Disclaimers:

-Dedicated to Julia, otherwise known as @Silverwolf735

-I do not own the Naruto franchise, all credit goes to Masashi Kishimoto

-This chapter is mostly about Sasuke, enjoy!

Visual commentary and less important notes will be situated at the end of this chapter

"Eye of newt, and toe of frog,

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and caldron bubble."

― William Shakespeare

Thick, reeling streams of flames crackled through the cemented surface of the kiln, dancing tangos of red and yellow, producing shimmers of orange through the process. Flickering alight, she watched, examined how frisk yet gentle they could be. Many said fire and water clashed greatly, but she thought otherwise. Both could be just as suave as the other, the rumbling waves undulating with grace as they frollocked to shores and back, and exert two right here, twisting and flowing with bursting light. The heat radiated through to her eyes, and that's when she knew the heat was precise.

She had been out, tending to her duties like the refined witch she had become. Brows laced with sweat and hands uncommonly soiled had proven her commitment to her daily chores. Most of them were quite domestic, they weren't really an avid coven, Konoha, but she didn't care. It was better than what she had been used to, anyway.

This time, she was helping out with the food supply. Some of it had fallen short, thanks to serving a ritual of another witch who had approached the ripe age of sixteen; the ceremony covered most of the night. The witches and warlocks were thereafter given a days rest after, but now time stroked back to normal and everyone had resumed their daily errands.

She had been to the farm, gingerly wrung out the milk from its (that of a goat's) udders, carrying it in her rusting bucket to the main house beside it, used for cooking and preparing the food from where the barn was situated. She had set her small cauldron up, and took three cheese cloths, aligning them to the surface of the pot. She meticulously poured the said liquid through, and then tied the material tight , squeezing out milky residue in the process. The pearly contents flung onto her apron, staining it slightly; she didn't mind.

She filled the cauldron with heated water, and let the cheese mix sit there to mould. She had just shaped it and cut it to thick triangular slices, like that of a cake. She sprinkled tarragon, hoping the herb would accelerate the taste of the richness. And now we bring ourselves to said present, as she awaited her kiln to heat up just right.

She plucked each piece and sprawled them onto a clay tray, and pushed it in, far enough for the cheese to reach the flames.

The fire seemed to appreciate the gesture. It seemed as if it were twisting faster, jerking quicker and flickering higher to touch the flat back of the tray, grazing their agile arms against the dried clay, engulfing the material with balls of heat.

Something about it seemed wrong, odd, may it be. But it was certainly strange. She peeked further into the kiln, as far as the globes of onyx resting below her dark lashes could witness. As each second passed, the fire seemed to grow huger, faster, like a spreading forest fire. Their dances were endless, like a raging storm bequeathed onto piles of wood and coal. Her eyes glistened and her forehead shimmered with a glaze of sweat as she observed, mesmerised.

It only until a streak of fire flinched out towards her and--

Tsunade woke up with a startling breath, shaking and awashed with perspiration as she struck chills of cold in her bed. She panted, hard, pulling a palm to her forehead as she attempted to regain her resting pulse, pulling her lids to a close to not focus on anything other than her gasping and heaving chest. It was not more than a minute that she fully calmed down, fully returning to consciousness in the process.

The pale moonlight captured her features in small kisses, drawing streaks of silver across the side of her whitened features that glistened. She looked like a pearl.

Her feet slowly dragged her out of bed, going down stairs to fetch herself a mug of cold water. She sipped daintily, the chilly liquid cascading through her body, making her feel a little bit better. Her flaxen tufts, now frizzy and more framing of her face, made work in patching up her cheeks, sticking to her skin like magnets. She brushed and peeled them off with her fingers, her nose slightly scrunching at the almost bristling feeling.

She took a step outside, feeling the cold zephyr caress her. She looked up to see the serene waning crescent, and sighed solemnly, her eyes promising sadness and her brows furrowing with worry.

"How are you, Mikoto?"

Sasuke gasped, feeling chills of silver wrung quickly down his spine. He jolted up from his pillows, and was easily met with cold, for the absence of thick duvets brought only icicles of terror. He shook gently, attempting to swallow the surfacing lump at the pit of his throat, stabilising his trembling breath and paled lips.

