Chapter two! I can't believe it, background and plot!

I'm learning guys, I'm learning...

Disclaimer: All Naruto characters belong to respective owners, presumably Kishimoto (the troll). Mariko and Hurricane, and everything related to Mariko and Hurricane, belong to me. :)

And if you couldn't tell already - yes, I am a horse person :'D

Chapter 2: Stories

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma,

We had the autumn gala dinner tonight. Surprisingly enough, it was rather amusing. Did I mention that they have found the proper husband for me? I pray upon the emeralds and my ultra-thick face pastels that he's not some creepy old man. What if I have to marry some disgusting monster, like that one governor Sumi almost married?! Momma, I don't want to leave Hurricane, and I don't want to leave Katrina. I don't know where to go, though. I don't think I ever want to set foot on the mainland. That, and they haven't even told me his name. How am I supposed to get married to man whose name I don't know?

.x.X.x.

Hurricane was a bright, cultural nation with a society rich in customs and traditions. On formal occasions, men were to paint ochre-red dust on their temples, to signify that their minds were strong, even if their bodies were not. And for those who were young and healthy, the boys who grew tall into their widening shoulders, they added rings of that reddish powder to their forearms and biceps.

The women, as well, were to decorate themselves. They had a much more detailed process than the men, but it was all seen through carefully. White face paint was carefully layered onto one's features, making them as pale and as beautiful as the moon. Several personalized touches were added, depending on the person and her preferences. Everything was allowed, any color, except for anything on the nose or chin. For example, Sumiko wore dark eye shadow that branched out into purple wings along her temples, a creative, artsy sort of decoration. Her lips were always painted ruby red, and she often liked to add a green star on her forehead to match her eyes. The First Princess never failed to make a dashing entrance, anywhere, any time.

Mariko, on the other hand, didn't have much preference for anything. She copied her sister with the dark, owlish shadows around her eyes, and sometimes painted blue swirls down her cheeks. Sumiko complained that it looked as if Mariko's hair had plastered itself to her skin, so the youngest daughter sometimes changed that pretty sky-blue paint to a feminine pink. She was never bold enough to dry the daring streaks of gold, silver, and purple that Sumiko like to brush along her cheekbones.

Nose and chin markings were left for symbolization, traditional markings that told a story. A black triangle pointing downwards on the chin meant that a woman was recently widowed, and if that triangle was dark green, it meant the loss of a recent family member. An upward facing triangle, light green as grass, meant the birth of a new family member, a stark contrast to the black symbols of death. A green, rectangular bar across the nose meant that one was celebrating an anniversary or special occasion relating to a marriage or relationship. A gray bar represented divorce, sadly, while a blue one meant that a woman was newly married. Often, a light gray-silver tinged with pink sort of pastel was painted in streaks across the nose to signify the purity of a child, of a girl. Eventually, that misshapen slab of gray-pink paint would deepen to a ruby red rectangle, the crimson bar that labeled a woman as "engaged".

And, following this tradition, Mariko stiffly sat down for one of her cousins to paint the red bar across the bridge of her nose. The meek servant girl that accompanied the relative presented them with an array of paints, a palette full of colors to use, mix, or save for another time.

"Cousin Mari, I think you'd look dashing with gold on your face today," said the older girl quietly. She was related to Mariko on the mother's side, and thus her hair was not the stark sapphire of the Aokami clan. Sometimes, Mariko envied her cousins' plain, brown hair, sun-bleached a sandy beach color.

"You may paint my face however you like," Mariko replied. "I don't really care."

Her cousin hesitated, mouth opening to protest. She knew very well that Mariko actually took great care of her cultural pastels — she was very detailed, and very specific. She knew what colors symbolized what, and was always dedicated to creating a fitting appearance.

"As you wish, Cousin." While she was obviously not satisfied, Mariko's cousin knew enough of Mariko's personality to know that she wanted simple colors, nothing as dashing as her sister. Soft hues of purple, light touches of violet-red at the ends, to define her face. Nothing more, nothing less. Mariko hadn't agreed to the gold and silver, so the older girl didn't push anything upon her.

"Thank you," Mariko told her relative. The older girl nodded, patted Mariko's shoulder lightly, and rose from her seat. It was done.

Approximately an hour later, after Mariko watched visitor after visitor march proudly through the castle gates, the autumn gala would commence. She never had a list of guests, so she had to guess by appearance the origins of each person.

