind.
She would be damned if it took her a decade.
Having only met a handful of times, Nomasaki was still a stranger to Matsuri – and a potential source of contention. Matsuri was best friends with Sari, who was a junior medic-nin who trained under Meiyumi for a time. And both Matsuri and Sari were known to be amongst the Kazekage's former entourage of adoring fans who swooned immediately at the sight of him. But that was when they were merely girls, and they had matured since then – or at least Nomasaki had hoped. Even still, Nomasaki saw Matsuri as an acquaintance. Not a friend, for they were not close, but someone she could recognize and hold a conversation with.
But would the former admirer be open to a conversation with the wife of the Kazekage?
And a conversation about a touchy subject, no less.
Nomasaki kept on her path home, a sigh passing her lips.
In the distance, she saw an ensemble of shinobi leaving the Kazekage estate. They were likely returning from a mission and had only just reported their status to the council, as the late afternoon was a busy time for assignment completion. Nomasaki remembered as much from her duties as Gaara's assistant when the paperwork seemingly never ended. And if luck would have it, she saw Matsuri and her comrades disperse on their separate ways home.
And she decided to take the plunge.
Startled by the approach of the Kazekage's wife, Matsuri sheepishly agreed to meet with her at a small tea shop just north of the central plaza. They began with short pleasantries and briefly spoke about how their day went – and Nomasaki omitted as much as possible and masked it all behind a light smile, as she did best. Matsuri scarcely made eye contact as they chatted, mostly flitting her glance to her cup or averted away out of shyness.
"I apologize about meeting so abruptly," Nomasaki spoke, setting her tea down on the wooden table. "It's just that… I wanted to speak with you. We should know each other a little more, being that you're friends with Meiyumi and… you are acquainted with my husband."
"I-I agree!" Matsuri nodded, smiling. "And it's alright. It's not every day I meet with the Kazekage's wife. It was… sudden, but I'm glad I'm here. What did you want to talk about, my lady?"
Nomasaki's smile faded from her lips. "You were once my husband's – Gaara's student, right? Back when you were in the academy?"
"O-Oh? Y-Yes, I was – once." Matsuri nodded. "The academy went through some changes to become more like Konoha's system, and Gaara-sama and his siblings were the instructors for the self-defense classes." She looked down at her tea, smiling fondly. "No one wanted to train under Gaara-sama, so I… volunteered myself."
Nomasaki was intrigued. "What did you choose as your weapon?"
"A rope javelin – a jōhyō," She said. "I was scared of the other weapons, so Gaara-sama gave me the javelin to start with. I messed up many times, but I eventually got the hang of it."
Nomasaki bit her lip, preparing herself to say the words. "Matsuri," The brown-haired kunoichi met her eyes at last, curiously. "If I may ask you… why were you afraid of the weapons?"
Matsuri grew still.
"Oh? Well, it's because…-," She lowered her glance to the table, sorrow filling her dark eyes. "My parents were murdered in front of me when I was a child. They… we were very poor and were desperate to get by. My family was descended from one of Suna's noble families, but we lost our fortune after the Third Shinobi War. My father sought the assistance of the black market in the village's underbelly, and for a time, we were scraping by." She folded her hands on her skirt, her eyes near hidden by her bangs. "But one day, my father decided he no longer required their services… so gang members came to our house at night and -," She paused briefly. "…both my mother and father were killed. They left me alive to witness it all… it was horrible. I've feared weapons ever since."
Nomasaki knew the pain well.
Having witnessed the massacre of her villagers as a child through steel and flame, she could not say anything more. She lowered her head in solemn sympathy. "I'm sorry."
Matsuri gave a small smile, horror still painted in her eyes. "Thank you, my lady. You're so kind… really, thank you."
Nomasaki ran her fingers over her teacup, hesitating to ask. "So, how did you overcome your fear?"
"I used my rope javelin to save people I cared about." Matsuri smiled. "You see, there were shinobi after Gaara-sama who wanted his Shukaku. I was captured and used as a hostage. Before one of the enemies could attack him, I found the strength to use my own weapon to hold them back." She took a sip of her tea, and her expression said it all – warmed. "It was the bravest I've ever felt, and it was then that I knew I could beat my fear and become a splendid kunoichi."
Nomasaki found herself smiling, too.
