Chapter 23
The Flow of Sand

The air was cool that early morning.

Weeks had passed since the funeral, and Gaara's strength was returning, albeit slowly. Nomasaki was on her feet constantly at every call of the council, and had to pick up the slack for their recovering Kazekage. Paperwork was building up, but slowly and surely they managed to pick away at the numerous piles together. Many nights were spent sleeping on the couch in the Kazekage's office while Gaara would stay awake from insomnia, working as much as he could. It was times like these that Gaara appreciated her company. Since the aftermath of his resurrection, Kankurō was busy constructing new puppets after his own had been destroyed at the hands of Sasori, and Temari was gone fulfilling her duties as Ambassador. Strangely enough, as soon as the Konoha allies departed Suna, the council sent Temari on an assignment to the Land of Water for delegations with the new Mizukage – a month's long journey. Where his siblings could not be with him, Gaara knew he could count on his assistant to fill the void if needed.

Nomasaki was fraught with stress. Since her last meeting with Kenzō, she grew increasingly paranoid at every scent, chakra, and noise that dared to intrude her senses. She was caged now, she had to remember. It would be a fatal mistake for her to forget the curse that marked her tongue forever, the seal that bound Kenzō's secrets to her life. With the Kazekage needing more guard than ever, she quietly excused herself from her spying – opting instead to be by his side as much as she was physically permitted. Staying on the couch in his office was oddly assuring to her, knowing that the tracker-nin would never dare to reveal themselves in such a tightly guarded place. As of late, Kenzō's actions had paused – and there was even a rumour floating around the estate that he was gone to deal with traders in the southern oases.

Maybe he'll stay there, she thought bitterly, And someone will slit his throat.

At the crack of dawn, Gaara sent for Nomasaki earlier than usual.

She was unsure why he summoned her at first, but she arrived as soon as she was able. Cautiously, she followed him down the aged sandstone steps that were lit by the odd candlelight. Descending down the old, darkened stairwell, she watched his back timidly to make sure she did not slip and fall from the uneven cracked stone at her feet. Unlike his normal days at the office where he wore the traditional robes of the Kazekage, he was clothed in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and black pants – leaving behind his shinobi gear. She could see the way his back shifted through the white fabric, how his shoulders turned and shifted, the muscle tone of his arms – and it suddenly clued into her of his physical strength. She was unsure if she should admire him or fear him, but either way she found it impressive. A timidness rose into her chest, and she averted her eyes from his back at once as she felt her cheeks grow warm. She could not afford to be distracted – not ever.

Above, she felt the heat of the rising sun peek through the cracked clay ceiling and touch her hair. Finally, they came to an opening. It was an arena made of ancient sandstone, carved in faded reds and golds of a civilization lost to time. It was located under the estate grounds – and a secret sparring location for those living in the Kazekage's quarters. Gaara trained here as a boy, he remembered – with his father. But today, things would be different. He was no longer a boy, and no longer bound to Shukaku – and he arrived by his own choosing. Feeling the closest to normal he had felt since before his death, Gaara decided it was time.

Nomasaki was mesmerized of the place, her wandering violet eyes taking everything in. Hugging the clipboard to her chest, she looked up at the open ceiling towards the desert sun and saw all the old colours suddenly brought to life. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. Although she was there well over a year ago, she scarcely had the time to take in the sights around her.

"I never thought to ask last time we were here, but what is this place?" She marveled. "It's incredible!"

Gaara paused, meeting her with his usual stoic expression. "The Sand Pits, it's an old training ground that is known only to those who live in the estate. It was discovered when the village was founded one hundred years ago, and used by the previous Kazekage to hone their skills."

Her smile faded, concern in her eyes. "Did you… use this place before? I mean, before that time where we…?"

"Yes." He nodded, looking up at the faded red that swirled across a cracked pillar. "…with my father."

She followed his gaze, then looked back. "And… you're sure you're well enough to…?"

"Yes." He answered, his glance firm. "I must."

Nomasaki nodded. "As you say."

A chakra came into focus, and she soon realized they were not the only ones there. Sitting atop one of the fallen pillars, she saw a young man watching them. He was clothed in a dark sleeveless tunic and had wrappings over his forearms, and his face was covered in old scars. Moving the wisps of silver hair from his eyes, he gave a slight smirk as he saw them in his sights.

