(2022/10/26) Author's note: Hey there!

Sorry, it's been a while since my last update. I was hoping to have this chapter posted sooner but ya know... life. I'm going to be taking a breather from this fic for at least a month to hopefully get some chapters ready and posted before the holidays. This chapter was a bittersweet one to write, and probably my weirdest one yet (see: magic mushrooms). It's also the only chapter I've written thus far that contains the word "fuck", so this might be the only instance I can sufficiently place some of my pottymouth tendencies into my writing without it sounding like a cheap shot.

I hope you like what this chapter has to offer! As always, thank you for reading xx

Content advisory: smut, magic mushrooms

Chapter 19
Gaara V

Gaara was not one for the cold, but it surprisingly grew on him over the last year.

In the weeks before their journey north, he noticed a particular light behind Nomasaki's eyes as she went about her day. It was as if the upcoming trip breathed a new life into her, one that Gaara had not seen in her since before the birth of their son. He hoped the sacrifice of missing time in Sunagakure would be worth the trip, but if it helped his wife recover her powers, it meant every second. Still, he could not help but feel she was hiding something. Since Nomasaki began the memory recollection training, she scarcely told him anything new from her sessions other than small talk laced with her usual gentle smile. Perhaps she did not want to divulge more due to reliving the trauma before her eyes under the genjutsu. He understood that, and if she did not wish to tell him, he would not force her. She had her secrets, and he had his. But something about her newfound silence left him with a certain emptiness in his chest. And he realized he feared that she was going to disappear.

And coming to Yama was inevitable.

The hunt had to be made.

It was a mere hour past daybreak and the desert's winds were possessed by a chill.

Kankurō accompanied them as the Kazekage's bodyguard, while Shijima followed closely under the cover of shadows to protect Nomasaki and an ever-curious Kyōkurō. The winds grew colder as they crossed the northern border of the Land of Wind, but Kyōkurō was seemingly unbothered as he rested in the sash that secured him to his mother's chest under the shield of her cloak. Their son's rosy-cheeked face beamed as he reached out to touch the falling snowflakes. Autumn had only just arrived across the shinobi lands, but the lands north knew of only winter.

Gaara could scarcely see an expanse of white on the horizon as they passed through the Kumatsume clan's ancient and forgotten forest – the tundra of the Land of Mountains. Kankurō shivered first and grumbled about the cold he despised with every inch of his being, while Gaara ignored his words and continued on beside his wife. Nomasaki was quiet for most of the journey, only speaking when she would stop to feed Kyōkurō or soothe him from his cries. Perhaps the forest gave her solace and reflection with its pine scented winds, the sheen of frost on the branches, and the silence and shelter it gave with its great canopy. Her face appeared pleasant and eager to return to her homeland, but her violet eyes spoke volumes of what she truly felt.

Desperation.

Melancholy.

Fear.

Hopelessness.

It took all of Gaara's strength to remain silent out of respect, but his anger for Tenbu only grew. Kenzō and his brother Kōga sunk their claws into Nomasaki's life when she was but a child, and was woven into their web of lies and deceit for near all her young life. And the aftermath still marked her face, her eyes defeated and tired.

And now its remnants wanted his son.

Gaara almost wanted for the vile snake Orochimaru to resurrect the brothers with Edō Tensei so that he may kill them himself, but he knew it would only serve nothing but selfish gratification. Still, the notion enticed the small fracture of darkness that dwelled deep within his heart. Sand would not suffice – only his hands around their throats.

The path to the mountains was longer than he last remembered.

Tiny outposts were scattered across the open tundra, mostly made up of travelling merchants, hunters, or caravans who stopped to rest and brave the bitter cold in their tents. A herd of great elk were in the distance, and Nomasaki stopped to show Kyōkurō as the warm vapour soon came from her parted lips with her words. The Land of Mountains was truly an unforgiving land, and colder than Gaara remembered. The Kazekage's hat shielded him from the bitter winds that passed by, but the cloak Gaara wore on his shoulders had proven too light for such a journey. Nomasaki and Kyōkurō both appeared comfortable, their cheeks rosy and unbitten by the cold. Kankurō was near his breaking point, swearing under his breath and concealing himself in his cloak as tight as he could. Gaara swore he could hear his teeth chatter beside him.

"I-It's s-so c-cold!" He spat, shivering. "I-It f-feels c-colder than l-last time! H-How is that even possible?"

Nomasaki turned, smiling lightly. Cocky, almost. "This land is forever tied to winter, but the land grows even colder during these months." Kyōkurō made a happy noise and reached for the strands of his mother's hair that brushed his face. She grasped his tiny hand in hers, warmed. "I should've warned both of you. I'm sorry. Being of the blood of the wolf, I forgot that desert-folk are sensitive to the cold like this."