A man with slicked back hair and the strangest mustache, a nobleman of the Hozuki clan, judging by his clan crest, with his men.

A red-haired troupe unmistakably from Uzushiogakure, the Uzumaki clan.

A rather plain-looking entourage of men guarding a carriage, which rolled into view. Despite the grandness of it all, they lacked a banner of even a declaration of origin on the carriage. Mariko's only comment would've been a question to the logic of wearing one long, curtain of a sleeve, while the other arm was bare.

A few nearby island nobles she recognized, among a spattering of Hurricane lords and ladies.

Another carriage, this one emblazoned with the familiar crest of the Yuki clan, an old offshoot of the Aokami that shared their ice Kekkei Genkai. The dark-haired heads, long since overtaking the blue of the Aokami, peeked out from the carriage windows. A child's hand stretched out, and Mariko smiled; the clan leader had recently announced the first birthday of his first son.

One of the men from the Hozuki's group jogged back out to greet them. Presumably, they were all from Kirigakure. This man had blue hair as well, but it was not the same as Mariko's. The dullish, gray-navy hair color was dimmed even further in the presence of the Aokami's luxurious blue. Even King Hiroto, growing well into older age, had hair far more vibrant that that of Kirigakure citizens. It was almost as if the ocean near Hurricane was brighter than that of the Mist's.

Mariko eventually grew bored of watching guest after guest file into the palace. No one of particular interesting caught her eye, even though she was inwardly straining to find out who in the world her husband might be.

Perhaps he wasn't even here.

After mulling for a good half an hour, Sumiko knocked on the door.

"You ready, sis?" she asked. Mariko glanced over to see her vibrant older sister, gold hoops dangling from her ears, hair falling back in a natural, windswept style. Her lips were carefully filled in with a deep red, and her eyes were accented by gold and purple, as was her usual. The creamy beauty of the white paint only allowed her eyes to shine out more, lashes lush and long.

"Can't wait," deadpanned Mariko darkly.

"Won't be that bad," Sumiko assured her. Mariko bit back a retort when Sumiko added, "And don't worry, little sis, I found out that your future husband is not here."

Mariko wasn't sure whether she was relieved or distressed by that news. On one side, she was breathing a sigh of relief — all the tension stringing her shoulders and neck tightly were released — and at the same time, the other side of her was frustrated, and furiously so. When would she meet her husband?

Probably never.

Though really, she thought to herself, I have no intention whatsoever of getting married.

A plan was to be carried out beforehand, she deemed. Maybe not as bold as Sumiko, but clever nonetheless.

"You coming?" Sumiko exited, with a backwards glance at her little sister.

Mariko followed, a little more than anxious now to get it over with. She wanted to mull over her nonexistent plan some more, but the autumn gala took precedence. On their way down, Katsurou dropped in line with them silently as a fox, eyes rimmed with ochre-red dust. Ryouichi was at the door to the grand hall, greeting guest after guest with as much summoned gusto as humanly possible.

"Welcome, dearest siblings," he drawled in a moment of rare sarcasm and lightheartedness.

"Ah, yes, greetings to you too," quipped Sumiko lightly. She swept herself into an utterly graceful curtsy. Her dress, a flowing, layered piece of art emblazoned with the Hot Springs symbol on the corner of a flowing edge of hem, twirled about her. Mariko envied her sister; she no longer was bound to the tight, constricting garment that was the only part of Hurricane culture that she didn't quite love. It was a dress as well, but collared and tight, with jewels lining all the silk frills. The bodice was stiff and unforgiving, the skirt a flowing panel of silk that overlapped itself twice, and then ran elegantly to the floor. The outfit itself was befitting that of a queen, but Mariko felt everything but queenly.

"You're the last guests," Ryouichi had been saying prior to Mariko's uncomfortable fidgeting.

"We're not guests," deadpanned Katsurou. Everyone shot him an exasperated glance.

Upon entrance in the room, several of the guests dipped their heads, and among them, to Mariko's horror, were some of last week's suitors. Had Sumiko been wrong? What if her husband was there?!

"Ah, Mr. Hozuki, my four lovely princes and princesses have arrived. Let me introduce each of them to you," the king proudly declared, his voice low and resounding within the great hall. "I'm sure you already know Prince Ryouichi."