"It's been a while, Gaara-sama," The young man called out. "Are you ready for a new training session?"

In a movement as swift as the wind, the young man jumped down from the pillar and met them in the arena's centre. Nomasaki could sense his chakra – it was hardened, refined, and light as a feather yet warm as fire. He must be a shinobi, she thought, I can sense his physical strength. As she examined him further from her glance, she noticed his fit physique and his height that surpassed both her and the Kazekage. A blue dragon tattoo swirled down his right shoulder, and his expression was as firm as his chakra.

Gaara gestured to their guest, his lips almost giving a light smile. "Nomasaki, I'd like you to meet Shira. He's a master at taijutsu, and captain of the northern border guard. He trained me in taijutsu before I became Kazekage." He then gestured to his assistant. "Shira, this is Nomasaki. She's a shinobi of the Sunagakure tracking unit, and my assistant."

With a pleasant smile, she bowed her head. "It's nice to meet you, Shira."

"You as well." Shira nodded, crossing his arms against his chest. "I've heard about you, actually. Some of my comrades saw a giant wolf heading towards the forest one day while on patrol."

Nomasaki flinched, timidly. "O-Oh, that wasn't me. That was my summon."

"Even still, to see a wolf in the desert is a rare thing."

Rare indeed, she thought.

"Shira is the first to graduate the academy solely using taijutsu at his disposal." Gaara told her. "He's one of the best."

Nomasaki looked back to Shira, and she understood Gaara completely. Even from just the feel of his chakra alone, she could sense his abilities were refined and great in strength. From the gleam of his brown eyes, she saw perseverance. He must have trained every day of his life to be at his level, she thought, near intimidated, And at such a young age, too. And it was then that Nomasaki realized that she was a witness to shinobi of gifted talents – whether it be Gaara and his prowess of the sand, or Shira and his earned taijutsu skills. She felt small in comparison, a foreigner who still struggled with the shinobi way of life.

Promptly, Shira stepped towards the faded ring marked in the arena's centre and prepared his stance. "Ready, Kazekage-sama?"

"Yes," Gaara nodded, meeting him on the sandstone. Rising to the challenge, the Kazekage entered his stance as firm as stone. "My strength isn't back to normal yet from the extraction, so my sand won't be in the way... too much."

A smirk formed on Shira's lips. "Then this will make for an exciting match!" His stance hardened, his strength building. "Stand your ground – and begin!"

Taking her leave with silence, Nomasaki walked back to the fallen pillars that clung along the outside of the fighting ring. A far enough distance away, she decided she could keep watch and continue the day's paperwork while the Kazekage fought with his trainer. It was to be a light spar, so she felt no qualms or worries if she missed the bulk of it. However, as she wrote on the dozens of papers scattered around her lap, the sheer noise from the impacts of kicks against sand, stone, and flesh alike were hard to mask from her ears. The fighting only interrupted her focus slightly, so she carried on as if the day was like any other and that she was the assistant to a Kage – nothing more.

Shira was stronger than Gaara anticipated - and his own reflexes were as rigid as sand itself.

They exchanged numerous kicks, punches, and throws – both of them blocking and evading, but none landing a hit. Gaara could feel the fibre of every muscle move and ache as he threw his fists forward, and his knees felt as if they could crack from the pressure of moving against the sandstone at his feet. But this was something he had to do – that he must do. His life was taken from him only for a moment, but in that moment his body and soul had become separated – and the void from Shukaku had to be filled, and as soon as possible. Weeks of bedrest came to an end, and today was that day.

From the corner of his eye, Gaara saw Shira throw a strong kick towards his counter. Before he had any time to react, a thin shield of sand rose and blocked the attack. Although the sand was scarce, it was a hard as iron, ringing throughout the quiet that suddenly entered the arena.

Shira backflipped to gain some distance, and rose to his stance with a slight smirk. "It appears some of your sand is able to keep up!"

"Sorry, it just happens automatically." Gaara shouted so he could hear. "I can't control when it reacts!"