Kankurō put his foot down, the hot vapour pouring from his gaping mouth. "N-No k-kidding!"

"It's not that bad, Kankurō," Gaara said, walking past him. "Complaining won't make us get there faster."

Kankurō huffed. "E-Easy for you to say!"

And they still had hours to go…

The Kumatsume clan settlement was larger and more vibrant than the last time they arrived. The outpost was not only guarded, but surrounded by a wall of stones and cobble and littered with wooden houses, stalls, and wide ornate tents and huts. Smoke danced upon the winds from the stone chimneys, and it was evident that the outpost was now a small village of sorts. The bear-people now had a home in the Land of Mountains, and to any outside shinobi they may as well have always been. The clansmen flocked to see the Suna-nin pass by and cheered and wished them good fortune. A pair of girls ran to Nomasaki from the crowd and presented her a bouquet of snow lilies, to which she gave her soft thanks and gently messed their hair. The girls beamed back and returned to the hut with their family, and it was clear that the Kumatsume were still clearly indebted to the actions of the Wolf of the Desert and the Kazekage.

For an instant, Gaara saw that Nomasaki's expression held a deep sense of pride – with no sign of her emotional labours anywhere to be seen. She saved them from a life in the darkness, a life from which held no signs of escape. To the Kumatsume, she was a hero. Nomasaki was a liberator. Gaara stood beside her with nothing short of pride, listening to the clansmen give their thanks and wish them a safe journey north to Yamagakure. Some of the clansmen wanted her to stay, inviting her for tea and telling them of their desires, but Nomasaki politely declined and told them they had a ceremony to attend in Yama. When the clansmen saw their son curiously reach out to them, they marveled at him in awe before continuing on their way.

The peak was hidden in the skies by a wall of clouds from the falling snows above.

Nomasaki led the way with Kyōkurō in tow, weaving through the rugged snowy path as if second nature. The trees that surrounded the road were towering, their frosted crowns near touching the white sky. White-covered branches encroached the path, making the road seem narrower the more it went on. Soon enough, a howl echoed from a distance. Nomasaki stopped in her tracks, and howled back, her fangs emerging from her lips. There was a silence, and then the padding of paws crunching on the snows came to them. A large white wolf with the same purple eyes as hers met them, and with the silent nod of its head, it led them further up the wild path. Kyōkurō was silent the rest of the journey, and from the sound of his stir, Gaara realized the wolf frightened him.

And it was then he wondered if he would be of the snow like his mother, or of the sand as himself.

Regardless of the clan ceremony they were to witness, the blood that ran through his veins was rife to awaken when he came of age. If he inherited Ōkamitoko, he would be the first of the Kazekage to have the gift of the beast – but at what capacity, Gaara was unsure. Nomasaki was, as she called herself, a half-blood due to her father. Kyōkuro, at most, possessed only one fourth of the Yamamori's claim.

If wolves frightened him, maybe it would be a mercy that power lay dormant.

It was not before long that Kyō's right-hand greeted them at the village gates.

Ekashiba stood stone-faced, his katana at his hip, and his dark hair whipping in the cold winds. His purple eyes were as steely as ever, his glance fixated on Gaara and his brother – the outsiders. Their wolf guide joined his side, and upon seeing Nomasaki his face softened.

"Nomasaki-sama, Kazekage-sama," He nodded. "It's good to see you after such a long absence. How fared your journey north?"

"It was… different, to say the least." Nomasaki spoke. She tried her best to smile pleasantly, but the joy in her eyes died. "It's good to be back after so long. I missed the snows every night I was in Suna."

Kankurō grumbled, his teeth clattering. "Y-Yeah r-right… ow!"

A small wave of sand struck his ankle, stopping him from complaining any further. Gaara remained quiet and stoic, eyeing Ekashiba's cold violet eyes as they glanced over to him. Beside him, Gaara sensed Nomasaki grow small and solemn, her smile faded from her lips and her glance empty. Ekashiba must have sensed it as well, his glance narrowing slightly at her.

"Your father tells me in confidence that your Ōkamitoko is sealed… is this true?"

Hesitantly, Nomasaki nodded. "For the time being… I'm working it out." Her eyes drifted towards the forest beyond the village. "I came here to… try something."

Gaara and Kankuro remained silent, exchanging looks of mutual awareness. They may have come to Yamagakure for the ceremony and celebrations, but work had to be done to stop Tenbu. Nomasaki was the key to defeat them, so whatever helped her regain her sealed strength was worth the time away from Suna. Even if it meant returning to the village without her.

Ekashiba rested his hand on the pommel of his blade strapped to his hip. "May those foul-blooded bastards in Tenbu find blades to their throats."

