Edited by Enbi & jiemae
Shadow of a Tiny Flame
So—rather than to birth within her a desire for the whole truth—for him, she stood back in solitude, postponed all answers, and ate the words she still didn't have the courage to say.
a flower called anemone
"Don't cry, you big baby, 'ttekisa," Miho whispered to herself as she faced away from the mess she had just made with the vegetables.
Blood dripped from the tip of her third finger, reminding her a bit of the stream wayside to her mother's garden. Knife in the other palm, Miho held back the big fat tears that had built up at the waterline of her eyes.
That task was a failure from the start. They spilled over the edges just after she felt the shudder of the raw searing pain that seeped from her wound. Hot tears coated her chubby cheeks and as quietly as she could manage, she drew in a long shuddering breath.
Her whimpering came second to her increased embarrassment, and it became even more evident what would happen soon.
"What's the big problem now?" Orino asked, voice impatient as Miho heard signs of skin, thinking it was an arm or hand hitting fabric. She could only assume it meant that the head cook was slapping off the flour that came with making mochi.
"Nothing," Miho warbled out and drew back, waiting for the usual harsh sigh that came with the faults in her personality. She understood it well. It wasn't just them—she hated herself too, hated being this way. But the crux of the matter was that she had no idea on how to be anything but what she already was.
It didn't change reality, just wishing for it.
"Go outside, wash your hands, and come back after you've calmed down," Orino ordered, most likely fed up with having to look after the youngest daughter in the house while her sister was out with their father, actually training.
Miho, suffice to say, felt miserable as she scuttled out of the kitchen and down the stepping stones that openly lead to an exposed freshwater pond. She hurried forward—in fear that she would take too long—before crouching in front of the slowly lapping water. Her attentive, puffy eyes centered in on the tiny sprinkling of fishes before her vision became blurred by the new round of tears that sprung up, unbidden and unwanted.
"I'm pathetic, 'ttekisa."
Still, her cut hurt too much and her body continued to shake visibly from the pain.
How badly she wanted a body more similar to her sisters. She ached only for the ability to be right there beside Mito, learning the katas and following the regiments everyone else her age did. Maybe then, she would be able to excel in the places that the boys had always teased her for being weak in. That way, she could stop being such a bother to everyone.
"Wishes don't come true very often, do they?" Miho whispered before dipping her trembling hand into the water before her feet.
"Not with an attitude like that, they won't," a new voice interjected, causing Miho to nearly wet herself from surprise. She fell back, and a hand darted out, clutching onto her shoulder, and right in front of her obscured vision she saw something red.
As fast as she could, she blinked the tears out of her eyes before rubbing them away with her clean fingers. It was only after that she allowed herself to gaze up at the familiar looking boy whose hair was brown and his expression warm.
In his hand was a mere, single red flower.
"You're…Senju Hashirama, aren't you?" Miho asked, battling shock and the pain still searing her skin. She blinked once more at his confident nod—and that was when it hit her.
Hold on a sec…
"You're Senju Hashirama!" She couldn't tell exactly why she said it again, but it seemed to solidify the fact that standing right in front of her was the son of her father's closest friend. The nice one, to boot, as the one with the pretty white hair didn't seem to like her very much from the first and last meeting they shared. Although, his other two brothers could be even nicer—she had still yet to meet them cordially, even though she knew their names by heart, courtesy of Chigusa's nagging.
The boy that stood before her laughed, causing her cheeks to redden in response. It was then that she turned very, very quiet and still.
Hashirama blinked before cocking his head, "What's wrong, Miho-chan?"
She swallowed in an instant, blinking as his words hit her again. He's just asked me a question…
She didn't know what to say.
Clamming up, Miho pursed her lips tightly together, watching in abject horror as he frowned. Then, to her amazement, he sat right down next to her. Her nerves scattered everywhere.
"I…uh, saw this flower, you know. It sort of reminded me of you," Hashirama began, lifting the red flower into focus. She looked at it in uncertainty, noting how pretty it was in its color and vibrancy. Its petals looked to be so earnest, so honest in the way they caressed his palm, sitting there as if it were a small simple teacup.