Within a flicker of movement, Shira appeared before him and struck away the sands. Gaara blocked with his arms crossed, pushing away the kick and countering with a right hook. Shira dodged effortlessly, and struck sand again as he attempted a firmly grounded kick. Forcefully, he broke through the sand's defenses and struck Gaara. His Sand Armour cracked ever so slightly, leaving a gaping hole on his arm. Before Gaara could counter, Shira struck him under the chin with his elbow – the sand shattering under his jaw.

And then the tides of battle turned.

Gaining the offensive, the Kazekage threw his fist against Shira's barrage of taijutsu. Shira stood his ground, countering with blocks as Gaara fought back, the air growing tense between them. Fists and kicks met blocks and counters, and sand shattered and swam to defend its master. The fighting went on, and Gaara felt his lungs breathing hard in his chest. Pants passed through his lips as he struggled to keep up with Shira's speed – and Shira suddenly grasped his arm, leaving him open for attack.

Gaara froze.

"Your breathing isn't balanced," Shira noted. "Try to control your breaths as you move." Taking Gaara by surprise, Shira released him and calmed his stance. "I must say, I'm impressed, Gaara-sama. For someone who is still recovering, you're able to match my strikes seamlessly."

"Shira-senpai!" Interrupting them, a messenger called out from the sidelines, drawing their attention. "A hawk just arrived from the northern border!" The Suna-nin shouted, scroll in hand. "We need a response!"

"Alright," Shira called back. Turning to Gaara, he gave a half-smile. "Let's take a break for now."

Gaara was relieved. Breathing easier, he took this time to calm his lungs and drown his thirst in water. As Shira began towards the messenger, he noticed Gaara's assistant working diligently nearby on a fallen pillar. Unaware, Nomasaki kept busy writing on the numerous papers. Beside the stack of finished forms, she marked off the tasks on her clipboard and switched back and forth accordingly. Sensing a chakra approaching, she looked up to see Shira standing in front of her.

"Actually… Nomasaki, right?"

Her pen paused, looking up with a timid glance. "Yes?"

"How about you spar with Gaara-sama?" Shira suggested. "I'll be back shortly, so it won't be for long."

Nomasaki flinched. "I-I'm not sure if -,"

"He's right." Gaara approached, drawing her glance. "It won't be for long. We spared once before."

She looked to Shira then back to Gaara. Realizing there was no way out of it, Nomasaki breathed easy and set aside the papers to get back to later. Sitting up from the pillar, she dusted the sand from her lap and met the Kazekage's face with an air of calm.

"R-Right." She nodded. "As you say, Gaara-sama."

Once Shira was gone with the messenger, the Kazekage and his assistant met in the arena's centre. To Nomasaki, it felt so long ago where they last met in the same place. Only this time she was without her mask, and he was without his sand. This would be a different fight – it was mere training, and not a test of strength. She had to be careful her beast-blood did not awaken, his sand was not as strong as it once was – and she could cut through his Sand Armour.

Hesitating at first, Nomasaki watched his face to see if he would be the one to speak. Nerves setting in, she decided to say something first. "Should we… begin?"

Gaara nodded. "Ready when you are."

Eyeing him carefully, she nodded back and washed her expression clean of any nervousness that dared to make itself obvious. Entering her stance, she positioned herself into fighting position. Gaara did the same, solidifying his stance onto the sandstone.

A mere moment had passed – and then they sprang into action.

The Kazekage advanced first, throwing a solid punch towards her. Strong as a stone, Nomasaki blocked with her palm and evaded the other hook that was fast approaching. Sensing a kick approach, she evaded smoothly and seamlessly, and ducked upon seeing another thrown her way. Quickly, she threw her leg out and was blocked by a sudden wall of sands that appeared between them. It cushioned her kick, but soon began to swim over her ankle. Pulling herself free, she backflipped to distance herself away safely.

"Your sand is reacting," She said.

"On its own accord, however." He answered from a distance. "I still can't fully command it at will."