Gaara eyed him, sternly. "Soon enough."

"I'll escort you to the manse." Ekashiba turned. "This way,"

Once they were inside the great hall of the crackling hearth, they were met with a pair of spear-wielding guardsmen at the door and a pair of attendants who took their cloaks to be hung and dried from the snows. Kankuro retreated to the hearth first, obliging to take his infant nephew with him. Before they had a chance to seek the audience of Kyō, an auburn-haired attendant came rushing from the hall towards them. She wore an embroidered orange kimono of woolen fabric, and her hair was tied into a loose topknot as to not obscure her sea-green eyes. Familiarity marked her beaming face, but Gaara failed to recognize the woman. Nomasaki smiled immediately upon seeing her, the first time she showed any emotion since they left the Kumatsume on the tundra.

"Nomasaki-sama!" The handmaiden gasped. "Is that really you?"

"Sayuri!" The two women embraced, reuniting for the first time in over a year. Nomasaki smiled warmly at her, forgetting all the melancholy that plagued her. "It's so good to see you! How have you been?"

Sayuri snickered mischievously. "Bored, as always. Since you left, I have no one to torment the nobles with! Or drink sake, for that matter. Do you know how dull things have been since you left? It's so quiet here, even with all the wolves and bears around." The woman quieted upon seeing the Suna-nin in the entrance way. Her eyes met Gaara's, scanning him up and down. "Who's this?" A smirk soon curved upon her lips, and she leaned in to Nomasaki's ear with a hand propped up to cover her grin. "My lady, is this the one you've been pining over for so long?"

"P-Pining?" Nomasaki's face reddened, fluster stuttering her words. She smiled and nodded, placing a ginger hand upon Gaara's shoulder. "Y-Yes, this is my husband. Gaara, the Fifth Kazekage."

"Oh, wow!" Sayuri plunged to her knees. "Sorry, sir! I-I mean Kazekage-sama!"

Gaara could not stand groveling, even if it was an honest mistake. He gave a slight smile of assurance, nodding. Sayuri breathed a sigh of relief and stood back to her feet. "It's alright." His smile faded, his stoic nature painting his expression. "You're a friend of Nomasaki's?"

Sayuri nodded. "Handmaiden and friend, yes. I was entrusted to her service the day her father Kyo-sama was elected chieftain." She shot a distasteful glance of humor towards his wife, a grimace. "Although, when you left Yama, I was transferred to the country's capital to attend to the Daimyo's granddaughter… she was such a brat."

"Sayuri is one of my closest friends here in Yama," Nomasaki smiled. "We went to the academy together but never really spoke. Do you remember?"

Sayuri placed her hand over her chin in thought. "Sort of, it's been… how long? Fifteen years?" She snickered. "I remember that time you barked at someone in class."

Nomasaki flinched, embarrassed. "I-I didn't bark!"

"You barked," Sayuri countered, giggling. "And you did it a couple of times!"

As they joined Kankuro by the warmth of the great hearth, Sayuri brought them hot tea and told Gaara of how she and Nomasaki became friends amongst other stories. Sayuri reminded him of the way Meiyumi spoke with her mannerisms and nature. She was outgoing, friendly, and had gracious patience. She spoke as if they had all already met before, which prevented any awkward or stiff conversation. Gaara was grateful, as he dreaded making niceties with unfamiliar guests. To him, it was an annoyance.

Sayuri met Nomasaki when they were in the academy as they were enrolled in the lessons for the village's future kunoichi – the healers and teachers of the next generation. She said Nomasaki seldom spoke unless spoken to by the instructors, and was often seated alone in the back of the class where none would bother her. A cruel group of boys would often taunt her, asking her to show her fangs or howl. It was then that she allegedly barked in class, and barked with such ferocity the instructor grew frightened a stray dog had entered the classroom. Kankuro laughed at that part, to which Nomasaki gave a bitter scowl as her cheeks were near as red as the hearth's smoldering coals. Sayuri said she never held any ill will towards the wolf that was in their class, but did not know how to approach the shy girl who sat alone. She did, however, beat up one of the bullies after school one day – when she caught him barking at his friends as a joke on the schoolyard.

Nomasaki drank to that.

"How did you survive the Ishigakure invasion?" Gaara asked, soon drawing the room cold.

Sayuri closed her eyes and breathed a smile as she began to pull back her pants on her right leg. "It was… not easy, I will say. My family hid in our cellar for three days, and narrowly escaped the fate that came to our neighbours." Gaara's glance was drawn to the sprawling burn scar that claimed her leg, the skin disfigured and molten pink. "When we crawled out, the village was ash… but the armoured men on horseback were gone. So, my family and I left for the capital, where my father worked as a blacksmith. After we heard Yamagakure was being rebuilt, we returned to help with the restoration efforts".

