Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
A/N: I apologize for any grammatical errors and inaccuracies ! This chapter is super short.
-O-
For the next week, Aya drifts through the halls of their longhouse like a ghost, never staying in one area for too long before the pain in her heart consumed her. It pained Sakura to see her once strong willed friend be so disheartened and miserable but there was nothing she could do.
Besides killing Hisao, that is.
Sakura stored the thought for later and she watched Aya, seated by the fire, slowly comb her fingers through her luxuriously long hair as she gazed blankly into the flames. Frowns and grimaces had become permanent fixtures to her lovely face, as she was constantly torn between sadness and anger. She looked hollow, as if it were possible for someone to be alive and yet not living. Sakura chewed her lip in thought as she observed the slow movements of her best companion; she was suspicious of Aya's relationship with the boat builder from the start. She had seen them glance at each other longingly—tenderly—from afar in the marketplaces. She had seen the warm joy that had lit Aya's face whenever she quietly returned from her nightly excursions to the docks. Every night she'd smell of grass and sea water; and every night, Sakura would stay her tongue in the face of such blatant adoration.
It did not matter to Aya that the man was a slave, it did not matter that he had nothing to offer her, she liked—loved—him and he made her happy. And Sakura would never keep Aya from happiness.
But now it seemed that happiness was far from Aya's own grasp.
Unwilling to gaze upon her sister's suffering any longer, Sakura stands in a flurry of skirts and walks out the door with a particular destination in mind.
Aya does not notice and continues to look forlornly into the fire.
-O-
Sakura crosses the threshold of a small cottage in the outskirts of her small village. She sweeps the curtain—made of bones and cloth—aside, removes the cover her hood provides, and inhales the strong smell of herbs that curls around her face. As she walks further into the dimly lit home, she discards her cloak, then her shoes, and lastly her dress.
She stands naked in the center, her features accentuated by the glow of the fire, and kneels. Sakura's hands fold in her lap, her chin juts out in pride, and she is not afraid. She is not ashamed, she is bare for her gods to see, and she waits.
An errant wind sails through her unbound locks, caresses her face and puckers her skin, and when she opens her eyes, there is a man seated before her. His form is enshrouded by a heavy cloak, leaving only his hands and the lower half of his face visible. Sakura knows not to grimace in his presence, knows to steel her stomach in the face of such grotesque features, and so she lifts her eyes and focuses on his blackened lips.
They are sewn shut with thick, decaying threads; each entry point surrounded by angry skin and he does not speak. He lifts his hand, the tips of his long, withering fingers pointed by blackened nails, and caresses a lock of rosette hair.
"Sakura," he says through the threads that bind his lips, and his voice is the sound of rotting corpses and angry souls.
"Wise one," she greets in return, her voice low with reverence. Her hands tighten in her lap, and she suppresses the urge to shudder when his fingers run down the length of her arm.
"The Gods see you and welcome you. What answers do you seek, my child," his words are low and weathered as his blind eyes trace the path his hand makes down her lightly scarred skin.
Her lashes lower in deference to his question, and though she knows what exactly she had come for, she struggles to put her thoughts into words. Each time she visits, she feels humility—and dread—in the face of such a being: He who does not have a name, He who foretells prophecies, He who hears the words of Gods.
The Seer.
Sakura's mouth pulls into a grim line and speaks, "What will become of my sister?"
The Seer tuts, rubs his fingers as though feeling the texture of dirt, and says, "The Gods do not see her in their Kingdom."
And the hairs on her neck stand on end, because the Seer speaks in riddles and circles, and his words could mean anything.
"Then what do the Gods see?" She pushes his vision, implores him with her eyes to abate her fears and she watches as his shoulders quake with laughter.
"They see many things, girl; they see flowers withering in the spring and blooming in the winter, they see the Moon and the Sun colliding as the Earth struggles to keep them afloat while crows watch from the trees. They see many things, but that is all I have heard."
Sakura's brow furrows and her mouth opens to question his words, but he offers her the palm of his hand and she knows her visit is over. Her mouth pinches in displeasure and her eyes flutter shut when she leans over to broadly lick the sallow flesh.
When she opens her eyes, she finds she is alone with the lingering taste of ash on her tongue.
Sakura dresses quickly and pretends not to feel bothered by the Seer's words.