Gaara sat, bored, on the edge of a fencepost, gazing out over the gentle rolling sea. The sun was setting and it cast deep ruby shadows on the water and shoreline. Nothing worth notice had happened recently and it left Gaara with nothing to do but sulk in his thoughts. Which, he considered, was at least giving him something to do. The Shukaku kept pressing him; pressuring him for more blood. "When the moon is full once more, Mother, I promise you a feast, yes, Mother, I'll make it rain blood…" he always promised. It had been some time since the Shukaku had asked him for blood; Gaara thought he had it under control.

Looking out over the water, he watched a lone hawk rip and soar over the warm thermals…as it flew closer to the shore; a strong gust roared up and tipped the bird in an ungraceful fashion. The bird fluttered and skittered back up into the updrafts. A single black tail feather fell its way down to earth, seemingly untouched by the wind. It landed gently on the ocean's surface and lay there lightly, almost completely still, despite the waves. Slowly, the dark feather sank its way beneath the red-tinted water—

-an explosion sounded from the center of the village behind him. Gaara looked up at the setting sun, and then turned back to the village. A small amount of smoke could be seen spewing up towards the sky from where he was sitting; another burst of flame; another tower of smoke. And then a person, running towards him.

"G-Gaara…there you are." It was Kankuro, out of breath, and looking worried.

Gaara got up off the fencepost and stood. He didn't feel the need to say anything. Not yet.

Kankuro looked up at Gaara, and instinctively averted his gaze; too many years with Gaara had taught him to never make eye contact for too long, "The village is under attack; they sent me to get you, to help fight."

Gaara blinked, "Why would they want my help? I'm nothing to them."

No...blood. I need it, or I'll take your own.

Clutching his head feebly, Gaara sighed, "Yes, Mother…I promise."

Kankuro tilted his head, "Is it bothering you again? I thought you had it under control ever since that fight with Naruto?"

Gaara looked back at the city, "…so did I." Looking up, he said, "I'll help fight, so long as there are casualties."

Kankuro nodded and shivered in spite of himself.

A long mournful wail came from the center of the city. A thousand departed souls and their sufferings seemed to be all bottled into this one cry. It echoed out over the outer banks, made the tree leaves rustle, made the oceans' waves tremble and break before they hit the shore. Without even seeing it, Gaara knew blood had been spilled somewhere, and he had to get it. He had to be a good boy…he stopped. Something in the cry silenced the Shukaku; that had never happened before. A tremor built up inside of Gaara, he turned and went back out to the sea. The somber plea of a sob was overwhelming. It rattled his heart and kept the Shukaku's bloodthirsty demands quiet. Gaara stopped at the shoreline, and looked out over the now night sky. There was no soul in sight. He no longer cared who was invading the village; he only needed to get the scream out of his head. But it refused to leave… it rang on and on in his head, in this city, in this life.

Footsteps crunched in the sand behind him; and turning slightly, he saw two cloaked figures racing to the waters' edge. Both were men, as far as he knew. One was rather short and squat, with a hat pulled down over his face. He was shaped almost like a turtle; shrouded in a red and black clouded jacket. The guy beside him was taller, with blonde hair that was partly pulled back in a ponytail. A large portion covered the left side of his face, and he too was wearing a long clouded cloak. The cry still rang out in Gaara's ears as he watched the two strangers stop at the shore. Looking up, the blonde one saw Gaara and whispered to the shorter one. Nodding, the blonde man flinched in pain. Casting a glance at his arm, which Gaara noticed now, was bleeding profusely--odd, not even the Shukaku noticed it… he thought numbly.

More voices growled from the village; they were getting closer. The two men glanced up and made way towards Gaara, who was taking close notice to the blood left in the sand by the guy's arm. Drop by precious drop.

Gaara shuddered silently and held his head with one hand. The cloaked figures saw this and stopped again. Nodding, they turned and began walking back up to the village. A breeze blew, and all that was left was the blood in the sand.

Gaara walked his way slowly to the small amount of footprints they had left. Bending down, he rubbed the blood between his fingers. It wasn't a lot, but perhaps enough. Yes…it is enough. For now.

The cry rang back through the village. Out over the hills, down through the valleys, through everything—living or no; through their hearts and souls…their very beings. The tortured shriek rang on and on and on this time, not pausing to echo. Not pausing for sanity. Gaara had no idea as to what it was, but it was associated with the strangers that he had seen, he knew. Another tortured cry mingled with the much louder one, and it took him a second to realize he was quietly wailing against the earsplitting one. He clamped his mouth shut and watched as the water crawled up around his ankles and then was reluctantly pulled out back to sea. He counted how many waves came in: one, in, out, two, in, out, three—on the third one, something caught his eye. It gleamed under the almost black surface of the water. The scream had stopped, but was still echoing through the nooks and crannies of the town. Bending down, he picked up the shining object. It was a tear. A real tear, from a real eye, or so it seemed. But it was frozen, solid, but tear-shaped, tear-sized, and tear-colored…clear, smooth, and shiny. It was truly beautiful, yet he had no idea what a tear was doing in the ocean; and even more so, a frozen tear. Something inside of him told him to not let it go, but something else told him to drop it. Put it back and get back to the village…

Clutching the tear, he watched as another wave rode up; no tear in its wake. The echo of that wail was still caught in his head. Looking back at the footprints, he saw the bird from earlier looking at it. It was a small bird; fragile. Its deep black plumage made even the night sky envious. The bird had graceful green eyes and a deep charcoal beak. It curiously hopped over to a drop of blood Gaara must've missed. After clumsily drinking it, it stood quite perfectly still. Gaara walked back over to the footprints and stood near the bird. He turned to go back to the village, when the cry pierced his mind again.

Does no one else hear this cry?

A small mutter sounded behind him. The bird that had drunk the blood from those strangers had fallen over. Its eyes were frozen open and it had stopped breathing. It was dead…and again the ghastly screech roared.

Gaara could feel the moan deep in his soul now. It would always be there, he figured. Clenching his teeth, he walked into the village, leaving the broken bird beside the footprints. Whoever those people were, they weren't good news. Holding the tear gently in his hand, he sat on a small wall inside the village. It was either late in the night or early in the morning. No one was out except for him. The tear was cool to the touch, and gleamed although no light was nearby to reflect inside of it. The wind blew lightly, and with it was carried a small whisper. It was very faint and couldn't be understood. A few minutes passed, and after a bit, the whispers were full-fledged voices now. What they were saying, Gaara couldn't tell. It was a number of things, in different languages, and from what Gaara could interpret, they were talking to him. Not just anyone who could hear them, but to him personally. They sounded sad…they sounded regretful...they sounded like this was the beginning of something bad for him. Gaara couldn't be sure though. They cried to him until the sun rose, breaking over the buildings and staining the village red. The tear caught the light and turned red. Like a small drop of blood. Unbeknownst to him, not but ten miles away, two ninja were plotting and waiting. They had two goals set, and one involved his death. They just needed a little bit more help…