Nomasaki then introduced her to their son, who rested playfully on a bed of furs by his uncle. Sayuri awed at the child, and Nomasaki soon began to tell her everything about him. It was the brightest her face was all day. As Gaara watched the two women talk and joke with one another, he was comforted that she had at least one friend in the north.

The ceremony was nothing Gaara had expected.

Nomasaki stood on the altar before the Yamamori clan's shrine holding Kyōkurō amongst the furs. Her face was a pristine calm, a controlled elegance. Gaara stood beside his family, watching the rites as they were performed by the village priestess. The priestess was clothed in garbs of red and white as if to symbolize the snows and the eerie winter trees that filled the forests upon the mountain. As the clansmen of the Yamamori and village chieftain stood before the altar shrine, the priestess began by speaking of the many gods and demons that belonged to the mountain, calling for the benevolent ones to bless their son on this day. Kankuro stood idly by, taking it in with suspicious stares and amused smirks – which Gaara did his best to ignore. Taking the red sap of the winter trees that filled the snowy meadow, the priestess ran the substance down over Kyōkurō's rosy cheeks and chin.

"The mark of the gods", Gaara heard a clansman say in the crowd.

He felt an outsider looking into a world that felt ancient. No such gods were worshipped in Suna save for the old gods of the desert. But the Yamamori were a clan reborn, free to live as they once had before the Warring States Era. Even standing beside his wife, he felt out of place. He reasoned it was only fair if Nomasaki had to deal with the Suna priests at their temple for their marriage blessing. In return, he would attend such ceremonies in her homeland. It was the least he could do as her husband. Surprisingly, Kyōkurō did not budge nor stir as the priestess gave him the markings. He was pleasant and calm during the ceremony's entirety.

"As a priestess of the old mountain gods, I allow them to bear witness to the blessing of this child," The priestess proclaimed. "These markings of the red sap represent life – the breath of which we were given from the old gods as they carved us from the earth. This child was blessed with the blood of the beast – and the wolf's blood flows strongly within his veins. The greatest gift bestowed upon by this mountain, and may It protect and nurture him as he grows from child to man." She rose her arms to the mountain skies, her wide white sleeves falling. "Long may he live!"

The crowd of onlookers erupted with pride. "Long may he live!"

And Kyōkurō was now one of the Yamamori.

He was the blood of the wolf.

The day finally grew older.

A feast soon followed in the chieftain's manse for all of the Yamamori to attend and bid well wishes to the clan's youngest member. Gaara and his wife and son were seated at the high end of the hearth while the rest of the attendees were seated throughout the great hall on adorned cushions as the winds howled outside. A few elders of the clan and village came to give their blessings, to which they politely gave thanks. After the tenth thanks, it soon grew tiring and dull. Gaara wanted nothing more than to rest for the remainder of the day and to leave at first light. Once the meal was done, sake soon began to be passed around – and the hall grew louder with celebration. Kyō was able to join for a short while to see his grandson, but he was soon beckoned outside by his councillors.

The one time a council interruption would suffice, Gaara thought.

He near caught himself wishing the council would send for him to return to the village. He brushed off the notion, annoyed. Looking to his wife and child, he was at least comforted and given solace. In a few short hours, they could be alone and spend some time as a family before Nomasaki would make her inevitable departure to the wilds further up the mountain.

He then felt empty.

"My lady, he's a fine child!" A Yamamori clansmen breathed, his violet eyes deeper than nightshade. "He will be a strong shinobi someday, like both of his parents."

Nomasaki gave her best soft smile and nodded, Kyōkurō sleeping soundly in her arms. "Thank you, sir." Hesitation marked her glance, and her smile faded. "If I may ask, why wasn't the matriarch at the ceremony?"

"Old age is taking a toll on Chizue-sama… she can scarcely leave her hut." The Yamamori spoke low. "We send our clansmen to check on her, and bring her supplies. But… -," He bit his tongue, cursing himself under his breath. "Forgive me. I shouldn't say any more."

Nomasaki reflected for a moment, but flitted her eyes to him pleasantly. "It's alright, thank you."

As the clansman walked away, Gaara noticed a hint of melancholy behind her eyes as she stared into the soothing fire. He had not heard much of the matriarch, only that she was brought to the mountains during the restoration by the Branch Family of the Land of Frost. She was over ninety years old, and amongst the last to remember the days before the clan's demise.

"It would have been nice for her to see our son…" Nomasaki said, her voice quiet. She moved the furs over Kyōkurō's torso, adjusting them for warmth. Her eyes closed halfway, appearing regretful. "I'll have to see her soon, before…-,"

Her voice trailed off, masked by the cheering and laughter within the fiery hall.