Finding courage was something that felt like no other as a shinobi, and she remembered when she first felt it course through her blood. It was near as warm as the beast-blood that lay within her and near gave her the same strength. Hearing Matsuri's words only affirmed it all in her mind.
Then that settles it, she thought, I must hunt.
"Gaara-sama saved me that day," Matsuri spoke, her tone icy. The shift caught her attention instantly, and Nomasaki drew up a wall between them in her thoughts. When Nomasaki met her glance, Matsuri's smile was slightly there, but her eyes spoke it all. "So, you see, my lady – you're not the only one Gaara-sama has saved."
Animosity.
Unsure of what to say, Nomasaki smiled back and took a sip of her tea.
And their conversation ended shortly after.
Evening.
Gaara and Kankurō were taken aback when she told them all that she saw.
"It was your trial?" Kankurō gaped. "How did you take it?"
Nomasaki averted her glance. "As best as I could manage, I guess. I wasn't expecting such a resemblance to the real thing. It was… horrible." The taste of vomit was fresh on her tongue. She clapped her palm over her mouth, forcing herself to swallow. She forced herself to face them directly, meeting their waiting faces. "I was looking through my eyes – as if I was in the past, reliving everything."
Gaara stood quietly, leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. His head hung low, his eyes narrowing to the carpeted floor. Reflecting. He glanced up at her, apologetic. "And you saw yourself hunting with your mother?"
She nodded. "It was my first hunt, when I was six."
"So would going hunting help you?" Kankurō pressed. "We can take you hunting in the desert," He turned to his younger brother. "What do you think, Gaara?"
Gaara pondered, putting his hand to his chin. "It's hard to say…"
"Not here," Nomasaki spoke up. Her violet eyes were pleading – desperate. "It has to be in Yamagakure. That's where… everything started. I need to learn how to use a bow again, to let loose my arrow – to not be scared of blood or weapons. I must hunt in my homeland."
Gaara met her glance with shared sorrow, his eyes softening.
Blinking, he looked away from her and glared towards the window. "That may be true, but we don't know when we'll be in Yamagakure next, and you have duties here." He gave a glance drenched in guilt. "Your role as Ambassador might suffice, but those are responsibilities that dictate the village takes priority."
Nomasaki's heart sank.
And her dream of returning to her homeland was torn away from her.
She missed the snows and forest terribly, nearly as much as her wolfish form. She knew she was being selfish, but she had to be in this case. This was her burden to bear, and the hunt was the first step to awakening the beast-blood that slept in her veins. And for her family, too. For they needed her strong once more to protect them – and to silence Tenbu for good.
A thought occurred to her, something she had not played witness to since she left Yama.
"There's the fall harvest," She said, hopeful. "And it will mark our son's sixth months of life. In my clan, the elders would bless children upon reaching that age. It's a rite of passage, a benchmark for surviving dark times. The branch family brought it to Yama after the restoration, and Kyōkurō is of the age to receive the blessing from the matriarch."
Gaara narrowed his gaze. "When is it?"
"A few weeks. My father – or chieftain, suggested we make the trip in his last letters."
Taking in the proposition, Gaara let out a breathless sigh and leaned further against his desk. His brow furrowed, not amused nor ecstatic. Disappointed, nearly. She knew Gaara would react in such a way, as social events were neither his strong suit nor his direct interest. Besides being photographed, festivals were amongst his least favourite things.
Kankurō snickered. "Gaara, you don't look too happy."
"It's an inconvenience," Gaara grumbled. "It's a busy time for me. Chunin Exams are starting in a month, and Suna is in a recession."
Nomasaki put her hands together, giving him the best doe-eye stare she could muster from her fractured heart. "Can't you just make the trip? It'll probably only be for a few days."
Please, she begged, For me? For our son?
For my sanity?
But she remembered he was also married to his duty – and she was not his only wife.
He sighed, submitting. "Very well… but we can't overstay our welcome."
"Nomasaki, I owe you one!" Kankurō smirked. "You just excused me from scheduled clerical work." He started for the door, yawning. "I'll be seeing you folks later! That last assignment did a number on me… I need a nap."
And the office door clicked closed, leaving husband and wife alone.
Silence rang tensely between them, threatening to break.
Gaara spoke first. "Are you going to hunt, then?"
