(iv) Taste of Your Own
A touch of dokudami, a dash of biwa, two leaves of dried kaki: Hinata sealed the herbs into a small cloth bag and placed it carefully onto a shelf, dusting her hands on the front of her apron.
A sweet, strong smell diffused from one of the pots on the stove and the lady smiled, walking over to give it a quick stir. She stole a glance out the window; it was a beautiful, bracing morning, the sky a soft cloudless blue, dew thick on the undersides of leaves.
This was life now: slow and predictable, like the thick brew of fresh, bitter herbs that were coming to a boil. The days of fear and fighting were over; no more Kiba with his snarky grin or Shino with no grin at all. She was beginning to like this kind of life; perhaps she was getting old.
There was a noisy group of children on the field outside, playing shinobi. They had homemade headbands and wooden kunai. Now and then, they'd even come into her shop to buy herbs for play-medpacs.
She never let them. Medicine isn't child's play, she'd say sternly.
Then again, she thought, neither is shinobi.
Note: Dokudami, biwa and kaki are Japanese herbs.