Gaara saw the sorrow, and decided to ask. "Were you close?"

"Not exactly." Nomasaki admitted, gently rocking their son back and forth. "She's the last living descendent of the main Branch Family, so when she passes someday, I will…-,"

"Be the matriarch…" Gaara finished, the words stinging on his tongue. "You're the last of the Main Household and its only heiress, so you would take the mantle as matriarch."

She nodded. "And any of my descendants – our descendants, Kyōkurō and any of his line. Our clans are bound by blood… so they carry with them their burdens."

A line of inheritance.

Her family is the same as my clan. Gaara's ringed-eyes narrowed, forcing himself to press further. "Then what would that mean for you? When Chizue-sama dies, what happens?"

"I don't know, Gaara. I don't know…" Nomasaki sighed, truly aware. "We're married, we have a son, and I'm anchored to Sunagakure through you and my father." She looked to him, her purple eyes apologetic and true. "I don't know what's required of me here, but I promise I'll do whatever it takes to keep things as they are now."

Gaara wanted to believe her.

She was telling the truth, her words were honest and shaken by the unknown. But deep down, he had a feeling within his heart that she would disappear. She loved the mountains – she loved its cold, unforgiving lands, the snows that fell, and the many forests sprawled along its endless slopes. It was the land where she was born, the land she grieved for since being ripped away from it as a child chosen by fate to live amongst the desert-folk as a shinobi. Even still, Gaara accepted. Coming to Yamagakure was a double-edged blade. He would be leaving for Suna without her – for she had decided to test herself within the untamed wilds of the north.

But if it meant she would be happy, he wanted nothing more.

Footsteps sounded behind them, and a tall shinobi sat before them. Gaara recognized the kunoichi – Sana of the Kumatsume. She was abnormally tall, near reaching the height of Nomasaki's father, and had a certain shine to her green eyes that begged for knowledge. Nomasaki greeted her with a sigh of relief it was someone familiar, and Sana then gave them their well wishes for their son – as was the custom for the day.

"How are you feeling, Nomasaki-senpai?" Sana asked. "Are you well enough to start training?"

Nomasaki looked down to her sleeping son, then to the cracking hearth. "I will be soon, but please give me some time." She said, her voice low. "There's… something I need to do first." Nomasaki blinked, turning to her. "Actually, there's something you can do for me. Can you meet me at the shrine before dawn?"

Sana nodded, smiling widely. "Yes, milady! Of course, anything you ask."

"Thanks, Sana." Nomasaki smiled back, warmed.

With a final nod, Sana stood and started for the large iron doors and soon walked out into the snowy evening. A cool draft entered the hall, but it was soon swallowed by the roaring heat that seared from the hearth's crackling embers.

Kankuro came back from chatting with the guardsmen, a pastry in hand. He sat himself between them, leaning on his side lazily, and shot Gaara a smirk. "You look like you're enjoying yourself, little brother."

Gaara averted his glance, annoyed. "Don't call me that here."

"Sheesh, lighten up! You don't have to be so hard-faced and serious all the time." Kankuro turned towards Nomasaki, taking a bite from the sugary loaf. "How's my nephew?"

"Sleepy. He should be ready for bed soon." Nomasaki sighed, moving the stray feathery strands of red from her son's eyes. "He's going to miss the harvest rites, but he can join us someday when he's older."

Kankuro rose a brow. "Harvest rites?"

"It's held every year on the first day of autumn to celebrate the harvest, when the moon is at its greatest and brightest." Nomasaki smiled. "We light a great pyre of wheat to pay tribute to the harvests yet to come, and we celebrate it the way mountain-folk do best."

"With sake and debauchery?"

Nomasaki grinned, a wolfish grin. "Most likely."

"Ah," Kankuro sighed, glancing to his younger brother. "Gaara, you wouldn't mind if your bodyguard got a little drunk, would you?"

"Your girlfriend might." Gaara took a sip of his tea.

"Shit, I didn't even think of that…" Kankuro muttered. "But she's not here!"

Gaara glared. "I didn't say I'd keep it a secret."

"Come on, what's one night of celebrating going to do, huh?!"

Nomasaki laughed, and the emptiness in Gaara was filled.

The skies were dark with night when they stepped out of the manse.

Sayuri took Kyōkurō to bed in the nursery with the other handmaidens, allowing the Kazekage and his wife to enjoy themselves for the night. And for all Gaara knew, he would not have another night alone with Nomasaki until she returned from her hunt. He was already agonizing over their empty bed when he returned home with their son, and contemplated letting his insomnia rule his days before she came back. He valued his time alone, but without her it was unbearable.