Then…
She sucked in a breath, yelping out as she smacked it out of his hand. "It's poisonous, 'ttekisa! Anemone are poisonous, 'ttekisa! Quick, give me your hand, 'ttekisa!" Miho wasted no time in snatching his palm before shoving it into the water, ignoring the way her cut burned in response. She attempted to tear a bit off her knee-length kimono but she was too weak. Instead, she dipped her long sleeve into the water to use as a rag. She couldn't get to scrubbing at the infected areas fast enough, it felt.
"Woah, slow down, Miho-chan," Hashirama exclaimed, regarding her with surprise as he gave her a good-natured grin. She paused in her actions, only then taking the time to realize how idiotic she must have looked to him.
"Sorry," she whispered, and fought hard against the new set of tears that sprung up in response at the sense of shame she felt. Miho loathed herself at that very moment. Huffing out a soft sigh, she stood, bowed lowly, and turned to rush away to find a place to cry in peace.
"W-wait! Miho-cha—!"
But she was too far away.
a flower called anemone
The next day was far more hectic, and she tried to think little of the rush of people coming from all directions around her. Worse than that—and impossible to ignore—was the noise and the shrieking and that sense of suffocating beneath a hot blanket of sweltering heat.
Still, she was running in it.
"Miho! Get your tiny little round bottom back here!" The handmaid cried out, splayed fingers soaring out to snatch the slight girl in mid-run. "Hasegawa-san, catch her for me, please!"
Not to be had, the young girl darted out of reach, cutting back to nearly dodge an elbow in her haste to catch up to her already running sister. That was the fun part about being short; you could make almost anybody taller than you look like a bumbling fool for a change—never mind the fact that she would feel terribly guilty for it later.
The elderly instructor fumbled with his attempt to reel in the young eight-year-old, who mercilessly made a grand show of fainting to the left before shifting to the right. She barely just missed the corner of a crate smelling of sweet peaches and melons. Her shoulders squished in, half of her feeling the guilt upon hearing a deep male voice cry out. It was soon followed by the sounds of chaos and wreckage that she refused to look back and see.
"Mito," she screeched, shaking any shred of shame off at sounding out of breath, "not fair! I'm not as tall as you!"
The mischievous redhead barely spared a glance, only taking a small second to reach her tiny, milk-pale hand out to her younger sister. Their fingers slipped against each other before their palms collided. Mito tugged her none too gently as she dragged her closer.
Miho's yelp could be heard among the mass of similar childish noises, body jerking forward as the two of them picked up speed. She shrieked as they were sent careening and flying beneath the waving arms in the hectically crowded streets. Shouts of the people filtered in from all around them; sharp, rich, and light, the voices carried to the young Uzumaki's heightened senses.
Aggrieved, she winced at the touch of Mito's palm against hers, noticing the painful way her delicate skin bunched up at her sandaled feet. They slapped against the rocky, paved street and each time it was made worse. However, Miho bit down any complaints, hoping only to be seen as wild and untamed as her tricky sister and far from the image she had built up in their clan so far.
They continued to run, passing by street vendors and stalls by the dozens before Mito took a sharp turn to the side, tugging Miho into a clear alleyway. Miho held back the sharp howl that pressed to be released, wincing when she hit her elbow against the edge of the building. Her body shook before she took to hopping around the deserted stretch of land in search of a place to rest.
It wasn't before long that she felt a hand touch her, and Mito fell to her knees to rub the pain away gently for her tinier sister. She didn't say anything, but it only hurt more because of it.
Blinking away the dots that blurred her vision and trying not to think of the pain, Miho took in a gulp of air and squinted at her barely winded sibling apprehensively. "So, now what?"
"We'll be headed to the orphanage, of course. I'm sure Isaku-kun and Yama-chan are wondering why we're so late."
"It's your fault," Miho muttered lowly, thinking back to the trouble of before with their handmaid, "we could have just asked Okaa-san if we could visit our friends. Now, Chigusa-san will be angry at us when we get back…"
Mito merely grinned at her. "But you followed along, and now we'll both get the blame. Besides, it's fun this way. Hasegawa-san needs to get out more and, you know, we're sort of helping them both in a way."
Perturbed and just a little bit disgruntled, Miho held herself firmly back from her sister and jutted her chin out purposely, "How does Chigusa-san benefit with having her charges leave her every which way?"
With a grandiose flip of her hair, Mito placed a palm on her hip before answering, "Didn't you know? They both have a thing for each other. We're just getting Hasegawa-san in shape for the day he takes her to his bed."
