Sandōkai

II. No Tether of Mushin

At the still point of the turning world.

Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards;

at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement.

–T.S. Eliot

I patted the soil around the newest addition, careful to keep the dirt from falling on my face by wiping the sweat off of my brow. Before, this job would be delegated to one of my own sons, or in this life, Kakashi.

Except, my brother was out busy with his assignments and not due to be home for another week. He had left a note on the kitchen table and I had left it untouched because of my inability to read any character except the one translating to 'Hatake' from the amount of times I had seen it written in the ancestry records I found.

My mind had finally settled after a fortnight of a confusing mix of dreams and memories that assaulted my brain until my mind was bowed to cooperate. Hatake Heiya and Furiko were one and the same coin, printed differently on each side.

I lived in Fire Country which was located in the Elemental Nations, ruled by a Daimyō rather than an Emperor. I was born in the fifteenth ruling year of Ashikaga Mototsune, the previous Fire Daimyō, when the snow was thick on the ground and the air was cold enough to burn your cheeks.

Here, in the Elemental Nations, while similar to my life and culture in Japan, there were startling differences that prompted me to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming. Chakra was the thing of stories, and while I knew of shinobi, the culture of them had left me shocked. Seeing people run up buildings and leap great distances with seemingly little effort had left me unable to process just how.

I saw no issue with children earning their keep early, my own children had started learning to help spin hemp and silk once they reached their fourth year—but there was something uneasy that settled in my stomach when I caught Kakashi-nī stepping out of his room in what I could only deduce was armor.

It explained the maturity of my older brother, of the solemness that followed him around. He enjoyed structure, always arriving home once the clock struck ten. He held a discipline I had only ever associated with samurai or the fancy guards the Imperial Family held to keep their palaces and persons safe. He was a soldier for our village, and had been a soldier for the village since he stepped foot into the Academy and sat down for classes that taught children the horrors of war.

My clan was part of this culture, honored for their prowess and skill that made up for the dwindling numbers that were just Dad, Kakshi, and I. Wars had pushed my ancestors into demand, and it was little surprise that less and less returned each year. The Hatake Clan once had numerous branches and it was sobering to think that I was the last of a line.

I carried the blood and legacy of countless warriors before me who died for something. Most recently that something was Konohagakure, a village worth protecting if to keep the memories Hatake Heiya held. There was an imaginary weight on my shoulders that made me wonder if those descended from samurai in my old world felt the weight of their ancestors just as surely as I did in this one.

Pushing myself up from my knees and wincing at the series of pops that escaped my joints, I gathered the basket of harvested radishes and turned back to the empty house. I had found a garden after wandering for a few hours in the vast stretches of tatami and shōji screens that made up the giant that was an empty house. It was located in a small corner, fenced off with rows of plants and budding greens that I would've wept at the sight of in my old life. My gardens then had trouble catching properly in the soil, the roots withering before I could do anything about it. It was awesome.

The difference in technology was awesome as well. Being able to turn a tap and have instant water? Nothing short of a miracle. I could and would turn away those bone-shivering memories of an old woman shivering in her own kimono, aged hands clumsily fumbling over the water pump before turning to the well.

I began to hum as I washed the radishes, watching splotches of brown give way to bright white. Kakashi preferred eggplants, but Dad would be home tonight and I knew daikon radishes were his favorite. Personally, I held a fondness for the simplicity of rice and how flexible it was with every meal.

Setting the vegetable aside, I hopped off the stool kept in the kitchen. Kakashi tended to stubbornly climb on the counter to reach the highest shelves while I would anxiously watch from the side. He was at an age where he seemed to want to do everything himself. Most children went through this phase and I could recall countless memories of my own brood doing the same, but Kakashi tended to hold a stubborn streak to prove his responsibility and independence.

Padding to the fridge (and wasn't this such a wondrous invention?) I opened it to a very disappointingly empty sight. Being the sole inhabitant in a large home with the other two gone, this tended to be the outcome. Dad always forgot to buy half the things on a grocery list and Kakashi would gravitate to cheaper brands in order to save money when there was no need to.

Sighing, I closed the fridge. If I wasn't Hatake Heiya who was also Furiko, I would be one starving child. Annoyance prickled at my mind at the irresponsibility of my father in this life, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. He was a single parent to not one, but two precocious children. Not only that, he rarely came home.

I huffed, padding to my room to get changed for a day out. The radishes would be fine until I got home and pulled them out of the fridge. The nobility back home would've shoved money at any merchant if they had such an invention.