Shijima met them in the courtyard, the snows coating the snow lilies and trees in a thin layer of shining silver. Nomasaki held her hands together upon her kimono's sash in a guarded gesture, her glance calm and solemn. "Shijima, it's time for us to part ways… for now."

"Are you sure, my lady?" The Hōki protested. "You're to be here alone for weeks, without protection -,"

"I'll be fine." Nomasaki assured. "I'll be safe here. The Yamamori Forest is a sacred place, and rarely anyone from the outside can enter."

Except that time I did, Gaara thought.

The memories of the eerie, red-barked trees came forward, reminding him of the strange power that slept in that northern realm. Visions of his shared past with Nomasaki were thrown before his very eyes, and nothing could explain how except that the forest wanted him to find her. It was not genjutsu, but the nature energy that radiated from that cold ancient place. He wondered how long it would take until their enemies and their blood-sealing found a way to bypass the realm. He stirred, uneasy.

"The forest may be protected, but who knows for how long – even with your clansmen." Gaara turned to her, his ringed-eyes narrowing in concern. "Shijima could stay with you… so you at least have someone here in case things go awry. I won't be able to come, so she should be here in my place."

Nomasaki breathed in the cold and reflected in silence. She glanced up to the darkened skies where the scarce snow fell, and flitted her eyes back to her folded hands. She looked to him, her glance iron-firm in conviction. "I must do this on my own."

Gaara met her purple eyes under the lantern light. They were seeped in a subtle pride and desperation, and a dormant anger that struck his empathy. He almost wanted to be frustrated with how stubborn she was at heart, but he knew no further words could sway her from her choice.

"Shijima, you are to guard and protect my son when you return to Sunagakure." Nomasaki spoke to her. "When I return, you will be once again under my service… and we can continue our memory recollection training then."

The Hōki woman stood, nodding once. "As you wish, my lady. It will be done."

And the kunoichi disappeared into the shadows of the surrounding wood.

Before the great pyre to be lit were members of the Yamamori and Kumatsume clans, and the many villagers who came to watch. Kyō made his way under the pyre to give the opening remarks, and once he was done, the priestess lit the wheat and the pyre was aflame. Gaara felt Nomasaki grasp onto his sleeve as the flames licked the skies, and from a single glance he saw the old remnants of fear behind her violet eyes that were locked upon the burning pyre. Instinctually, he took her hand in his and moved his thumb over hers. When she looked up to meet his face, he thought he saw her cheeks redden, unless it was from the cold that crept forth from nightfall.

And then the true festivities begun.

Kankuro left them to grab a bottle of sake for himself, while they stayed closed to Nomasaki's father and made conversation. Sake was passed around, but upon every chance Gaara declined. Nomasaki abstained as well, but the hunger in her eyes spoke of it all. The priestess came to them with a tray full of withered mushrooms, bowing her head as she presented them. Kyo bowed his head back and so did Nomasaki, and they each took one and swallowed them whole. Gaara was unsure of the custom, so he took one to be polite. The priestess then moved on to everyone else in attendance, offering them the same withered fungi. Gaara examined the mushroom in his palm, its gills shriveled as if dried in the desert sun.

He narrowed his glance. "What are they?"

"Offerings to the mountain gods," Kyo awed. "On the eve of the solstice, we take these and offer ourselves to the protection of our old gods… or so the priestess says. It's an old tradition, practiced in Yama since the days before the Warring States."

Biting his tongue, Gaara pushed his palm into his mouth and swallowed. It took everything for him not to gag. "They taste awful…"

Kyo chuckled, swigging back a shot of sake. "Stories passed down say it's the past that leaves a bitterness, not the offering. But again, take that with a grain of salt."

Better off an entire salt mine. Gaara shrugged, his breath leaving a vapour. "That's a different way of looking at it, I suppose."

Nomasaki took him by the hand, near pulling him from his seat. "Come, let's go join the rest."

In only an hour since he ingested the strange offering, things began to feel unusual.

All he could hear was the chorus of laughter.

The great fire in the village's centre was adorned in snow lilies, their shining blue petals illuminating with the embers that crackled of pine and spruce. Wheat, apples, and rice lay across the pyre as a grand offering to the nameless gods Gaara could not remember or understand – Nomasaki told him the names once, but he could not recall anything but the vibrance of the flames and the crisp scent of pine that danced in the air. Everything was vivid to him, yet distorted at the same time. Colour was everywhere he looked, in every corner, in every facet, and in every voice that spoke, laughed, and cheered as songs were sung and sake was drunk.