"Of course," said the man with the funny mustache. His hair looked overly gelled, bobbed up and back in a strange fashion, accompanied by a ridiculously high collar. A dark triangle of a beard just made his face all the funkier, and Mariko didn't quite like it. The triangle reminded her far too much of their own traditions; the women's triangle of death.

"M'dear," he drawled, cold, blue eyes darting across the room to find each of them. At first, Mariko was afraid that the phrase was directed at her, but the Hozuki politely dipped his head at Sumiko and took her hand. He quickly lifted it to his lips, in a gesture of courtesy, before shaking hands with Katsurou. Despite this, the stiffening in Sumiko's spine was evident. Physical contact with a stranger was rather rare in Hurricane, and though she was easily adapting to that of the mainland and various other islands, the foreign culture still unnerved Sumiko. Mariko could share her sentiments.

"A fine young man," the Kirigakure man said triumphantly, patting Katsurou on the shoulder. It was quite the sight, to see a man of similar stature to the tall, towering Katsurou.

Finally, he turned to Mariko, who tried not to flinch.

"Ah, Second Princess, a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Sir Hozuki."

And she curtsied, as she had learned all her life to do, flawlessly. He dipped his head politely, his bob of sand-colored hair glinting in the light. It was then that Mariko took notice of his outfit, which consisted of pinstriped everything, common in Kirigakure. That alone was enough to loosen her up, for an overload of Mist style was quite amusing, and this man seemed not to know when to let up on the stripes. Sumiko would have a fit trying to fix such a mismatching combination. His attire was ludicrous, but his hair, both on his head and the facial portions of it, were far too much to endure without a slight smirk. Even Katsurou snorted something amusing to Ryouichi, who was trained to keep a nonchalant little smile on.

"Mr. Hozuki, if you'd refrain from smothering that poor girl with your evidently terrible Kirigakure style, I have a few lords and ladies who would like to make your acquaintance today."

The voice that called sharply over the din of the grand hall was clear and commanding. Not harsh, but not meek, either. It was a familiar voice, one that belonged to a man the four siblings used to call "Uncle Swirl" when they were still children.

The head of the Uzumaki clan, an aged man with gray hair like a sheet of silver silk, a square beard to match his square hair, and the remnants of years of smiling crinkled in the creases alongside his eyes.

"Uncle Swirl," Mariko blurted, before, shutting her mouth abruptly upon the sharp glance her father threw her. Within the span of seconds, the old Uzumaki had grandly stepped up beside her.

"I'm glad you still call me that, child," he said, eyes creasing into his warm smile. "But," he continued, "on a separate matter. Mr. Hozuki."

"Uzumaki-sama," greeted the Kiri nobleman, dipping his head far lower than he had for any of the princes or princesses. "The Mizukage gives his best regards."

"Tell him I am well, and how is his brother?"

"I shall. In any case, Uzumaki-sama, I—"

"You have nothing, for you are to meet my nieces and my nephews, and perhaps even my granddaughter, for she has taken the time to visit her dear old grandfather and accompany him to a lovely autumn gala."

Katsurou was visibly holding back a smirk, for Uncle Swirl always had the most eloquent ways of shutting someone up. It was clear that the Uzumaki held the Hozuki in low regard, and from the slight confusion and frustration of the Kiri man, he had succeeded in his manipulating ways. Uncle Swirl was old now, very old, but he presented the face of a man thirty years his junior. It seemed that all Uzumaki were this way, with their unimaginable life forces and auras of eternal youth. Uncle Swirl's wife was renowned as "the Clan leader's never-wilting poppy" or the "everlasting ruby", because even at such an elderly stage, she retained the beautiful cherry-cerise hair of the Uzumaki.

"I look forward to meeting each and everyone," the Hozuki said, though through slightly gritted teeth. He held his pride in those teeth, tensely, for he knew that all eyes were on him now, waiting for him to decline the prestigious clan leader's offer.

"I wait for the day that man snaps and tries to eliminate us all," Ryouichi commented flatly.

"Ryo!" exclaimed Sumiko. Despite her incredulous expression, the glint of amusement twinkled in her eyes, shining green beside her elegant face paint.

"Maybe it's just because our makeup freaks him out," suggested Katsurou. He earned glares from all three of his siblings, because he knew better than to call the pastels and powders "makeup". Makeup was for prettying oneself, and, as Ryouichi would remind him, the men of this country had no need or want for prettifying their faces with yellow-auburn dust ground from herbs and flowers and the bark of the cherry wood trees.