Pulling off my clothes, I settled on a rather plain yukata dyed a dark navy. No patterns covered the surface, but there was embroidery spanning across my back in what I had come to recognize as the Hatake Clan mon. The simple cross-hatch depicting a field made me wonder if the first of my clan were farmers, given both the clanname and mon.

Holding my yukata close with one hand, I fiddled with my tying cord, looping it around my small waist with clumsy hands. It had been years since I had dressed myself with no help, age had made my fingers less dexterous and prone to cramping up. I was lucky to have good-willed daughters who did not mind helping their elderly mother. It would be three more years until I could wear an actual obi. Until then, I would need to get used to tying a cord instead of fumbling with the fabric of an obi.

Pulling on my tabi, I slid my feet back into my house slippers. There was a lidless-box underneath my wardrobe that I found out to be trinkets, combs, and generally things for my hair. There were colorful clips and curious ties that stretched. Pulling my hair up, I settled on tying the simple bun I had worn for decades. It was jarring to see silvery strands in my hands when I expected black, but with it up and out of my face, it was easy to pretend it was back to a normal color.

Standing, I felt around my head for any loose strands. It would be my first time out into Konohagakure since the incident with Yamanake Ren; scrambled mind or not, I wanted to make a good impression. I could barely remember if I had any childhood friends.

The kitchen was quiet as I stepped into it, looking for the small pouch I had seen by the note Kakashi had left. I poked my finger into the opening, loosening the drawstring and peering inside to the soft jingle of coins. Hopefully, currency would be the same. I sincerely doubted it.

"I'm off!" I called out to the empty house. No one replied of course and I toed out of my house slippers to slide into a pair of gray zori.

"This isn't worth more than five-thousand ryo," I huffed at the vendor. "It's much too thin and the quality is lower than the price suggests. Two-thousand ryo."

The saleswoman's face is red and she snatches back the bolt of fabric from my hands rather rudely. Most of her fabrics are rather shoddy in quality, but with the way she was barking out prices and advertising her wares, I was more curious than I should be after spending a quite generous amount on fruit I had never seen before.

"This is top quality!" She replied, her thin lips pursing into a scowl.

"No it's not." I counter, my eyes trailing over the rest of her bolts of fabric. My youngest son could weave better than what she was displaying. I grab a rather eye-catching bold of red fabric, sniffing disdainfully at the frayed edges that weren't tied off right. I unfurled a food foot, shifting to let the bags acquired by other vendors sit by my feet as I held the fabric out to her. "The dye is uneven here and makes it look a bit pink, not only that but the threads are skipped—"

She snatches the other bolt from me. "Out! I have served the royal court my own silks and fabrics and will not be scolded by a child!"

"I am only telling you that the quality—"

"My quality is fine! Do you think I would sell anything that was less than stellar? I have been in this business more years than you have seen, girl." The vendor's hand whips out to shoo me away, uncaring at the rudeness of the action. "Now out! I don't need you starting any trouble for me."

Flummoxed, I am shooed from her stall, her grumbling stink-eye following me even as I stumble away from her cheap fabrics and silks. I knew quality when I saw it and if she had the honor to serve a lord with those wares, then the standards I had upheld would've been labeled as legendary craftsmanship.

I huff, fixing the bags on my elbow so they don't cut off circulation, shooting a glare right back at the rude woman. What would she know about quality? I had spent decades nurturing an art that had been passed down my family line for generations—

I stop. No, no that wasn't right, was it? Hatake Heiya had a family line carved by strong men (and women, surprisingly) while the creaky old woman my mind kept tripping over had a family line of tailors, weavers, and seamstresses.

"Out of the way, kid."

I jostle, stumbling back and into the shade of another vendor's stall as a farmer clops by on his wagon, a dark gray mule snorting at the reins. My bags swing wildly bonking into my side as I try not to trip over whatever the salesperson behind me was barking out.

"Watch it," A hand settles over my shoulder, righting my unbalanced self. "Don't need you fallin' all over my wares."

"Sorry," I reply, crossing one leg over the other to turn around. I tilt my head up at the person, tanned skin much like my Hayashi instantly catching my eye. "Pardon me, sir."

The man chuckles, his head tilting down as he pulled a crate closer to his stall, further away from my zori-entrapped feet. "Don't worry about it. Saw you barkin' at Hagino," he jerks his bearded chin over at the cheap fabric stall. "Didn't think a kid would know much about fabrics."

"I know plenty about fabrics."

He raises a brow before turning to look away, a chuckle catching in his throat. "Precocious, aren't you?"

I hum. "Quite."