"I must." She spoke, her voice firm. "It's the only way. I need to start at the source." She glanced down at the hand she held against her chest, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "It all began there… on that mountain. There, I learned to survive. I must learn again – and become one with nature if I'm to have any hope of awakening my blood."
Gaara's eyes widened slightly. "You don't mean -?"
She nodded, hardening her glance at him. "Yes. I must stay."
"No," He was before her in an instant, his sands swirling around them. He cupped her face gently, his ringed-eyes of seafoam pleading. "Don't do this – don't leave! I need you, Kyōkurō needs you… You've done the trial in the forest once. Why must you do it again?"
Tears glistened in her eyes, her chest heavy. "Because I'm alone now. Hanone is dead." She shut her eyes tightly, holding back the urge to cry. "I feel like I lost a part of myself when Tenbu attacked… I lost my strength and my will to be free – to be a beast as I was always destined to be. Being in Suna is difficult for me to bear… I must go back to my mountain and reclaim what I've lost. Please, give me time..."
Gaara held her close, and she pulled him closer.
He rested his head against hers as she wept silently into his chest and ran his fingers through her long golden strands. "How long?"
"As long as I need to…" She whispered back. "I'm sorry…"
Slowly, they ended their embrace. Gaara gazed deep into her eyes, examining the purple flecks within them as his of turquoise appeared wet with kept tears. He gingerly cupped her face with his palms and kissed her forehead. Leaning away, he saw a stray tear on her cheek and wiped it away. A sort of half smile curved on his lips, masking the hurt that lay behind his stoic façade.
He breathed into her. "Do what you must."
Closing her eyes, she placed a hand over his upon her cheek. She took in his scent, his warm and comforting chakra acting as a double-edged blade. She did not want to leave him, but it was inevitable. She would return, but she was unsure when that would be. Her last trial in the forest lasted a month. With her luck, she would remain there until next spring if misfortune was to continue to stalk her like a wolf sick with hunger.
Before she had a chance to open her eyes, he left her touch within a swift wind of sands.
When she blinked, he was sitting at his desk and continuing to file his daunting paperwork. She hoped she had not hurt his feelings because that was the last thing she wanted to do. She never meant to offend him – never. Nevertheless, the hurt in her heart returned to her thoughts, the loss of affection propelling a strange melancholy to take hold.
She gave him a sheepish look. "Are you… coming home for dinner?"
"I have some things I need to finish up here." He said, staying focused on his work. "I'll be home late."
Emptiness.
She sighed, masking her thoughts. "Okay," She lingered in the doorway, trying her best to give a light smile. But sorrow painted her violet eyes vividly enough. "I'll see you later, Gaara."
The door clicked behind her.
Gaara was right – he was late.
It was nearing the early hours of nightfall, and the skies were shrouded by thick darkness, a sign that summer surely had ended. She made supper for two – fried rice bowls with cucumber and shallot with teriyaki chicken. Gaara was not able to make it, but Meiyumi gladly ate his share. Once Meiyumi helped her with the dishes, her friend bid her and Kyōkurō goodbye, and Nomasaki was alone with her infant son. She bathed him, dressed him in a new onesie, and readied him for bed. Although a quiet child, he loved to hear her speak and sing him lullabies. She sang a hymn her mother sang her when she was a child, and Kyōkurō adored it to the point of smiling under his soother.
Her heart broke at the thought of leaving her son, even for a short while.
When he was sleepy enough, Nomasaki carried him to the nursery and lay him down in his cradle. Beside him, she sat in the rocking chair and read to him. She often did on most nights unless she was too tired from losing sleep. "And then the little prince slew the serpent and saved the maiden," She read, captivating his attention. "And the sun once again rose in the morning."
Kyōkurō cooed happily.
"Another one? Let's see…" She turned the pages. "A hunter was out in the woods one day and soon got lost. He soon realized he was being followed. When he turned around, a great big wolf with great big teeth stood in his way,"
She froze.
Her hands tightened on the picture book. Forcing herself to look on, she turned the page to reveal a sprawling illustration of the wolf slain by the hunter. A spear was driven through its eye, and little dots of red signified its death. All around its hung pelt, the villagers danced around it. Rejoicing. She closed the book, rested her folded hands over its cover, and took a solemn breath.
She bit her lip, disgusted and hurt.
Even in children's stories… the wolf is always the villain.
Kyōkurō let out a cry, seemingly aware.