"Yes, Katsurou, it was all you," retorted Mariko just as dryly.

"Hey, I'm a fine man, and what are you, Second Princess?" A smile, and Mariko slapped his shoulder goodheartedly.

"If I am to remember all your names, you must sit beside me at dinner," Hozuki was saying now. It was all an act, Mariko thought vaguely. The man thought he was playing people skillfully, but lacked the intuition to sense that the Uzumaki saw right through him. Especially Uncle Swirl's granddaughter.

If he thought, in any way, that he was charming her, then he was completely and utterly wrong.

"My lady, tell me your name and what your ruling in Uzushiogakure might be," sang the Kiri man gracefully, spinning smooth words together like a jutsu.

"I am not a lady of the land, Mr. Hozuki," the woman replied just as effortlessly. "I am the granddaughter of the Uzumaki clan head."

The flash of surprise and wonder that crossed the Hozuki's eyes was rather amusing. He straightened his spine like a board, growing far too stiff for casual conversation. Sumiko snorted a joke into Mariko's ear as they escorted guests to the grand dining room.

"Ah, Princess, you must tell me your name, then," the Hozuki purred. It was such a suave, baritone voice that Sumiko actually laughed out loud at his attempts to flirt.

"Perhaps," replied the woman teasingly. And then, Mariko saw the glance that passed between the red-haired beauty and her own sister. A mocking roll of the eyes.

"Sit by me, fair Princess." The nobleman led the Uzumaki royalty through the doorway and to a seat.

"Mr. Hozuki," Sumiko suddenly broke in, swinging the enormous double doors closed. "Do you know, that in Hurricane, a woman with a red bar on the bridge of her nose is engaged?"

"Ah." Rather befuddled by the randomness of the topic, the Hozuki nodded slightly, nonexistent brows furrowed. The hairless ridges above his eyes pressed together meaningfully. "I did not, but I notice your younger sister bears such a symbol."

"Yes, she does," Sumiko answered. "And did you know, a blue bar means that one is married? In fact, the shade of blue signifies the length of time married."

"That's quite interesting." The sound of his voice spoke volumes in the opposite direction.

"Yes, it is," she airily chirped. "A light blue bar means a woman is newly married, while a nice baby blue might mean she has been married for some time. A dark blue, navy bar would suit Uzumaki-sama's wife, wouldn't you think?"

"Ah, First Princess, I for one, would not know," responded the Hozuki, becoming impatient, "for I am accustomed only to Kirigakure traditions."

"A shame," Sumiko put bluntly. "The cultures of other nations is always enjoyable and interesting. Well, back to the bars, first. What color do you suppose Mito beside you would be bearing tonight? Should she have donned Hurricane's pastels, of course."

The Hozuki nobleman stared at the elegant blunette for a few, stunned moments. When the implications of her words began to sink in, his eyes darted suddenly to the beautiful Uzumaki sitting just to his left, rather calm about the entire thing.

"I haven't a clue," he said, voice becoming a mutter of disbelief. (As in, had he just humiliated himself by flirting with a married woman?)

"I think a pretty sky blue would do, don't you think, Sumiko?"

Mariko thought that the woman's voice was pretty, like a songbird whose song could be translated into her speaking. It matched her features perfectly, from the fine line of her mouth and full lips, to the sparkling evergreen eyes, and the sheen of garnet tresses that were wrapped elegantly around her head, fit into two wrapped buns on either side. The delicate but firm slope of her shoulders, porcelain skin, and flawless hands made her seem doll-like, but the down to earth tone and friendly expression made her so human that Mariko felt that if she was one day crying, for an unknown reason, this woman would be able to comfort her without asking a single question.

"I think so too, Mito," agreed Sumiko, purposefully loudly. Sumiko, despite her spats and temper, and her constant disagreements with their father's arrangements, had always been favored by King Hiroto. Rather than a disapproving scowl, he was rather amused by the ongoing conversation.

The Hozuki glanced at his hands, blinked rapidly, and then raised his gaze back to Mito. "The man who married you," he said slowly, "is the luckiest man on Uzushiogakure, I'd say."

This brought a look of unexpectedly bright amusement to Mito's eyes, and she laughed lightly, an airy sort of expression, with a breathless quality to it. Her left hand briefly rose to touch the red diamond imprinted on her forehead; Mariko hadn't noticed it before, because her hair had obscured it in its current, complicated updo.

"You have yet another mistaken fact, Mr. Hozuki," she told him rather brightly.