To be clear, she hadn't the faintest clue of what any of that meant.
But her cheeks burned furiously with what she could only assume was the implied message.
"I-I don't understand, Mito-chan."
Mito rolled her eyes and gave a gentle pat to her younger sister's shoulder, "Just don't worry about it then, you're still young."
"Yah! Really, Mito-chan, we're the same age!" Miho released a low growl before huffing out a sigh, "I'm not stupid…I know…a little bit about that adult stuff." She very nearly choked on air as she spoke the words, bringing her cool palms up to pacify the burning in her cheeks.
Her sister promptly snorted, "Twins and yet so different—but I guess that's your charm. I'm sure Otou-san will have no issues in pairing you with a high ranking man like everyone always says."
Miho turned pale before fiercely shaking her head, "I'm not ever getting married, Mi-chan, you know that."
Mito had a private snicker to herself, bringing her hand up to barely cover the sight of her teeth, "Yeah, I know. You and your strange fear of men."
The flush returned in full power as Miho coughed, looking down to her sandaled feet in an attempt to hide the shame in her eyes. "It's not…all men. Just the scary ones."
Because she had been able to talk to a boy before...
Sort of.
The older of the two rolled her eyes, "Whatever, we're wasting daylight with this chit chat. We gotta hurry up to the orphanage."
"R-right," Miho said, nodding as the two of them quickly took off down the alleyway, finding their way to the only place that offered the sanctuary and peace they both so earnestly craved.
The orphanage was a place that was, in short, shambles in comparison to every other place in the village of Uzushio. The wood was weak and creaky, most likely due to the fact that it sat so very close to the sea. The wind tended to be too harsh on this specific shore, the strong ocean current sweeping up the coast, smacking roughly up against the stilts that diligently held up the building.
Still, it was the twin's favorite place to hang out, to just be with their friends.
"It's the twins!" Cried a sudden voice, from a boy looking on from the window.
Mito grinned openly at him while Miho blinked dumbly. Then her eyes widened as soon as she recognized one of the newest charges of the orphanage. His name was Genta and he was rather friendly to her, for the most part. She decided that he didn't mean ill will with the calling of their second, and just as abhorred, nickname.
"Watch out, ya idiot!" Yama yelled out loudly, coming up from behind the boy who had hair the color of raspberries. The obdurate girl promptly swung and slapped at the back of his head.
Genta jumped up in surprise and looked up at her guiltily, "What is it this time, Yama-san!?"
"Yama-chan is fast with training," Mito noted and Miho bit back the giggle that wanted to spring free. Instead, she settled with a nod and a smile.
The two girls climbed up the stairs that lead to the doors of the orphanage and opened them just in time to hear Yama exclaim, "They don't like to be called that, ya dope! This is why we can't trust you to remember squat!"
"I-I'll try to remember from now on then, Yama-san!"
"Maybe we just have to smack it into his head?" Isaku suggested as he came into quick view of the girls, along with his following of kids younger than his ten years of age. 'Aniki', they liked to call him. Unlike Yama, who liked to keep it straight and simple that she had no real familial ties with them aside from clan, Isaku tended to love kids to the point that he often even became a mother figure to even Miho.
Never Mito, though. That would have been weird as she was kind of like a father in her own right to all of them.
"Leave him alone, you might make him even stupider," her sister went in to say, laughing to herself, "Ain't that right, Miho-chan?"
Chigusa-san is going to be mad later that Mito isn't using proper words.
She kept the thought to herself as she settled on saying instead, "Ah, I like Genta-kun this way. It's best not to push it." To accompany her words, she slid a warm smile in his direction.
The seven-year-old jumped forward in excitement, making her nearly fall back in blatant surprise. He paid no heed to the effect of his actions before he released a shout, "Yeah, yeah, she likes me!"
"No way," Isaku spoke up, glaring darts in his direction, "she likes me more! Don'tcha, Miho-chan?"
She felt her face rise in heat as everyone shifted their heads up to look at her. Beyond the obvious, she had zero idea on what they were even asking about and why even her sister had turned to stare at her.
"I-I like both of them, but I've known Isaku-kun the longest…so, him?" It was way too hard to stutter the words out, but she was slightly impressed with herself that she managed to do it at all. At the very least, she felt victorious for it.