He laughs out loud this time, turning to go behind his stall and seating himself on whatever chair or stool. He walks with a slight limp, the action of sitting a relief from the way his shoulders seem to relax.

"If you were lookin' for good fabric, Hagino is all you got. You can try Umeko's down by the Nara District for another option. Used to get a Bunraku caravan but…" The vendor trails off, his gaze catching onto something far away as he idly scratches his beard.

"But?" I couldn't imagine what a puppetry caravan would have in fabrics and silks, but this new world was strange enough. I tuck a silvery strand behind my ear, inwardly scowling at the loosening bun utop my head. My hair was shorter than I was used to, the bun not holding up as well as it would've if it reached down to my waist.

He startles, shaking his head once before turning to look back on me. "But with tensions it's been hard for cross-nation trade. But enough of that," he waves a hand, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter of his stall, "You lookin' to buy anything? I got some of the finest citrus here in Fire Country."

My gaze trails down from the motion of his hand, a lucky cat sitting on the outside corner near a crate of what looked to be yuzu fruit. There are a few others I don't recognize—a variety of them with the same waxy peel in vivid shades of orange to yellow to green. I rove over a few, hesitating on buying something new while also sticking to what was safe. While there was less people to worry about feeding, that didn't mean I needed to splurge whatever funds were left for me by Kakashi.

Bending down, I inspected the yuzu rolling them this way and that in my hands to look for any imperfections before settling on my choices. "These ones." I told the vendor, rolling my choices over the counter.

He flicked his fingers. "Four ryo."

I fished out the coins. Citrus fruits were always expensive, no matter the season. Handling them before they became too watery or lumpy was an issue of transport which made them more expensive, not to mention the religious or ceremonial uses that made them more of a decoration than treat most of the time. Dropping the coins on the counter, I swiped the yuzu into my arm, dropping them into the most open bag on my arm and thanked the vendor.

"Don't worry about it. Just remember who to go to when you want more of those," he motions to my bag. "Ol' Yaru has more where those came from."

So much for a good impression.

Padding away from the vendor, I sighed. The sun was high up into the sky already, fluffy clouds tinged by more wispier ones making their idle way across the great blue giant above. Konohagakure's main market was one sprawling street that went on for a good mile, vendors cramped next to each other on the open space between stores that never seemed to be empty of customers.

This life was...colorful, to say the least. I had worried over my hair the moment I had realized I would be heading to a more public setting than the back garden of my new home. Those worries had gone right out of the window and settled firmly into shock the moment I saw a pair of women pass by, happily chatting as if the bright green of their hair was as normal as brown.

Some of the vendors had strangely colored hair as well. There was a man near the edge of a weapons shop selling strips of calligraphy, his own mane a shade of bright red. A young woman with pottery had the same shocking shade of my own hair, though it was many hues darker in gray.

Sheets were strung over the street to block out as much sunlight as they could, uneven gaps or slivers providing enough natural light that the outdoor market was welcoming as it was bright, even under the shade. Closer to the center of Konohagakure, buildings were brighter, ranging from a myriad of colors that I had never even considered to exist. Architecture mimicked the traditional michiya I was used to, though there were mixes of whatever other style, more circular in design.

Stepping out of the way of a gaggle of rushing kids, I shift my bags from one arm to the other. It was a miracle that somewhere, in the recesses of my fluctuating memories and mind, I had remembered the way to the market. Of course, I had asked a few people on the way, unsure if whatever muscle memory was serving me right.

Dad would be home tonight, if I remembered the schedule right. Kakashi-nī had mentioned something about him coming home, a pinched expression on his face before he turned to go to his room and change clothes.

Whatever it was between them, I wanted to know.

Turning around the corner of a small convenience store, I hurried past the front garden of a small house. The dog there was mean, as I learned earlier today, willing to snap it's teeth at you between the boards of the fence.

Dogs never appealed to me then. I don't think they would appeal to me now. Cats, on the other hand, were much more tolerable. At least they gave a warning before smacking you where it hurt.

My home was close to the market, but far enough that the traffic and noise didn't carry. There were a few other homes, compounds by the looks of them, with tall walls and mons displayed proudly by banners over them. Konohagakure had many clans by the looks of it, enough space between compounds to give privacy filled with trees and shrubs to create a divide.

Unlatching the gate to my own home, I marvel at the work gone into the building. I had never thought of living in such a place so fine. The tiles were a uniform black, curling to let snow and rain slide off with no problem. They were newer too, less chips and discoloration from the sun to stain them gray.

The path to the doors were long, stones pressed into the flat ground with grass curling over that needed to be cut. It was a rather plain yard, a lone deer scare rhythmically tapping with the rush of water in the far corner.