"Have you kept up on the latest mainland news? As neighbors, we hear of things quickly," piped up Sumiko rather happily. Oh, she enjoyed picking on this stingy, condescending Kiri nin like it was her favorite pastime.

"I…have not, regrettably." He was flustered now, and seriously debating whether or not to tell his Lord Mizukage not to attend the winter gala, because this autumn one was causing him excruciating humiliation.

"I have married into Konoha," Mito said.

"Ah, Konoha, a land of many prestigious clans," the Hozuki rebounded, hoping to recover from any slip-ups prior to now. "Which clan, may I ask, have you married into? Is it the Nara? The Yamanaka? The Hyuuga, even?"

"No, but I've made acquaintances of all of those."

"Do tell, is it…the Akimichi? The Inuzuka? Or…could it be, the prestigious Uchi—"

"The Senju."

And it was a known fact that Hozuki held a mild, disgruntled dislike for the Senju, so the oddly pleased little smile on Mito's face spoke for the total of her thoughts. And for once, the Hozuki nobleman was completely rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing like a misplaced fish out of water.

From there, Mito so skillfully redirected the conversation, it nearly seemed as if nothing had happened — well, besides the pride that was literally stripped from the Hozuki's face.

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma,

It's late October, just a week after the gala. Dad's big roan and Katsurou's stallion were fighting again. It seems that the fence isn't enough to serve as territorial boundaries. They've always been like that, haven't they? And then there's Maki, the old pony. He's like the grumpy old man that chases everyone off his lawn. Katrina's moody too, but she gets tired of the boys' arguments quickly, and goes off to find something more amusing. Do you remember the day we first saw Katrina? I still do, of course. I sometimes wonder, Momma, why you bought her for me. What did you really see?

.x.X.x.

A nine-year-old girl, bright blue hair wrapped in a headscarf of multiple colors, peeking through the railings of a corral. Too short to see over the fence, and too small to be taken seriously, the little girl eyed the wild filly with awe from the sidelines.

"Watch it, little girl," spat the horse dealer, his words accompanied by a horrid spray. When Katsurou was her age, he always chanted: Say it, don't spray it. Especially when Ryouichi's childish lisp got the best of him. He grew out of it, of course.

But Mariko wasn't a little girl, not quite. She was just built with a naturally small frame, and a round, little girl's face.

"Mari, don't get lost!" her thirteen-year-old sister had called, drawing her protectively to her side. Next to Sumiko, Mariko always paled in comparison. And at that moment, she looked like a six-year-old being tugged along behind her older sister, who actually looked her age.

"Sumi, that horse."

"We're here to get Katsurou a horse, you already have a pony."

"No, look. That one."

Sumiko's head raised to the place where her little sister pointed, but shook her head vehemently. "That's a river horse," she explained. "It's wild, don't you know? No one can fully tame a river horse."

River horses, dappled gray and stunning with their silvery-black manes and tails, the prized equine jewels of Hurricane. To see one was glorious, to touch one even better; to have one in a corral was rare, but also debated upon among the islanders. Many said they ought to remain free, while others desperately tried to break them in.

"Momma!" Mariko had called them, ignoring Sumiko's mini-lecture. The beautiful Queen Manami, a woman with soft, chocolate-brown hair, and a delicate face with finely chiseled features.

"What is it, Mariko? Have you seen the big black one that Katsurou is riding?"

"Momma, can I have that horse?"

Upon seeing the river horse, the queen quickly shook her head.

"There are many things you can have, Mariko, but that is not one of them." Soft, hazel eyes met bright green ones. "You have your pony, Maki, remember? Wouldn't he be lonely if you suddenly left him for a river mare that can never be tamed?"

"Maki has the groom master's daughter, now." It was a point to be taken, but that wasn't Mariko's main concern. The loose-lipped, pudgy horse dealer was the problem here. She'd seen him whipping his poor animals half to death, sparing nothing on the beauty of the dapple-gray mare. Even if she could not be tamed, Mariko still wanted to help the poor animal. Even now, as the whip snapped threateningly, the mare danced warily around the paddock. "The mare is in trouble," Mariko reasoned. "We'll set her free again."

"Mariko, we live in the middle of Esmeralda, that's not possible."

But the contradiction to those words lay in Manami's eyes, for the queen's gaze had lingered for a second longer on the animal dealer and his vicious crop he wielded.