Dark strands clung to the back of his neck uncomfortably as he brought a palm to cover half of his features, leaning into that, holding himself to that to ensure he was, once more, stung back to the cloudy, misty grounds of reality. He felt frosty, but made no move to pull up his covers, and instead opted to face the moon. The white, cratered, gleaming moon that seemed to feel warm, warm like his mother's smile. Her smile made the lamps in the room dance and shine, and made just about anything a tincey bit more content. His lips slowly pulled upwards at the memory, but instantly dropped at the fact that we would be unable to witness those small exchanges she had exhibited in his tender years.

He hissed, wind whistling through the gaps of his teeth as he frowned, looking at the emptiness of his lap. He knew what happened, he remembered what happened.

In the dream, that is.

He found himself amazed at his vulnerable state, as his consciousness had not been pulled into that of a nightmare; rather, it was something quite...domestic, shall he say. Something that people would consider boring. But he knew, things he probably wouldn't have depicted at all...lest his imagination arose. But--was it really his imagination?

Did he know he was looking through the eyes of a woman his age? A woman with eyes just like his own, sharp, yet soft, and blooming with stygian black globes? A woman with silky, thick locks straight and neatly primmed, falling just below her shoulder blades? A woman he may know, but would not have known at the time? Was he even alive at the time?

A woman making cheese from the goat was certainly an eccentric excuse to be a nightmare compared to all the others he'd had before, and he almost shuddered at the mere thought. He looked at the palm holding against the left side of his face, scrutinising it like a fine tooth comb. He flipped it over, scanning the outer side of his digits as well, which was now dampened with his sweat, but he didn't care about such trivial matters right then and there. What he was doing, however, was questioning his sanity, and whether that...vision? Dream? Nightmare? Whatever the hell it was, he pondered if it was a sign, a signal that he should very warily look in to. But he came to a pause, letting his eyes flutter to a close, his face finally peaceful, and slowly drifted off, just as the moon started to wane its cycle. He'd hope (beg) that this would be long forgotten by the time the roosters would cry, and that it would not bug him for what would appear to be eternity. But, he knew deep inside, that it wasn't the last of what was to come.

He didn't sleep much after, to say the least. He pulled on a loose cotton blouse and dark oak stained trousers and decided to step foot into the castle's endless garden acres, watching the sun slowly peak from the horizon, its blazing heat brought forth spiraling swirls of orange and purple. Ethereal, really, he silently thought as he took pride in his steady strides, willing himself further and further along the grassy, dewy grounds. His eyes, now brimmed with fatigue and listless thinking, developed drak, dragging bags that drowned underneath his rosy waterlines, creating a more pulling look to his creamy cheeks.

He was about to count his steps further onwards, when a booming voice nearly scared him out of his skin.

"Teme! Oi, what are you doing out here so early, Bastard?!"

The ravenette didn't need to turn around to see the wide grin that flashed across the blonde's face, lightening up his features, accentuating the glow in his cerulean eyes. He nearly rolled his own orbs, sighing in discontentment as another day of his life would now be spent gallivanting with the damned Uzumaki.

"What do you want, Dobe?" he lazily dragged his head to the side to face him slightly, his sluggish body posture already exhibiting the aura of not wanting anyone's company. It was always him though--always him to break through the tiniest of cracks Sasuke had built with his ever-growing walls, crashing through to pull him out of his reveries. On events, he would be eternally grateful, but on others, not. This time, it would certainly be the latter.

He scowled deeply, an emotion alike to pain flashed across his handsome features like a lightning bolt, but uncommonly, the blonde was never fazed by it--he simply laughed.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, eh? Or--let me guess-- that fifty metre stick pushed up an extra centimetre in that ass of yours," he joked.

Sasuke wasn't taking any of it, but decided on just giving him daggers through stone cold eyes of onyx. Nevertheless, the gentlemen both wander through, passing the implanted fir trees, walking in silence, with only the twigging sounds of their padding footsteps sounding their tangibility.

"I know something's up, y'know," Naruto kicked a pebble to the side, watching the small stone fly a few inches before crashing to a ground of mud and specs of green. He didn't dare look the Uchiha in the eye, he just let the small statement hang lowly in the air, his whisper blended in with the whistling of the wind, and the raspy rustles of the wilting deciduous leaves, drying a crunchy rouge.