Readying herself, Nomasaki stood her ground, her stance crouched slightly. She felt the faint pulse of her blood beginning the boil, her wolf-blood rising in her veins. Seizing the opportunity, she dashed into the air and rose her leg for a drop-kick. Gaara evaded just in the nick of time, and she stuck the sandstone, causing it to shatter beneath her heel. When he moved to counter, she evaded all of his strikes as light as a feather, stepping opposite of his punches and advances towards her. The fighting continued on for several minutes, both of them avoiding the attacks of the other in matched ability and precision. To an outsider of the battle, it might have appeared to have been a dance of sorts, their moves mirroring the other in a similar fashion. The flow of sand was between them, floating along with their movements. Catching Gaara off guard for a moment, Nomasaki ducked below his fist and weaved herself under his arm – grasping it and flipping him over. He landed on his feet, swinging a kick in retaliation that was blocked by her crouched stance. She threw her fist towards him, striking his – causing a plume of sand to burst between them as his Sand Armour shattered across his knuckles.

Separated again, they distanced themselves on the battlefield.

"You have a distinct taijutsu style," Gaara spoke, standing calm. "You're using your height to your advantage, and using your opponent's strengths against them."

Nomasaki nodded, giving a slight smirk. "I learned from a wolf, after all. I was taught to fight this way, as unorthodox as it is."

Unorthodox… I see, he realized, feeling the desert air graze his shattered fist. A smile near formed on his lips. Her strength is almost a match to my Sand Armour. I shouldn't be surprised.

And the match was done.

Easing her stance, Nomasaki stood timidly as she sensed Shira's chakra draw near towards them. In a flicker of winds, the taijutsu master appeared across from them on the sandstone. Shira gave a smirk of approval, crossing his arms against his chest. "Impressive form." He spoke, drawing their glances. "You two make a good sparring team."

Before either could say anything, Shira took over for Nomasaki as he and Gaara resumed training.

Timidly, Nomasaki averted her glance as she felt a warmth rush to her cheeks and returned back to continuing her work. It wasn't that bad, she thought. Against her better judgement, she glanced back towards the Kazekage and his trainer. For a split second, she swore she saw Gaara looking back at her. She looked back to her work, frantically writing her nervousness away as she felt the warmth in her cheeks rise.

It was nothing - merely a distraction.

The afternoon approached quicker than anticipated.

Shira soon departed after they exchanged a brief bow. Their training for the day was only the start, as Gaara not only had to brush up on his taijutsu, but also learn to regain the strength he lost. His muscles ached from use, his red hair clinging to his brow from the sweat that beaded on his forehead. It was bitter work, indeed. Tomorrow would be a different day, and in time he would regain what he had lost.

Sitting on a fell pillar, Nomasaki continued to fill out the paperwork while Gaara joined her and sat an arm's length away in silent thought. Afternoon was near to a close, and so was her work for the day. Leaning over the pillar, Gaara held his head low and let his messy red hair cover his expression. "My strength still hasn't returned… and my sand refuses to move at my will." He remarked, low enough so she could hear. "I'm but a fraction of my former self… damn it all."

Nomasaki's pen paused. Sitting up, she turned to him and saw what he tried to hide. He was disappointed. In efforts to cheer him up, she shook her head. "You're still very capable, Gaara-sama. Even with just taijutsu, your abilities haven't dulled in the slightest." She assured. "It will just… take some time to adjust, that's all." A light smile formed on her lips. "I mean… you cheated death."

"Cheated death, eh? You're right about that." Gaara scoffed, straightening his back. He flexed his palm, watching the faint sands slowly swirl between his fingers. "I'm still not used to no longer carrying Shukaku… this will be something to grow used to."

Nomasaki looked down to her lap, a shy smile on her lips. "That's true." Timidly, she turned to him, meeting his ringed-eyes. "As a consolation, it's nice to talk to you without Shukaku's chakra looming over us."

Her words were surprisingly comforting.

As he met her face, he gave a light smile. "You're right."

"There you are!" Kankurō entered, his voice echoing against the pillars. "I went to your office, and it was empty, so I -," Noticing Gaara was not alone, he glanced to Nomasaki briefly. "Hey there,"

Gaara eyed him in his stern nature. "We were just finishing up training with Shira."

"I heard, Baki-sama told me." Kankurō sighed. "A few of us from the puppet brigade are meeting up for food somewhere." He turned to his brother's assistant with a half-smile. "Nomasaki, you can come, too. If you want, that is."