All this space with no one to tend to it. I could see old flowerbeds, dirt dusted over with shrubbery slowly invading the space. Maybe long ago, this front yard was a symbol of prosperity to any guest. It had now fallen into some sort of natural chaos, though still attractive by the lack of weeds pushing up through the soil.

Perhaps, as the last of a clan, the normal wealth for many had become too much for the remainder. That book, the one with Ōkami-sama had to be an ancestral record of some sort, pages upon pages listing names and relations. Still. There was something sad about looking around and seeing the vestiges of something that was once so full.

I sighed, slipping off my zori and sliding into the pale blue house slippers that were mine. Kakashi's were yellow, printed with small ducks. His were neatly placed upon the rack.

"I'm home," I called to no one in particular. I would have to get started on dinner before Dad came home, I was sure that with his line of work the last thing he wanted to do is fuss over cooking.

Padding to the kitchen, I hefted my purchases onto the counter, huffing as the tops of the table skimmed my own height. My arms shook from the effort, my groceries suddenly feeling heavier as I lifted them. Pulling the stool from where I left it, I pulled my purchases from their bags, methodically placing back what would be used for later in the week and what would go to use now.

All of the meat went into the freezer, organized by type and stacked upon each other neatly. I kept the vegetables wrapped in their nets, pushing them into the fridge and whatever else seemed would do better in the cold than left out. All my yuzu went into the fridge as well. I didn't have much in the way of fruits besides the yuzu, the season made them expensive. Apparently it had been a dry season for crops in Fire Country.

Cooking was relaxing, if a little challenging at times. Dragging the stool from one counter to another got tiring really quick and I prayed to whatever god that when I grew, it would be quick and give me enough height to properly look over the counters. Being so small got old, easily. It was a struggle to reach for the knives and after the fourth time I had to lean over the counter more than I should, I gave up and climbed up onto the counter, guiltily looking over my shoulder as if someone else was there.

I made sure to wipe down where I stepped, house slippers fallen to the ground by the cabinets in my climb. Peppers were chopped quickly, though I discovered that while my mind may know my own dexterity with a kitchen knife, my body didn't. I had almost lopped off a finger.

Chopping off my finger aside, cooking gave my grounding. My mind did not whirl with possibilities and endless questions, my spirit did not waver in a place that was home yet not, unbalanced and unfiltered in a way that I did not truly understand. But here, chopping greens and sliding meat into a pot, I allowed myself to relax. Keeping my hands busy kept my mind busy, worrying over whether or not the instant-broth I had bought over excitement and curiosity would properly work or not.

I hoped it would. Making broth was such a pain.

"Smells good." A hand settles on top of my head, pushing my bun uncomfortably down as they awkwardly ruffle my hair.

I shrieked, my foot catching on the underside of my stool as I half-stepped off. I'm quickly caught by attentive hands, blinking widely up at the person above me. Dad gives me a crooked smile, white hair dangling down and framing his face as he looks down at me.

"Dad?" His face overlaps another in my head for the barest of a moment before I'm blinking it away.

His eyes crinkle, his smile even brighter. "I'm home."

Dad pushes me back up and sets me to stand on the stool, shifting to lean back on one of the counters, looking over at my low-boiling pot of broth curiously. A few cutting boards take space up on the counters, ranging from meats to peppers to onions. A pot of rice is steadily steaming on the stovetop, merrily whistling as it cooked. He gives a low whistle, "All this for your old man? I thought I told you and your brother to not touch the stove when I'm not home?"

I smack his hand away from snatching a bit of raw onion, Dad startling and giving me an amused look. He manages to snag one anyways, popping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. "Where's your brother?"

Huffing, I turn back to my broth. "Nī-san is out on an assignment. He left a note on the table." I motion past the wall, Dad's eyes following my motion. "I thought it would be nice to make something to welcome you home."

He seems to deflate at this news a little, a small frown pushing at the edges of his lips before he turns back to me. "Thanks, grey cat."

I hum, flickering my eyes over the man who was my father this turn of life around. His clothes are dark, dirt staining the front half and his long hair looks as if a wild animal had gotten into it. There are dark circles under his eyes, though that is easily missed by the way his smile seems to softly light up his face in a paternal glow of a parent who was content to be home.

"I won't be done for another hour," I tell him, watching him snag another onion with a defeated sigh. "You should clean up for dinner."

Dad ruffles my hair again, patting my back and leaves to presumably do what I just said. There are no footsteps to signal his departure and it's unsettling to think that the tatami don't catch on his feet like they do to mine. But then again, here, there are no normal people. A house with ghosts, an unbalanced daughter, a precocious son, and a father with classifications who didn't sell his wife's woven hemp.