"No fair!" Genta whined, "I was so sure that I had finally dethroned you!"
"It'll take a few years for that to happen," Mito noted dryly before grinning her toothiest grin, "but we're wasting daylight! Let's hit the beach, and later, we prank the 'unprankable' Watanabe-san!"
Her words were only met by a chorus of cheers in regards to her idea. Miho giggled and nodded along with them.
It really was the only place she could still be a kid.
a flower called anemone
Later that night, she tried to sleep and to dream of something other than nightmares.
Nights for her were strange things, often times disorienting and weird. Something that made her glad to see daylight.
There had yet to be a night that she didn't see the confusing scenes that looked right out of a picture book. In fact, she couldn't recall a time when she hadn't been at least a little put out by them. Or even a tiny bit sad. It was stranger yet, because among the chaos of incomplete visions and nonsensical realities, there was something far more concerning.
It lingered, the dream she had dreamed the most.
Something about metal scraping against metal, rigorous breathing, high and low pitched voices careening into the air haplessly as they rose higher and higher into screams; shrieks. Something about her entire body being filled with fear and adrenaline, pulsing with the energy and the knowledge that she wouldn't be able to last long. Something more about how disconnected she felt and the surreal layer that she could not escape from. She hadn't expected it. It was all so bizarre, so terrifying that it was hard to pinpoint exactly what bothered her so much about it.
Or what it had even been in the first place.
She couldn't make sense of it still and it tormented her.
Well, then again, that dream only came on particularly bad days.
Days where the pain of her body was at its worse.
Miho sat up in her futon and sighed miserably into her hands, resisting the strong urge to cry when images of liquid red came to her mind. Her legs throbbed beneath the hot layer of her blanket but she tried not to pay her mind towards it.
She needed to think of something else.
Sometimes she would get caught up in her world, just her thoughts and nothing else. It was times like this, right after a scary dream, that she would realize just how terrifying her world was in the end.
It was, if she thought about it, far worse than any other dream she could think of—not even the one about a silver haired boy crying in front of a sink with visions of blood stained hands could surpass what she knew to be the everyday life and death of her world.
She read too much, perhaps. As far as she lived, she had never experienced anything close to tragedy but it didn't change the reality she knew existed in the world. The stories she was told by Chigusa when she was feeling more mean than nice, and sometimes catching the sight of nearly dead men being rushed to care.
Her life wasn't unbearable—in fact, it was quite the opposite. She knew, being the daughter of the head of clan, that her life was far more pristine and posh than many, many others. Especially because she was a girl, which was the main reason why her family didn't try harder to make her into a shinobi.
It was almost destined that she'd be married off like Mito had said before, due to her being of no real use in terms of the fighting that her clan did with others. She simply couldn't help them. The wars they fought were too dangerous and she knew she could never make it in a battle. Even with her fuinjutsu.
It was a wonder in and of itself that her father still insisted on getting her into the practice of it when she had failed so horribly with all of her other training. Perhaps he noticed her growth in her academics instead? It was both likely and unlikely. He never did praise her for it if he noticed at all—and he was never the type to be short of praise when it was well deserved, as seen in the case of her sister.
Miho huffed out a sigh, debating in her head the ultimate question that had always lingered in her head: did she even really want to fight?
It was so terribly scary, just imagining how horrible it would be to have to hurt to someone else, to be the one to end an existence, to shut the book on someone else's story. She couldn't stomach even the thought of it and hated that most everyone in the world had no choice in the matter. Survival came first, and she understood that.
One of her most hidden thoughts—the one she hadn't even had the guts to tell Mito—was that she was, in a way, glad that she was so very inept. Otherwise, she's be killed before she was even at the age for marriage and that didn't sound very tempting. (Though, nor did the marriage.)
But then she reminded herself that if she fell into thoughts like those, the useless and weak ones, then she'd be no different than the shinobi who walked away from a fight. They were the type of people that her dad often discussed at dinner banquets with the voice of disgust and shame. He could talk about her like that if he knew the truth.
He'd know she was selfish then.
Troubled by the sudden guilt that sprang forward, Miho stood up from her futon and padded quietly out of the room that she shared with her sister. She spared a glance to assess her twin's sleeping face, noting the way the moonlight hit the strands of her haphazardly strewn hair before Miho stepped out the shoji door.
She was still in pain, but she limped her way onto the engawa deck.