"Mother! Mother, we're ready for the sale!"

Katsurou clopped by on a grand stallion, a massive black creature with hooves the size of dinner plates, and a face longer than his own torso. The proud Second Prince trotted a showy circle around his siblings, in a fine display of horsemanship as the stallion tucked his chin to his chest and stepped out grandly, trotting a lovely piaffe in place.

"Lady Queen," the meek horse master, owner of the black stallion, said quietly. He dipped into a formal bow, before letting his hand fall onto the neck of the charcoal horse, which nuzzled him rather fondly.

"A minute, good man," said Manami. She rose to her feet, queenly in every single fiber of her being, and strode up to the nasty horse dealer in the ring, flinging his whip carelessly. She called out to him firmly. He turned, eyes widening, and lowered himself on one knee. The dappled mare heaved giant breaths in the corner, ribcage swelling with her pants, knees quivering as she pawed the earth.

"How may I help you, Lady Queen?"

"You will sell me that horse." Now, the queen's eyes were upon the bloody cuts lining the mare's legs with disdain. "And all the horses in your barn."

Wide eyes swept up to meet the queen's, but the man blubbered his way to a coherent sentence. "Your…my Lady Queen, certainly that's—"

"Name your price, horse dealer. And don't mess up your figures."

He named it, and she paid. She turned to the small old man holding the reins of the black stallion, and offered to him a fine duo of chestnut colts, from the entire barn she'd just purchased, in return for the black stallion.

"Mother?"

The three siblings stared curiously at her, three pair of green resting on her plain brownness. The queen turned her tired face to them. They knew she couldn't stand the pain of animals, originally the daughter of a duke who treasured his horses.

"Remember, you three," she said wearily, "that the life of a thinking, breathing animal is as precious as your own."

They said nothing as a staff of stable boys began the tedious work of transporting fifty horses to Emerald Palace's grand stables.

The filly scared the living daylights out of every single horse hand at the royal barn. The master of horsemanship shook his head and murmured a low comment to the queen, who sighed.

"Let her go, Lady Queen," suggested the old horseman.

"We'll take her to the outskirts of the village to the far north, then," agreed Manami. "She'll be closer to the river that way."

Mariko sat on the fence, propped up because she was too short to see on the outside. Eventually, the mare shuffled over to her, a lanky creature with her hipbones gaunt and jutting out from beneath her taught skin. Despite the thin skin wrapped around her visible ribs and lean neck, the dappled horse trotted with a floating elegance, the stride of a beautiful animal.

Then, like a hurricane, she spun in a crazed circle, lifting her forelegs and whinnying fiercely. Her black mane tossed as she came back to earth, snaking her head forward and lashing her hind legs out. She came so close to Mariko that her sharp hooves nearly clipped the girl's knees.

"Mari, get down from there," the queen called.

"No, look, Momma."

The filly was quiet now, and extended her nose. She was tired.

"She's friendly," Mariko insisted. Sometimes Queen Manami wondered if her nine-year-old daughter was still a baby at heart, a teeny toddler that cherished the lovely little things in life with a bubbly smile and a gurgling laugh.

The little blunette hopped down from the fence line, and as she walked calmly up and down the paddock, the dappled filly hesitantly followed. When Mariko stopped, the horse stopped. When Mariko walked, the horse walked. When Mariko ran, the horse trotted after her, ears pricked, eyes shining with curiosity. Finally, as Mariko turned to face the horse, the filly wheeled away with a snort and a kick.

"Mariko, step out of the paddock," Manami ordered, more forcefully this time. However, before any of the stable guards could step in and carry her away, the gray mare had cantered a slow circle around Mariko, and then stopped with her nose to Mariko's shoulder. She snuffled lightly, tickling the little girl with her oats and hay breath.

"Second Princess, shall I let you name this filly?" called the old horse master. Mariko beamed at him. "She hasn't touched anyone besides you, you know," he added. "Perhaps she befriended you the moment you saw her?"

His insight was impressive, for the filly had seen Mariko at the market earlier. Through the splintering slats of wood that made her dingy corral, the filly's soft nose had bumped against Mariko's hand, inhaling her scent. Intelligent eyes peered at the blunette curiously, as if the horse knew that the girl meant to harm, and was trying to befriend her. But before Mariko had been able to extend her fingers further, her mother had called, and the horse dealer brutally slashed his whip across the mare's hindquarters.

She named her Katrina.