Spooning a generous amount of greens, I turned away from the pot to unwrap the tofu. Hopefully it was as fresh as the vendor said. It didn't disappoint, easily giving way to the knife as I cut it into smaller cubes, though firm enough to not smush into a soggy mess.

Mixing, chopping, and stirring, I settled again into a rhythm and let my mind take me elsewhere.

Konohagakure truly was a colorful place. It was odd and new, refreshing in a way I never thought that a place could be. Change was a dangerous thing, made by gods and men with too much power in their hands. Benzaiten-kami was surely looking after me, placing me in such a prosperous home. I could've been placed in somewhere far worse than an empty house, the last of a line.

I inwardly cursed myself in forgetting to buy incense as a thanks.

I would have to set up a shrine somewhere in the house, maybe in one of the empty rooms. A shrine to Benzaiten-kami and Fukurokuju-kami to thank and pay my respects to. I wasn't sure if there was a temple in Konohagakure, but I also wasn't willing enough to comb through the large village to find one.

There was already enough trouble with my scrambled upturned mind, I didn't need to add to it by trying to figure out the labyrinth that was my village. And it was extensive. The walls that valleyed around it were huge, peeking over the tops of the buildings and far enough for me to gauge their size of being tall.

Dad comes back out as I'm setting the table, asking his help in lifting the pot of soup to transfer it to the table. He does so quietly, looking over my head amusedly as I insist on serving him and myself.

"Have you considered the Academy yet?"

I hum, chewing on my mushrooms and swallowing. The instant broth was a bit stronger than I thought, so a lesser serving of it should work better next time. It was particularly strong when I ladled my soup from the bottom of the pot. "I don't know what that is."

Dad sighs, his shoulders drooping. "You and Kakashi are the same."

I don't know what he means by that other than I really don't know what the Academy is other than the flash of a memory telling me that it was where children went. Yamanaka Ren's silly trick had me still scrambling to remember things that should be simple this time around, but here I was, not even knowing the name of my father of this life.

So I tilt my head, quietly eating my food until I get up to grab another serving of rice from the wondrous invention that is the rice cooker. It had taken some time to figure out how to turn it on, but the specifics were the same when measuring rice versus water.

"Did you read nī-san's note?" I ask. Dad is plucking out the radishes from his plate, happily separating them into another pile with an unhealthy amount of soy sauce drizzled over them.

"Mhm." He sets the soy sauce down, "He'll be back in a few days instead of a week. Left a reminder to buy some groceries, but you already did that right, Heiya?" Dad's eyes crinkle and I nod.

"Yeah. Hagino-san doesn't sell as good of fabric as she thinks she does." I think back to the vendor, my mouth twisting down into a frown.

Dad raises a brow, "When did you become a specialist in fabric?"

"Always."

He barks a laugh, the lines on his face looking lighter somehow as his lips turn upwards into unconcealed mirth. It makes him look younger than my initial impression and I wonder how old the man next to me is when the shadows on his face fade away. I would say that my soul, as unbalanced and shaky as it was, had more lines and stress across its body than he.

Why did I remember? What did Yamanaka Ren exactly do to me? My body was the same, soft and untouched by the years. My face is chubby, the look of a child who has lived a life with food and comfort that did not reood for work.(That was something Kakashi had, the softness of his own face lined with the beginning of age in a way that shouldn't be seen until he at least hit his tenth year.)

My soul was rung, smacked by a bell and handled by water to only reawaken. The sun was the same and the moon still hung in the sky as a gentle light to guide, but I stood on my own path. What did that mean?

Dad's hand ruffles my hair, his fingers catching on my bun with a chuckle at my scowling protest. His touch shakes me from my mind, silvery hair tumbling over my shoulders in messy hanks that has me inwardly cringing at the presentation of it. His hand ruffles my hair, tugging on my bun with a chuckle despite my scowling protest. Silvery hair tumbles over my shoulders in uneven hanks, half of it still held up by my band. It reminds me of unbleached silk, though lacks the dusty rose color. It lacks any color, honestly, the comparison is a weak one but it grounds me enough to focus on what Dad says.

"Kashi-tan should be home in time for when I need to leave," Dad says. There's a tinge of sadness to his words, though I say little in favor of warily eyeing his offending hand that taps on the table. He turns a smile onto me, "That's enough time to spend with my favorite pup, hm?"