By this point, Miho was no stranger to walks in the dark, although she used to be afraid of them when she was younger. That was before she realized how nice it was to be alone with nature, free of the persistent sounds that came hand in hand with the culture of her clan. It helped to have the stars to look at and distract her.
Slowly, almost like the stray cats she would spot wandering the village, Miho came to sit on the wooden deck right outside her bedroom door. There, she blinked up at the moon and noticed only then that the sakura trees had started to bloom right in front of her.
The pink petals danced in the wind, flourishing brilliantly amidst the moonlight glimmering in the clearing.
She couldn't help it, the song came on its own to her mind as she gave a testing hum of the melody in her head.
Then, before long, she was singing, eyes locked only on the sight of the moon and the breathtaking display. Her voice was tiny and small, weak as she started and yet slowly but surely, confidence took its place in her.
With the image of beauty for inspiration before her, she sang the gentle song.
"Sakura, sakura, blanketing the countryside as far as you can see. Is it a mist, or clouds? Fragrant in the morning sun, sakura, sakura. Flowers in full bloom. Sakura, sakura, across the spring sky as far as you can see. Is it a mist, or clouds? Fragrant in the air, come now, come. Let's look, at last!"
The tune of the song, the very melody, made her heart ache for some strange reason. Almost like she was missing something. She clutched at her chest before a happier song came to mind, albeit a bit more out of place.
"Rainy day, rainy day, I like it; my mother will come here with my umbrella. Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run! Bag on my shoulder, I follow my mother; a bell is ringing somewhere. Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, ru—"
"Oh, oh, that girl is dripping wet; she is crying under the willow," a new voice suddenly interjected, strikingly familiar and yet foreign all at the same time. Miho quickly seized up, startled out of her wits before hearing the voice continue on with the song. "Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run! Mother, mother, I'll lend my umbrella; 'Hi girl, use this umbrella.' Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run! I am all right, don't worry. Mother will take me in her big umbrella. Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run!"
The stranger came into view then, leaving the shadows that came from the foliage beside the stone garden right outside her door. She blinked, and felt her soul sink to the very tips of her toes before she breathed, "Senju Hashirama…?"
He scratched at his chin, possibly in good humor, "Why is it that this feels like it's happened before?"
Miho shrugged, swallowing thickly. Somehow, she managed a soft, "I dunno."
"Probably because it has," Hashirama easily answered for himself—and, just like before, he made himself at home right next to her. "You have a very pretty voice, by the way."
She said nothing, refusing to let him wrangle the words out of her in case he only meant to make a fool out of her. After all, she had a right to be suspicious. Only her sister and the few hard earned friends she had would treat her this nicely, and this boy was a complete stranger!
"Ah, you sure sounded sad, though. Something the matter?"
Miho squinted up at him, still wordless.
"I'm guessing you had a bad dream, then."
She fought off the chill that ran up her spine and down to her fingertips. How could he be so spot-on accurate? It wasn't fair.
"I know because you have the same look Itama sometimes has when he wakes up from one."
"Oh."
She winced just as she realized what she had done. She wished she could just shut up forever.
"Ah, come on, Miho-chan. I'm not so bad." Hashirama looked to her earnestly, reaching his hand out to…poke her.
Her brow twitched.
His finger went to her nose as she turned to look at him.
Her eyes twitched next.
"Poke," he said quietly, and then flicked her in the forehead.
She hissed at the sharp pain, turning to glare at him, "Alright, alright! I'll talk...meanie."
"I must be doing something right if that's the worst insult you can think of," he joked, knocking his shoulder with hers. She bit back the grunt of pain as he went on, "So, what's been eating at you? Is it the anemone thing? Because that was just me being stupid, it wasn't your fault at all."
She winced at the reminder of her embarrassment before turning to look at him. She spoke in all seriousness as she summoned the courage to speak honestly, "It's not that, it's our world."
"Our world? What about it bothers you?"
She huffed out a sigh, lifting up her bare feet in the air as she looked away and mumbled, "I think it's unfair and cruel. It's filled with a bunch of mean bad guys who like to pick on others and even kill them. I mean, why is there even such a thing called war? And why do we accept it so easily as fact that we have to make everyone fight so viciously?"