Shyness setting in, she gathered up her papers in a slight panic, bunching them to the clipboard and hopping off her seat to stand. Trying her best to hide her timidness, she gave a light smile and shook her head. "T-Thanks for the offer, but I better go home. It's late, and I have an assignment in the morning. I should probably take these forms back to the council before turning in for the day."

"Suit yourself." Kankurō turned to his brother. "Gaara?"

"I'll be right there."

Looking back to the Kazekage, Nomasaki gave a brief bow of her head and smiled. "I'll see you later, Kazekage-sama."

Walking past the puppeteer, she left the arena behind. Perplexed by her mannerisms, Kankurō glanced at her back until he saw nothing but the shadowy arches that marked the entrance. When he turned to Gaara, he crossed his arms against his chest and rose a brow in question.

"What?" Gaara glanced.

"You seem… different around her. I mean, she's your assistant and I get that. But… still, I noticed something. Especially since you've been recovering, and she's been around more."

Gaara narrowed his glare. "What do you mean?"

"You're not as grouchy as usual." Kankurō scoffed. "I mean… she's not like the other girls around Suna. Not like the ones who flock to see you, at least. She's… a strange one, that's for sure."

"She's not strange," Gaara corrected. "She's different."

"Hmm… you're spending a lot of time together lately. Anything… going on between you two?"

Gaara stood from the pillar, starting on his way home. "She's my assistant. Nothing more, Kankurō."

"Fine, whatever you say…" Kankurō sighed, catching up to him. "You don't have to be so defensive…"

The night began for her like any other since the mission to the Land of Rivers.

Nomasaki hurried home to her small apartment, pushing back the scents and chakra of the tracker-nin that were watching from the shadows of the crowds she weaved through on the streets. She kept her face calm, but she wondered if the villagers could see the terror that lurked within her eyes – or if they even noticed the outsider to begin with. It doesn't matter, she thought bitterly, They can't help me. No one can. She locked her worn door with the key, hooking the latch that was bolted at the top as she stood on her tip-toes. The chain almost sounded like a quiet chime dancing in the soft night winds, nearly distracting her from the anxiety that swirled in her belly.

The strips of chicken she sauteed on the frying pan smelled of the rich spices from the desert – and the brown rice was near done in the pan beside it on her old stove. She had been in Suna for near four years, so it did not surprise her that she became accustomed to their cuisine. They did not eat rabbit stew or a great amount of potatoes, but food was food – and she seldom had a choice in the matter to be picky. Her chair made a creak against the tiled floor as she sat to eat her supper. Meal for one always left extras behind for tomorrow, but it did not bother her too much. If she invited guests over, who knew how long it would be until Kenzō plotted to use them against her? If it were Meiyumi or Shinto's lives he toyed with, Nomasaki would never forgive herself.

They have nothing to do with it, she convinced herself, This is all my doing… my mess. My vengeance.

The thought of Gaara crossed her mind.

Alarming herself, her guilt soon turned to a strange emotion – one she had not felt or recognized. A weird sort of fluttering soon filled her chest, but she pushed it down with more reluctant bites of her meal of spiced chicken and brown rice. A strange hopefulness entered her thoughts, calming her trembling heart.

…I will fix this. Somehow. I have to… for their sake, and mine.

After doing the dishes, Nomasaki shut off the kitchen lights and lay down on her worn couch, cracking open a book she was in the middle of reading the night before. Reaching the midpoint about an hour or so later, she placed her bookmark and set it aside. Her bed was the only place she felt safe – the only place where her thoughts of fear, guilt, and anguish could finally leave her through sleep. The blankets were cold from the air that intruded from her opened window, but it only made the warmth of the sheets only more appealing. Entering her blankets and wrapping herself in, Nomasaki remembered the warmth of her old bed in Yama. It was a futon, but it was covered in animal pelts that were near as warm as her own fur when she transformed. She missed the pelts, the white flurry of snow she would see from her bedroom window, the faint hum of wind from outside, and the heat that radiated throughout her home from the hearth that was built more than seven generations before her. Her mother would tend to it often, cook over it, and when the odd guest was over, they would meet there – with Nomasaki shyly watching from beyond the hallway.