I hesitate, my hands stilling in their action of pulling my hair up and out of my face. Truthfully, I know little about this man in front of me other than the instinctual well of affection that warms my chest. I share his hair, the shape of eyes, and even the unruly spike texture of hair that has completely come from him in color as well.

But he's my Dad.

My hesitation was obviously noticed in the way his smile seems to strain, his eyes shifting the tiniest bit to look over me than at me. I smile, the stretch of my lips feeling foregin as I pull back my lips to reveal teeth in a hope to look childishly cherubic. It was an action that my own had done and I knew its effectiveness to deter awkwardness.

"That sounds great, Dad."

And it does. There's a flutter in my stomach that I can't quite name, but I feel like I had moved a mountain in the way his smile stretches like the sun. I don't say anything as his hand reaches out once again to ruffle my hair.

"Thanks for taking care of my bonsai."

"It's no problem."

Dad smiles again, his chopsticks clinking as he snatches the radishes from my plate when I pretend I'm not looking.

Dad—

Make sure to buy groceries when you get home. Heiya knows how to use the stove so don't worry too much, I showed her how to not burn the house down when I graduated. Just thought to remind you.

Make sure to ask Heiya about Yamanaka Ren. She felt sick a while ago and was a bit off, I think they got into a fight and he used some form of his clan's jutsu on her. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it because of clan politics and I didn't want to make you worry when you were out on a mission.

—Kakashi

Hanging out with my father this time isn't what I expected. Furiko was the fourth child out of a gaggle of a total of seven children, along with being the eldest daughter. To her first parents, she was less of a child and more of a second mother, helping raise her younger siblings while working alongside her parents as soon as she showed a modicum of awareness and responsibility.

But here, I am the youngest. And like all of the last children in a family, I am the baby, encouraged to grow but also stay as young as possible.

Dad takes me to the park, encouraging me to run with the children even though I had donned my geta and wore my nicest yukata. The idea of it all turns me off and I instead opt for beelining to the edges of the park, still within my father's vision as he picks up a conversation with a man who has an unseemly scar across the width of his face.

The shade is cool, cicadas humming loudly—thankfully not as loud as they are in the summer—to the buzz of shrieking children as they play on a contraption I recognize as a 'jungle gym.' They are all flailing limbs and smiling faces, and like every other child, take to climbing like a fish takes to water.

Not me, however. I crouch in the shade, tilting over a root and using my balance to rock back and forth over it as I draw shapes in the patch of fury upturned by the curling root. It wasn't what I thought I would be doing when dad said we would have a day out together, but his actions are fumbling enough to let me know that the man doesn't really know what to do with his own child.

It would be amusing if it wasn't for the fact that he was my only parent. .

Still, he is an attentive enough father with the way his eyes flicker to me like mine do to him every few moments, checking if I am still there before sweeping them back to his conversation partner. He frowns on one occasion, seeing me by myself, but I don't mind as I try to draw a messy caricature of my new family.

Kakashi is given the spikiest hair, his dirt-picture looking bored as he always does. Dad is smiling with a simple curve. I hesitate before trying to draw myself, as I realize I actually haven't seen my own reflection clearly. Still, the drawings are little better than stick figures with defining features so I give myself the same spiky hair I share with the two males in my family before scribbling it away.

"Heiya!"

I look up. Dad's partner is gone and he's waving to me from across the park. A few other kids' heads turn, some of them snickering as I immediately get up to hurry over to him. Children are rather interesting things, though I have no desire to mingle with them. It boggles my mind when I know that I am like them yet not, those thoughts easily lead me down to a headache that makes me quiet in a way that concerns Kakashi when he is around to haunt our home's halls.

Sidling up to my father, I easily slip my hand into his offered own. It's warm, the hold comforting as it wraps around my much smaller hand. Calluses scrape against the softer parts of my palm.

"You didn't play with the other children." He states, leading us away from the park and to a rather empty street that we did not take earlier. There's a house with a pink roof and a young couple squabbling in the garden as we pass by.

—" I told you that my tulips were delicate!"

"Cabbages are much more important than tulips! What are you going to do, eat them?"—

"I didn't want to dirty my clothes." I reply, the sound of the couple being drowned out by the sudden buzz of cicadas as they continue their roaring crescendo. Dad hums, his hand squeezing mine as a woman dashes across the roofs.

"We can always wash dirty clothes, pup."

"I know." I tilt my head up to look at him, my other hand fingering the fabric of my yukata. It's a familiar mix of cotton and hemp, sturdy and reliable in age. "I don't want to ruin the fabric though. Some stains can't come out."