"I dunno, I can't say I've ever really thought about it…but I do agree. It is pretty sad," his expression turned conflicted, "But I don't think it's just that. This world, these people, they really are capable of great things, y'know? Maybe one day there will be a world filled with kind people like you, who are willing to risk themselves to save idiots from poisonous flowers."
Miho went to meet his gaze and it struck her cheeks with a bright red the moment they did. Her heart sped up in that confusing manner, and she was lost for a quick moment. It took another second to come back down to reality and when she did, she sighed. She shouldn't get so worked up over things, she thought, gently tapping the back of her heels to the side of the deck.
The pain was almost good to feel. Almost.
"What now?" he asked, but unlike how it was usually said, harsh and fed-up, he only seemed to be filled with kindness and warmth.
She couldn't lie to a person like this—it would hurt her far too much to respond to such honest words with mere filth.
Miho swallowed her insecurities, then to him, she mumbled, "That would be nice…but at this rate, we'll never live to see it happen. We'll be long dead for that."
Hashirama went quiet for a moment, tilting his head to the side in thought before he turned to her. The grin on his face took her breath away as he snatched her hand into his own and shouted out as if he were tasting victory, "I know! We can just be the ones to make it happen!"
Be the ones...to make it happen?
The words rang in her head like the bell that announced the start of a festival in the village of Uzushio. Along with it, she felt the exact same rush as she did in times like those. Her veins went into overdrive as her pulse quickened, like her heart could burst out of her chest at any second.
Miho couldn't resist; she grinned as broadly as she could manage and responded in kind, "It's silly to think that we could be the ones to do it, but…I like it!"
Hashirama paused, eyes widening before his cheeks darkened with a blush—or so she assumed. Her smile fell with uncertainty.
"Pretty," he finally breathed, swallowing, "you're prettiest when you're smiling."
Her brows shot up in shock and surprise. A boy had never told her that. Her sister had in the past, but it wasn't the same.
She went silent once more, being engulfed inch by inch in her racing thoughts. What did it mean, though? She wasn't too sure and knew it was only a matter of time when she'd be caught endlessly ruminating on an answer to it. She had to ask.
Alarmed, she glued her eyes to the swaying grass in front of her.
She couldn't ask.
"Miho-chan," Hashirama went on, unperturbed by her silence, "we should make a promise."
"Promise?" She echoed.
"Yeah, a promise. Look, I'll be leaving the island after three more days and it's looking like my clan is going to have a clash with this other big clan, so… I can't exactly see you for a while. And I know we just met and all, but I can kinda see how awfully shy you are and—it can't be good."
"Where are you going with this?" Miho asked, hesitating while trying not to flinch at his words.
"Just," he took a breath and looked at her so seriously, it was how she had to take him, "Promise me that you won't give up and that you'll be there with me, trying to change the world. Because I know that's where I want to be." Hashirama grinned then, full set of teeth shining bright in the moonlight.
Miho swallowed down the voice in her head that wanted to tell him how inept and worthless she was, how he was wasting breath asking this of her. But something in her stopped before it could be said. She merely smiled back, a softer one than last time, and nodded.
Hashirama nodded back, and stood up with his hands patting down his kimono, "I should be getting back then. I'll see you tomorrow if I can!"
"O-okay!"
He was gone as suddenly as he had showed up, disappearing out of sight and down the hall in his sure-footed ways. Miho couldn't help but giggle.
Feeling just a bit giddy, she sighed with contentment. It was then that a strange idea popped into her head, as if having waited for the opportunity.
That's when she traced it into the dirt. She had no clue on what it could possibly mean, but she had a feeling it was something precious. It contained…an entire world of meaning, seemingly lost to even her own thoughts.
三九。
"Sankyuu?" she repeated, her tone soft.
She figured it at least meant something positive.
a flower called anemone – end
These edits are freeing my soul and Enbi is helping me do it. She is a writing goddess.
Song for this chapter; 月の純 | Colors of the Moon by Signal-E
References Explained:
Sakura, Sakura, the first song she sings, is the name of a children's song in Japan. It's actually very beautiful, with a hauntingly sad sound to it.
Rainy Day (amefuri), the second song, is also a children's song with a happier, more laid back but upbeat tune.
三九 – Sankyu (Thank You), it's a number pun that's common in Japanese slang. Just like how 801 stands for yaoi. San (三) stands for three, and kyuu (九) stands for nine. Yay for number puns!