"You can tell me what it is, dattebayo."

"Nothing's wrong, Naruto." He sighed. But both of them knew the aforementioned wouldn't buy it. He was dumb, yes, filled with the mind of a fool, yet somehow, in whatever dexterous way he could, he was able to decipher Sasuke's mind, bit by bit, slowly etching to the fact that sometimes he was even better than the boy himself at reading his feelings. Indubitably, it vexed him beyond measure.

The Uzumaki let him be for a bit, allowing him to collect his thoughts and not have them spin in kaleidoscope motion around his head, time to adjust himself. When he saw the raven walking out while the sky was still stained with nuances of pink, he was surprised to say the least.

His hair was unkempt, and he hadn't bothered to do the loose buttons on his baggy blouse, despite the seasonal winter chills. Something was definitely wrong in that picture.

Slowly, the sun had climbed it's way through to be seen fully again, signifying the brand new day ahead. The sky muted back to it's crystal colour, and soft cloud waved around, heaving small signs that rain wouldn't threat to fall that day.

The trees danced lowly, their leaves gossiping evidently with delight as the two gentlemen rounded more of the castle grounds.

"A dream," he quietly whispered, finally permitting himself to make his thoughts known. He didn't dare look beside him, he kept his neck craned down and his eyes glued to the reaching grass that barely grazed his ankles.

Naruto stared at him, waiting for elaboration. Sasuke wasn't a person to be taken lightly— he'd known that over the years of companionship with said male. With an exasperated sigh, he flung his hands to cross the back of his head, supporting the weight as he puffed out his chest, his strides looking prouder, lion-like even.

"What kind of dream, 'ttebayo?"

The Uchiha looked up. He found himself pondering on how to word it, for one he was not a man of words, his actions rather had brought the better of him in most cases.

But there was no way of putting forth actions to describe it— it was a dream. A stealthy one, a normal one. Something domestic, a chore of some sort.

And yet that sincere movement is what scared him the most.

"I dreamed of being put in someone else's perspective," he swallowed, his voice thick with tension.

"And though i never looked in any reflective surface of some sort, I seemed to...I knew that person— she had eyes charcoaled, strewn with black shards. Mine alike."

"You knew it was a lady?"

He sluggishly nodded— it was all coming back to him now. He looked for proof on his hands, his long, sable digits, seeing if he would tremble or not. But he was in the clear: all was steady.

"She was a pauper. Her surroundings proved that fact. She was...she was making something--goat's cheese perhaps-- and putting her slices in the kiln. But the kiln seemed to eat at whatever it had, and it seemed to have lashed out at me—her," he cleared his throat, frowning deeply at his own statements,"I woke up before I could witness the aftermath."

It was then Naruto acknowledged that would be the end of him speaking long, luscious paragraphs, and yet, he knew his short interjections would have to do.

"Hey," he said. He heard a low hum, his signature 'hn', and the former resisted a snort.

"You said the lady had black features, you mean like yours?"

It took a couple of seconds to register, but the more the raven processed it, the more he believed it. And found it impossible at the same time. He nodded once more in slight agreement.

"Have you ever considered that woman to be your mother?"

Uchiha Sasuke was glad to have someone like Uzumaki Naruto, although being as aloof and imbecilic as the latter, he was also understanding in his situation.

Both had their parents killed.

And although Naruto knew of his experiences and what had happened all those years ago, he didn't know a single thing about the blonde. But he also understood that it wasn't the trust that had wavered for him to talk,

it was time.

Something he may never have enough to wait to hear that story.

He showered, and reapplied clean, regal clothes, throwing his heavy cloak over his shoulders, feeling not even a bit heavy as to the burden he had to carry since he was seven. Nothing could compete to such extents.

He stared out to the wide landscape of Konoha— every house, villager and every acre, all of that was in his possession. And he swore, on his mother's grave, that he would protect it with his life.

Guard it from the mutiny that was his brother, the catalyst of his agony, and the close abiding deadly threat.

witches and warlocks.

hi! how is everyone? I know this chapter is a little short, I kinda don't like it that much haha.

Thanks so much for reading, though. I hope you enjoyed it :)

Shout out to my beta Julia for proof reading this, ily 3

and I'll see you all soon!

votes, comments/ review would be much appreciated!!!

-writer.