Dad snorts, tugging my hand as we turn around a corner. There are more people here, their hair all leaning to shades of yellow I had not seen ever before. It's less of a shock than my own silvery locks, though still eye-catching as a child bows over a flower-pot full of camellias that seem to be struggling to grow.

"Where are we going?" I turn my head back up to dad, trying not to stare as a woman with cheery yellow hair passes by.

"I just need to talk to an old friend." Dad waves at the woman, dark eyes then turning back down to me. "Kashi-tan told me that you got into a little rumble with a Yamanaka boy." His brow raises and I hum.

"Yeah," I drag my foot over the sidewalk, the scrape of wood against stone almost therapeutic as I try not to focus too much on the thought of Yamanaka Ren and his good-looking no-good pretty face. "He made my mind feel funny."

Dad doesn't say anything, though his hand tightens around my own as we enter a flower shop. The burst of color has me blinking. It's brighter on the inside of the shop than it is outside, white-lights overhead bringing out the vibrant-ness of each color in a way that the artist in me appreciates.

"Welcome!" A voice chimes over the bells. A teenager with honey-colored hair steps out from around an aisle, a vase holding a plant with interesting red leaves held in their arms. "I'll be right with you."

The teenager hurries to presumably put the vase down and I look up at dad. HIs face is still pleasant, though there is an undercurrent of something I can't quite place. The grip of his hand over mine is still firm. I don't attempt to try to remove my hand, it's the hold of a parent who was quite done with whatever transgression or mischief of a child.

Honey-colored hair swings into view and the teenager smiles, her face as pretty as Yamanaka Ren's as she greets us once again. "Hi there! Will this be a delivery or in-house?"

"I'm afraid I have business with your clan head. Clan matters." Dad gestures to something, the girl's eyes catching on the front of his shirt before widening. I almost startled at the visible difference of her eyes from a normal person's, but she was whirling down into the aisle behind her before I could react, her pony-tail whipping behind her.

"She has no pupils." I breathed before I could realize, staring at the place she had vacated with awe. Dad chuckles, shifting from one foot to another.

My ears tinge red at his soft laugh. How rude that was to comment aloud on her appearance. Though it wasn't my fault, for I had never seen anyone, or had heard of anyone who had no pupils. How did she see? Did you need a pupil to see? Perhaps she was blind, just like that old priest who had visited my old village every six-month. Though if she was blind, that would raise many more questions on why or how she was working without visual aid in a flower shop.

The teenager returns, a man close on her heels as she bows hastily to both my father and the man before scrambling off to somewhere else in the store.

"Hatake-san." The man greets. His hair is the same shade as the teenager's, his eyes a darker shade of blue, though still lacking pupils. I try not to stare.

"Yamanaka-san." Dad greets, bowing his head cordially. "May I have a word?"

Yamanaka-san shrugs, gesturing behind him and leading the way behind a curling plant. I follow, my hand still in dad's though he squeezes his hand reassuringly as we duck under the plant to follow Yamanaka-san into a back room with a low table and cushions for seats.

"Please, sit. I would be a terrible host otherwise." The man sets down a tray of tea in front of us, made presumably for himself and his worker before we had arrived. He lifts a finger to give a moment before disappearing and returning with two extra cups.

Dad and I sit. I cross my legs into seiza, though dad sits rather casually, his legs crossed. I sneak a glance over at the yellow-haired man across from us as he pours our cups, but his seating posture is like mine, his feet tucked under him in a perfect seiza that leaves me almost nostalgic.

"I would like to cut to the chase and state that one of your clan members has meddled with my daughter's mind." Dad gestures to me, the cup of tea in his hand cradled carefully in the other. "I was informed that this had left her sick for a few days."

Yamanaka-san's eyes sharpen, turning to me in a manner that has me awkwardly shifting.

"I see. And which of my clan members has placed themselves over yours?"

Dad gestures to me and I have the fleeting thought in my head that questions: How does he know about Yamanaka Ren before my mind conjures the conversation I had with Kakashi during the worst of my scrambled mind. He must've left a message or something to Dad before he had left.

I speak before tension can build, almost forcing myself to not feel like a criminal as I name exactly who had been the ire of my thoughts recently. "Yamanaka Ren."

Dad gestures back to Yamanaka-san who's brows are knit together, a frown on his handsome face. "I see." Yamanaka-san turns to me, placing his cup down on the low table before meeting my own eyes. It's eerie to see a lack of pupil where there should be one, the plain circle of blue feeling outright wrong as I met his sharp gaze.

"May I?" The man asks, turning minutely to Dad. Dad hesitates, dark eyes turning to mine before he nods.