Stringed instruments began to be played, their music loud and especially vibrant over the orange flames that simmered. A pair of young girls no older than twelve began their song, singing the high harmonics of a tale of a gallant who freed a wolf from a snare. Catching Gaara by surprise, Nomasaki stood up beside him and joined the girls as elk-hide drums were beaten, and a bow was drawn over the strings. The sound started off as a drone, then turned into the song once more. Her voice was as crisp as the mountain air, yet smooth as water – and lower than the girls'. As if a howl.

Warm, whole, and rich.

Powerful, even.

Gaara sat amazed, having never heard his wife sing before. If her voice was a colour, it was a simmering coal, such as the ones he saw in the fire before them. The same colour her cheeks turned whenever he would hold her hand.

Warmth.

Nomasaki sang the verse of the hero's deed, while the girls harmonized cheerily and the man playing the strings sang from the throat. It was unlike the desert music he heard in the Land of Wind, or from anywhere else. When all was done, the crowd erupted into cheers and laughter. The girls clung to Nomasaki's sleeves and begged to sing more, and Nomasaki could do nothing but beam and laugh while promising they could sing again soon. As the players continued to play and the crowd grew thicker and louder, Nomasaki reached out to Gaara and he grasped her hand without a second thought.

The walk back to the chieftain's residence was a trip in itself, as Gaara thought the snow was melting beneath his feet.

Above, the flurries danced towards them in detailed specs of immaculate white crystals. Nomasaki's steps were scattered, ditzy, and uncoordinated. Although they were not drunk and aware fully what they were doing, being under the influence of the offering was unlike anything he had experienced. The closer they were to reaching the manse, the farther away it seemed. Gaara did not mind, as for some reason he felt strangely content. Not a single bad thought ruminated – not the council, the assassins, or the thought of Tenbu. He did not recall their existence on this night, as the offering forbade him from doing so. He was too focused on the feeling of Nomasaki's hand in his, the sensation unlike anything he felt before.

'Detailed' was the only word that came to mind.

By the time they made it into the guest room, not a soul lay awake to greet them.

As soon as they slid the door shut, they enveloped into each other's embrace. Every touch seemed to have its own texture – its essence. The cloth of her kimono was smooth and sleek, and emanated of her warmth. He could not stop himself from kissing her, her soft lips drawing him in further under the moonlight. She tasted as she always did – sweet, warm, and alluring. His hands slid from her shoulders down to her breasts, massaging the smooth blue fabric that shielded her from the cold. He could feel her nipples perk from his touch, enticing his hazy self to venture further as desire flooded his mind with a vengeance.

"Gaara," She breathed his name into him, grasping at the collar of his shirt.

He said nothing, putting his lips to hers and drifting his touch to her waist. Her obi was undone from one single pull, her dress falling to her elbows. Gaara did not remember how they made it to the bed in the first place, being as lost into each other in their shared haze. It seemed as if a hundred years had passed yet in mere seconds. He lay over her with his shirt opened and belt undone, his focus fumbling as he wanted nothing more than to press his wife into the pillows behind them with all the love he had. With soft and careful hands, Nomasaki sat up and helped him remove the rest of his clothes. She said something too quiet for him to hear and laughed to herself, her delicate fingers tracing the shape of his arms as she pulled his shirt free. He placed a hand upon her face, finding himself soon lost in her violet eyes.

"You're just so beautiful…" He said, feeling her rosy cheek. "I can't help but stare at you…"

Nomasaki gave a sweet laugh and turned away. Even under her cascade of long gold hair, Gaara could see that her face was a blushing red. He felt his desires grow, enticed by her voice and by her beauty and timid charm. Caressing her cheek with his thumb, he slowly slid his other hand over the loose clothes that sat upon her. Gingerly, he pushed away her kimono's outer layer. Before he could say anything, Nomasaki shyly removed the white silk that remained, pulling it over her head. Her breasts bounced lightly from the movement, provoking a giggle from her lips. He wanted to stare at her in awe, to gaze at her beautiful naked body for as long as he was able. The scars that painted her could not bring any shame, and he kissed every scar before and would a million times over if she asked.

"You can touch me, Gaara." She spoke, her glance drifting away as her shyness rose. Her hands cupped themselves by her lips, shielding her bare breasts from the cold. "You can stare if you want, but… I'd like you to touch me."

Her words set a fire within him. Sensing the touch of her skin in his fingertips, he imagined she was made of ice and cupped her face in his sand-ridden hands. When he looked into her eyes, he thought he saw himself within them – looking back from the realm of nightshade. "Would you want that?"

She nodded, her face blushing in her timidness. "Yes… if you feel the same."

"Always… Nomasaki, I love you."

He pressed his lips to hers, taking her in.

