Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
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The young girl slowly walked on the road not really wanting to go home just yet. Her small face carried a serious expression that seems so out of place for a seven year old. Her green eyes were trained to the ground, which was covered with slightly withered grass. Warm rays of sun were beating down on her back and were casting an elongated shadow before her.
He wasn't at the lake this afternoon; as a matter of fact she hadn't seen him for six days now. He must be away on a mission she concluded. She stopped on her tracks suddenly, distracted from her thoughts, as she caught sight of the myriad of flowers blooming in the meadow.
She sauntered towards the place, appreciating the medley of colored flowers, and the floral scent that pervaded the air. A white flower caught her eye and she seated herself comfortably on the ground before it.
Cutting it from its stem she placed it before her nose, it had a sweet almost nonexistent smell. Taking it away from her face, she twirled it before her, carefully inspecting it. Satisfied she then started to carefully select flowers resembling the first one she had picked out, which she delicately weaved together to form a wreath, carefully recalling how exactly it was shown to her by her best friend.
The girl paused for a moment, concentration broken, when a strange yet familiar feeling diverted her attention. Someone was approaching behind her. She relaxed upon recognition and smiled. She could tell it was him. It wasn't because he was loud rather it was because his pace was silent just like a cat's and he had a certain presence that made him stood out from the rest. A presence that she can only describe as something alien and familiar.
She continued on with her work and the boy remained standing, quietly observing her. After a few quick moments, she finally finished weaving the flowers, and turned to look up at the older boy.
"I'm going to visit my father today, will you come with me?"
She laid the wreath on top the memorial stone, put her hands together and prayed. It became a habit to visit the family grave once every week, even though she would feel sad after every visit.
The wind started to chill and black birds could be seen flying off in the horizon as the receding rays of the sun stained everything in orange and red. The older boy shifted his gaze from the grave stone to the little girl praying beside him.
When the girl finished praying he spoke. "It's getting dark, I'll walk you home."
The older boy clasped his much larger hand around her impossibly small one. She felt herself being pulled up from her kneeling position. His hand was warm, calloused and rough from years of wielding weapons, and his scent, he somehow smelled faintly of blood.
It's eerie that it is only now she sees how much this boy seems to resemble her father, from his rough hands to his scent and even his quiet personality.
Just like her father, a shinobi whose duty is to serve and protect their village. Her little hand unconsciously tighten its grip onto his, fearing the inevitable. There is no denying it; there will come a day that he too will be taken away from her. The on going war between the rival villages had already taken many lives, and it will take countless more.
She kept her eyes on the ground which became more and more blurred with each pace she took. Her eyes started to sting and itch as a painful lump started to swell on her throat.
She was a very sensitive and delicate child, much too attuned to her surroundings, which usually leads her to be overwhelm by her emotions, and often she finds it impossible to hold back, especially right now.
He thought he heard a strange hiccupping sound and he looks down at the little girl beside him. The child had her head bowed, her pink locks obscuring her face. He crouched down to her height and gently asked what was wrong.
The girl turned her head away and buried her face behind her hands. He asked once more what was wrong, but she only shook her head as she continued to hide her tears.
She desperately wants to tell him what was wrong, but only found it hard to speak. Her words got choked in her throat that only strangled sobs could be heard.
At a loss of what to do, the boy picked her up in his arms and murmured comforting words as he carried her to her home.
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Note: To be continued…I hope