"Carefully, please, Yamanaka-dono."

Yamanaka-san hums, "No need to be so formal, Hatake-san." He then turns back to me, leaning across the tables till his elbows rested on it. His hands stretch out in front of him, snagging my free one in a deceptively firm grip that has my other hand squeezing my father's in alarm as the cup clatters to the table, spilling across the wood.

"Dad?" I ignore the hitch in my voice.

"Yamanaka-san needs to see if his charge has done any damage," Dad explains. There's a tightening around the corners of his eyes that I have come to recognize, though it doesn't abate the sudden beating of my heart at the sharp gaze of Yamanaka-san's empty blue eyes. "It won't hurt."

"It may hurt." Yamanaka-san corrects, releasing my hand and folding his into a peculiar string of motion. "I will simply be taking a look into your mind for any damage."

"And if there is?" I ask, because I already know that he will find something not right. I lived with it being not right ever since I had woken up and everything had shifted two feet to the left and then some.

"And if there is then I will do my best to repair what damage there is." He turns to my dad, bowing his head. "That will take place over a series of weeks, of course, I will give reparations based on damage to the extent the Hatake Clan seems fit."

Dad nods silently.

"Look at me please, Hatake-chan." I look, meeting the dark blues of Yamanaka-san's. The back of my neck tingles, instinctual warnings ringing in my very bones to look away and take shelter from the man across from me. Dad's hand holding my own is enough to comfort me with the little information they seemed to share with me there.

"Breathe, Hatake-chan. This will only take a moment."

I nodded, exhaling slowly. "I'm ready."

There was a sharp sting, as if someone had flicked my forehead. My breath hitched, eyes rolling back into my head as steady hands caught me, cupping the back of my neck to keep my head from rolling back. Every muscle was screaming at me to push—

"Breathe."

Hope you enjoy this chapter. I honestly had a bit of trouble with writing it and I'm not as satisfied with it as I want to be, but I'm tired enough to not care and say 'heck just post it.'

Lets go over some vocabulary this chapter:

Furiko (振子) Hanging sleeve child.

Bunraku (文楽) is the traditional puppet theater of Japan.

Daimyō (大名) are feudal lords. In traditional history they are similar to "nobles", however in the Elemental Nations they are like "Kings" or "Emperors" of their respective country.

Mon (紋), also monshō (紋章), mondokoro (紋所), and kamon (家紋), are Japanese emblems used to decorate and identify an individual, a family, or (more recently) an institution or business entity.

Tabi (足袋) are traditional Japanese socks worn with thonged footwear

Zori (草履) are flat and thonged Japanese sandals made of rice straw, cloth, lacquered wood, leather, rubber, or—most commonly and informally—synthetic material

Geta (下駄) are a form of traditional Japanese footwear resembling flip-flops. They are a kind of sandal with a flat wooden base elevated with up to three prongs, held on the foot with a fabric thong, which keeps the foot above the ground.

Yuzu (柚子 or ユズ) is a citrus fruit and plant that is a hybrid of mandarin orange and the ichang papeda.

I really suck with writing dialogue and tend to agonize over it. I feel like I make my characters a bit too stiff and while that may work fine for Kakashi (I'm looking at you, you socially-stunted gremlin) I feel as if it sucks out the life of all my other characters. I hope that I portrayed Sakumo well enough, but honestly I see his relationship more strained with his children in this story than if it was just him/Kakashi. Kakashi is the older sibling, and like all older siblings they watch out for the younger. I feel as if Kakashi/Heiya/Sakumo as a mix are a bit more strained as Kakashi has taken over as a mini-parent despite his age and sees that Heiya is a bit more mature than she should be (not like she was reborn or anything) but reasons that it's because of him, but also Sakumo's absence.

They all obviously love each other, but they're all social messes in some way. Heiya isn't sure how to act, Kakashi is Kakashi, and Sakumo is a single parent who sure as hell doesn't know what to do so lets his kids' take the reins because they seem mature enough. Newsflash, they're kids.

I hope you are all enjoying this plot bunny that bloomed into something else, but I also want to know your opinion on the new cover! I sat down one day and made covers for all of my stories. Thank you all for reviewing and favorite-ing, I honestly can't believe the amount of people (40!) that have taken interest in just one chapter. Honestly. You all blow me away.

To those reading Merope, a chapter should be coming out soon, so keep an eye out for that! Please be sure to review, I would love to know everyone's opinion and thought(s) and even suggestions on where to proceed for this, because honestly I don't know whether to go the civilian or shinobi route with Heiya. Its a good 60/40.

M.B. Westover