The hunger soon overcame him, and the moment she wrapped her arms around his back he pushed her into the furs below. Feeling her lips against his and her fingers through his hair, he returned her affections with a passionate force that near made her gasp. His hands glided down her smooth cool skin as he kissed her neck, sensing every fibre of her soul. Hearing her give a soft moan, he slowly slid his hands to her breasts. They were full, soft, and perked from his wandering touch. When he took one in his mouth, Nomasaki dug her fingers into his hair and told him she loved it. And for that, he clamped down gently on her nipple with his teeth. She nearly combusted under him, her body pulling him closer into the sea of furs. She tasted so sweet, so rich, and so warm. Never had his tongue graced such a sensation, making him wonder if the mushrooms were to blame. Or if it may have been the old mountain gods themselves, who wanted the mortals to lose themselves in the bliss of carnal urges.

Desire and lust flooding his hazy mind, he leaned away and allowed her to adjust herself onto the pillows that lay at her back. When he saw her under the fragments of moonlight, he was taken by her all over again. Feeling her thigh at his hip while he opened his belt, he traced the soft skin with his fingers as if sensing every fibre. She was so incredibly soft, especially in this night.

Gently, he felt her hand grasp over his. "Gaara, I can help you… Here, let me…"

Gulping down his hesitation, he let her take over. With fingers of ice and warmth, she undid his belt and pushed down his pants past his hips. He was hard and throbbing, waiting for her to say the words. Timidly, she placed her hands along his body, sensing his muscles while she took all of him in. The feel of her lips around him near pulled him to the edge. She was starting off slow, bending him to her will with her sweet, gentle lips. Her touch upon him was smooth and delicate, tracing the muscles that tensed along his abdomen.

"Nomasaki… -," He breathed through grit teeth. "You… -,"

Fearing his breath grow heavy, he bunched her gold hair into his palms. Her tongue felt hot against him, pushing him further and further towards the end he desperately tried to avoid. Reminding himself that fangs rested behind her jaws only aroused him further from the danger she posed to himself. He was vulnerable – and she was in control. A visceral pleasure soon crept upon him, his grasp onto her hair tightening. Feeling his body tense, her hands held him firmly at his waist, then smoothly flowed down to his hips. A husky moan escaped his lips as his body jerked against her. He underestimated her – and he knew he was falling for it. Filling her, she took in his seed without any hesitation. Parting her lips from him, she leaned back onto the bed and swallowed as she looked up to him with a smile.

"I… always wanted to try that," She confessed, her face blushing. "What did you think?"

"I think you're amazing… You're incredible." He removed his pants completely and tossed them to the floor, joining her on the furs beside her. He caressed her cheek in his palm, gazing deep into the nightshade of her eyes. "I still can't believe I get to call you 'mine'."

She giggled, her face reddening. "Not every woman gets to share a bed with the Kazekage every night." Her fingers grazed softly upon his chest, her touch setting a fire within him. She looked at him with a sultry glance, longing in her violet eyes. "…but I do."

Softly, he put his lips to hers and held her tenderly in his strong arms.

It was not long before he was on top of her once again, only this time Nomasaki guided him with delicate and loving hands. Her fingertips gently grazed against the deep scar upon his chest, the mark from when he was within the darkness so many years ago. And somehow, she helped to fill it. They had to part their lips to breathe, as they could hardly pull themselves away from each other. The love was always there, but the strange mushrooms amplified every movement, every sensation, and every breath.

He hesitated, his mind foggy and concern in his heart. "Are you sure?"

Meeting his ringed-eyes, she bit her lip and nodded.

That was enough.

Under the soft glow of the moon, their lips crashed into each other in a sea of passion.

His second wind approached almost the very moment he embraced her, and he entered her wet folds with a single smooth glide. Nomasaki buckled under him, wrapping her legs around his backside to pull him closer. The feeling was unlike any other, as if experiencing the memory of sex for the first time. She was so warm, so wet, and so inviting – and he felt in that moment that he was made for her – that they were made for each other.

"Gaara…" She murmured, her breath hot and heavy. "I love you… so much…!" His tongue traced her nipple, causing her to moan in his ear. "God… damn it…!"

He thrust his cock into her slowly at first, prolonging every moment of pleasure he could savour. Her fingernails dug into his back, threatening to break the Sand Armour that shielded him. When he sensed her excitement from her breasts, he thrust harder and gently bit upon the perked nub, tasting her at his lips. Nomasaki leaned her head back into the pillows, her smooth legs grasping his hips tighter. Moving a hand along her silky thigh, he near gasped from the sensation under his grainy palms. If he could, he would fuck her all night – and anytime she asked. Sensing her airy moans on her breath, he slowed down and delved deeper inside. Before Nomasaki could react, he kissed her with as much passion as he could fathom and embraced her under the radiating moonlight.

And he knew he could never leave the bed again.

That next morning, she was gone.