Her mother.

Although the village called her clan cursed, some of the brave elders would visit to give offerings of food and pelts to her mother. Perhaps out of the past respect her clan held, but she was not sure. The village chieftain visited once, Nomasaki remembered. He was a man near pushing sixty-years but ruled Yamagakure since the Second Shinobi War with a calm dignity. One time, she remembered shinobi from away came to their homestead on the snowy hilltop. Nomasaki saw them from the field as she walked home from the academy, wearing cloaks and wrappings that shrouded their appearance.

But by the time she came home, the strange men were already gone.

"Mother, who were they?"

Mikomi smiled, assuringly. "Don't worry, Nomasaki. They came to give us an offering." Looking to the table, Nomasaki saw the package of ryō. She was hardly ten, but even at that age she understood it was a fair amount of money. "Nomasaki, can you do something for me?"

"What is it?"

"You come from a long line of wolf-people. Our clan is ancient and proud, but now it is just the two of us… " Mikomi met her same-coloured eyes and touched her face with a motherly hand, her glance saddening. "There are some who don't like our clan very much, from outside lands… If anyone from outside the village asks who you are, keep your clan a secret. Always. Can you do this for me?"

Nomasaki did not quite understand at first, but the look from her mother's eyes convinced her. Shyly, she smiled and nodded back. "I will. I promise."

Comfortingly, Mikomi held her daughter close in her arms. "That's my girl,"

Hiding herself in the blankets, she shut her eyes tight.

I didn't keep my promise, Nomasaki thought bitterly, I told the desert-folk the first chance I had… and now I'm trapped for life. There's a seal on my tongue and a target on my back.

Deep in her heart, she longed for the life she gave up – and the life she wished she had.

"Traitor… traitor!"

His final yells towards her echoed in the darkness.

"Tojiru?" She heard herself speak. "Tojiru -,"

When she blinked she saw her hands held out before her. When she blinked a second time, they were covered in red streams of blood, oozing from her open palms and dripping into the void of darkness that surrounded her. When she blinked a third time, she saw Tojiru in the distance – but something was terribly off. His mask-covered head was tilted to the side and his arms sat against his body limp. Crimson stained his mask, the red visible even in the dark. As Nomasaki stood, she tried to turn away – to run, but she could not move. Looking down, an invisible grasp of black swam over her ankles, holding her in place to face her sins.

"Traitor!"

His scream was louder, causing a shudder of fear to chill down her spine.

She forced her eyes shut, pleading for it all to leave her. But when she opened to wake, she saw Tojiru closer than her was. His flak jacket was soaked in his blood, and the blade she used to kill him was still lodged in his throat.

Before she could react, he reached out a bloody hand and flew towards her – aiming for her neck.

"No!"

Nomasaki bolted awake in a ball of sweat.

Panting for breath, she placed a palm over her chest and sensed her rising heartbeat. She touched her forehead, feeling her damp hair that lay draped over it. Trying her best to assure herself it was merely a dream, she felt it was almost too real to dismiss. It was almost a month since she killed Tojiru in self-defence, and yet she was still haunted by his memory – his hatred. And he was Kenzō's right-hand. Paranoia setting in, Nomasaki shivered from the cold that entered her bedroom. A sense alerted her, reminding herself that some of his men were close by in the village streets below. Frantically, she hopped out of her bed and shut the window, locking it and pulling the curtains. Feeling her breathing grow erratic, she raced hazily to her bedroom door and closed it, locking it as well. Leaning her back against it, she felt her fingers tremble at her sides. Rising them to her view, she blinked and thought she saw the blood painted on her hands – but rubbing at them proved otherwise.

And then all her emotions rose at once.

Anger, sadness, regret, hatred, hopeless – all of them swirled in her heart, with anger winning out. Pulling the box out from under her bed, she immediately grabbed her porcelain mask and threw it across the room. A pained yell of anguish escaped her lips, and she then sank to her knees in sobs.

"I can't live like this…!" She wept, cupping her face with her hands. "I can't… I can't…"

Her wolfish mask fell front-side up, with not a single scratch on its beastly visage.

Like the seal on her tongue, it did not break.

And she was caged.