Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Only Hitomi and her family are mine.
Status: Incomplete.
"Are you going to tell the story?" Hatsue grinned brightly, her eyes shining with excitement. Her little sister was hanging onto her kimono, hands clenched in her obi, nearly vibrating with elation.
She'd begged for hours, voice nearly cracking with the effort, and her excitement was palpable: the gleaming eyes, although desperately concealed, and the smothered smiles and twitching fingers. But Hatsue was nothing if stoic, and so she tried, and eventually failed, to pretend like she wasn't affected.
Hitomi let out a tinkling laugh and leaned forward to wrap her in a warm hug. She smelled of dirt, and honey, and sunshine-grass. Hatsue kept still for a couple of beats, before struggling in her grip, strained grumbling loosening her lips.
She looked the picture of disgruntlement.
"Hitomi-nee!" Hatsue whined, unable to keep the stoic visage, and tugged her kimono sleeves again, careful not to catch on the stitching. Her mother had had them embroidered by Hana, the village seamstress, on Hitomi's tenth birthday and she adored the little flowers and birds that crept all over her clothes like little art galleries.
Maybe, Haha-ue had grumbled, if you like them enough, you'll stop rolling your sleeves up like a gutter rat. Hitomi, of course, made no such promises and simply smiled back, eyes twinkling with gratitude. Her father, ever the picture of relaxation, guffawed, amused. Leave her be, Chiharu, he'd winked at her, she's still a child.
"So impatient." Hitomi hummed, blinking back fond memories. "Alright, I'll tell the story. No need to get your koshimaki in a twist."
Hatsue flushed red and glared at her, but Hitomi paid no mind.
She brushed the grain and dirt off her skirts, and straightened out the rug that sat near the open hearth. The sounds of the forest rose behind them; chattering cicadas, the call of a lonely toad, the final coos of the birds, replaced by the gentle wash of the wind.
Once she found herself comfortable, lying back against the dirt of the hut, her tired body resting, she opened her eyes to find Hatsue's glittering smile mere inches from her face.
Hitomi smiled, and brushed back a loose curl from her forehead.
Her sister drew closer, brimming with anticipation.
"There was once a couple of tricksters that roamed the land," Hitomi began, her eyes already glazed over in the darkening sky. Hatsue held her breath as she spoke, eyes huge in her face, mouth opening in awe. "The people of the land called them qamaque and kusilu—"
"—Just say fox and monkey, nee-chan!"
Hitomi sighed and looked over to her sister. In the darkness, her eyes had gone a slate gray, the silver tinge that brooked in the daylight long gone, and Hatsue immediately quieted down. Her sister rarely yelled or shouted, but her gaze held so much weight, it made her hold her tongue for fear of pressuring her.
Their father often called her Queen of The Clouds and he was right—Hitomi was more often than not, lost in her head. She looked at things that didn't seem to be there. Her eyes wandered across plains and saw things unseen and unveiled, instead of the simple rice paddies and wheat fields that Hatsue did.
Hitomi rarely spoke, but when she did, there was always a lesson to it. Her voice was soft and wondering, like a newborn foal, and there was a certain hush to her tone; like she held the secrets of the universe in her palm.
When she spoke, none dared to interrupt.
"…Sorry." Hatsue whispered, cheeks lighting up a luminous red. "Please go on?"
For a moment, the air stood still, and Hatsue thought she wouldn't hear the rest of the saga, but Hitomi took a deep breath and began anew.
"The people of the land called them qamaque and kusilu after their spirit forms—the fox and the monkey. Qamaque formed as a fox; wily and aggressive, he was the one the people saw the most of. Kusilu formed as the monkey; slender and sly, he was the one the people feared, for he was the trickiest of them all."
The night began to wrap itself around them, but Hatsue and Hitomi took no notice; the older girl stuck in a history long lost, long forgotten, and the youngest caught up in the spellbinding world her sister weaved with carefully placed words and ringing truths.
"Qamaque and Kusilu were thieves."
Hatsue gasped, leaning closer, and Hitomi's mouth quirked in a gentle smile.
"They stole village's quinoa mush, and crops, and meat and took and took and took. They could not seem to stop themselves—thieving was so ingrained in their nature that the need—the urge—to take surpassed any other. One day, Qamaque and Kusilu decided that they would steal quinoa mush from a lord. He lived up and over the hill, far away from the Qamaque's borrow or the Kusilu's grove, and so they challenged themselves to steal from him."
"So one night, they snuck off up and over the hill and into a servant's quarter. They were quiet and stealthy, and made no sound—none more than they had to. The quinoa mush was piled into high, ceramic pots. The villagers had molded them with wet water and clay, and set them out to dry for days and days on end, until the surface was cracked and scorched. These pots, however, had been cleaned and painted over, and they were clearly quinoa mush pots. Kusilu, ever tricky, used his hands to take from the pot. Qamaque, however, put his whole head into the pot; he gorged himself on the mush for a while, but, when he made to leave, his head got stuck."
"No," breathed Hatsue, who stared at her sister has if she held all the answers. She had gone closer to Hitomi, whose voice was rasping and gentle, like the warmth of the embers in the hearth. "What happened then?"
Her sister didn't spare a breath, and her eyes looked glassy as she continued.
"Panicking, he screeched, 'Help, Kusilu! I'm stuck! Break this pot off me!'. Kusilu rushed to aid his trickster friend, and searched in the darkness for a rock to break the pot off Qamaque's head. The night, however, was tricky in itself and fooled the trickster Kusilu's eyes and made him find the servant's head instead.
"Grasping the servant's head, he shouted for Qamaque, 'Here's a round stone! Come smash the pot on this!' Qamaque, trusting that his trickster friend was right, shouted 'Good!' and smashed his the pot on the servant's head.
"The servant, having previously been deeply asleep, woke up enraged and grabbed Kusilu by the scruff of his neck. The wily, small Qamaque got away just in time, leaving behind his trickster friend."
"…And then?" Hatsue whispered.
Riveted on her sister's words, she didn't notice the telltale clack of sandals against the hard earth. When Hitomi spoke, the whole world listened with baited breath and tense anticipation. Even the woods seemed to have quieted. When Hitomi spoke, the rest fell away, the only thing that remained was the hush of her voice, and the secrets blooming in the night air.
"The servant, angry and furious, put Kusilu in a cage and went back to sleep. The next day, seeing Kusilu in the cage, he rose to speak with the lord and tell him what happened. 'What shall we do with this thieving monkey?' the servant cried. The lord thought long and hard and his anger was only satisfied when he said, 'Pour boiling water on him and skin him alive,'—"
"Telling stories again, are we?" a familiar voice sneered. "Don't you ever get tired of the madness in your mind?"
Hatsue wrenched her gaze from Hitomi's eyes and flushed a deep, flustered red at the sight of their elder brother. Yasuo had aged well Hitomi liked to say—his cherubic face had given away to sharp, cutting cheekbones and pretty lines—and there was, more often than not, a gaggle of village girls that followed him around, giggling behind raised hands.
"Yasuo," Hitomi smiled, a little airily. She blinked at him slowly, taking in his ruffled hair and sweat-soaked hakama, stuck to his heaving chest. "Is there something wrong?"
Hatsue giggled at the glare their brother bestowed upon her elder sister. Yasuo never liked Hitomi—too bird-brained and flighty, he said—but it never failed to amuse Hatsue how Hitomi barely noticed out of the absolutely necessary; but then again, Hitomi barely ever noticed anything outside her own mind.
"Not that you'd care, but yes. There's been a leak in the well. The water's been poisoned." Yasuo scowled furiously, his hands crossing over his large chest. "Not that you girls could do anything about it—no, this job needs a real man to finish it."
"Oh," Hitomi smiled at him and it was just as whimsical and brilliant as always. Her eyes gleamed in the low light, and there was a second where they flashed with something dangerous and lurking before it was gone—replaced by the good-natured creases at the edges of her almond-shaped orbs. "I see. Do carry on then, they might need you to go get them."
Yasuo's face darkened at the insult and he surged forward, grabbing at Hitomi's brown tunic. Her sister dangled, feet off the ground, in the face of her brother's ire. And yet, her face remained calm, undaunted. She drew no panicked breaths. Nor did she flail about in alarm.
Even in the face of anger, Hatsue thought offhandedly, Hitomi remained unflappable.
"You're crazy, imouto." Yasuo hissed, his voice like a viper, waiting to strike. "A lunatic. With your stories and your hair and your—your—silly, dirtied clothes. This is why I'm useful. This is why you'll never be anything but father's queen of the clouds. You'd better get used to cleaning the dirt off my shoes—"
"Yasuo!" Hatsue shouted with a furious glare. She scrambled up and off the ground, letting the calm that had washed over her fall away like lightning. "Don't touch her! She's our sister!"
Yasuo sneered at her before letting Hitomi go. She stumbled back for a moment, before catching herself, a hand around her waist. He wiped at his hands, making a show of getting of the dirt. When he was done, he gave them a last, dirty glance, he stormed past them, slamming his shoulder straight into Hitomi's chest.
Hatsue, furious, was about to yell something that her mother would surely clean her mouth out for, but a slender hand on her head immediately halted her.
She looked back at her older sister, taking in her features in the low light; the curved, jutting cheekbones and plump, full lips; her too-sharp eyes, ever mercurial; and the fragility of her features only held up by the ferocity underneath her skin.
She looked, for once, as sharp as ever, her eyes deadly and focused.
Then Hitomi smiled, and Hatsue's sister was back again—gentle and ethereal.
"Aren't you going to stay for the end?" She said in that calm, gentle voice of hers; as if she drew the calm from her very soul.
Hatsue beamed and sat down next to her, and Hitomi began anew, her voice just as fluttering and fanciful as usual.
*The story that Hitomi is telling is actually from the Aymara Tribe/Culture in South America. I claim no ownership, merely internet history rights.
Anyone who reads this, please enjoy.