The best horseman in all of Hurricane could not stay on Katrina's back for more than thirty seconds. Correction: the best horsewoman in all of Hurricane could not stay on that horse's back.

Sumiko, at hardly fourteen, surpassed all the riders around her, becoming a renowned girl champion. She and her lovely palomino gelding jumped high and clear, a delight for all to see. At one point, it was said that the leader of the Senju clan had praised her equestrian skills.

"That horse is nuts," Katsurou decided, folding his arms. His own black stallion had turned into a magnificent hunter, carrying him out of the city and to the east fields with practiced ease.

"Not as nuts as you, Katsurou," Ryouichi commented plainly. "You know, maybe if you actually attempted a thought process before your actions and words, you might actually make a good decision."

Eighteen years old and at the height of his smart mouthed wit, Ryouichi easily quipped Katsurou's blunt comments with quick witticisms.

"At least I don't still put my feet in the stirrups backwards," Katsurou shot back. Ryouichi sent him a mild glare; he was never a hot-tempered one, but he grew uncomfortable when someone addressed his lack of riding excellence. True, he wasn't as great a rider as his siblings, but he was adept enough to be considered competent. He liked to remind Katsurou that he'd once won the island steeplechase, with the trusty old brown steed that had belonged to King Hiroto.

"That's a complete lie, Katsurou," Ryouichi defended. "Besides that, I always have everything on correctly. It's you who puts on the girth backwards."

"The girth is the same on both sides!" Katsurou threw his hands up. To him, the belt that went around a horse's belly was the same, whether or not it was leather or rope or even what side you decided to attach it to first.

"Nuh-uh," disagreed Mariko. "You do put the ones with only one stretchy side on the wrong way. Do you know how many times I had to fix Lord Middon's horse for him?"

"That man doesn't know anything about horses," complained Katsurou. Then, "And I put those on the right way!"

"Only sometimes," Mariko reminded him quietly. "Because you're not paying attention."

Another collective wince as a distinctive thumped marked yet another fall. Sumiko was tough, and she liked the risk of riding a difficult horse. Again and again, she wrestled with the stubborn mare, holding hard to the saddle while trying each time to find what worked for the animal.

"I'm always paying attention," muttered Katsurou.

"Then why is the non-stretchy side always on the left? It's supposed to be on the right."

"Oh stop it, Mari." Katsurou rolled his eyes, lacking the will to listen to Mariko's technical babble. Sixteen and sassy, Katsurou was the definition of a teenage boy who roamed as freely as he could, stretching the ends of his withering tethers.

"Mariko," called Sumiko, picking herself up from the dust a fifth time. "You want to try riding this beast of a river horse?"

"I'm not allowed to."

"Sure you are."

"I'm afraid."

"No you're not," snorted Sumiko. "You're bold enough to argue with the Second Prince, so I'm sure you can ride this horse."

"That's different."

And it was, because when it came to her siblings, Mariko was open about everything. With her father, she became a shell, inhabited by a hollow soul that followed orders without question. With horses, she was often uncomfortable when the animal beneath her didn't have the same habits and quirks as the docile ponies she'd been used to all her life.

One time, she'd tried riding the shiny chestnut gelding that Katsurou had ridden all his life until his black stallion, but the horse differed so much from her own pony, Mariko had declined even the smallest jump. The chestnut had a long, elastic neck that flexed beneath the contact of the reins, and a long body that bent around her leg at will. These were the qualities of a well-trained, well-bred horse, but Mariko had ridden short-necked, wide-bellied ponies for ten years, almost, and was not ready for the creature that snaked under her almost unpredictably.

"What do you mean 'He's moving on his own?' Those ponies you ride move on their own, they hardly listen to you!" exclaimed Sumiko when Mariko expressed her thoughts. "Katsurou's boy here is so sensitive to your leg, can't you see that he's obeying your every direction? He canters on the slightest touch of a calf, and come back to a trot when you just barely stiffen your back."

"That doesn't mean I like it," Mariko grumbled, folding her arms in a manner similar to Katsurou. Exasperated, Sumiko had stalked off, leading the chestnut behind her. Mariko had pulled off her riding boots angrily, angry because Sumiko, who was a brilliant rider, didn't understand her fears. The First Princess was fearless.

Mariko didn't stay to watch Katsurou jump the gleaming red chestnut.

"Well?"

"I told you, I don't think I can do it," Mariko repeated. Sumiko gave her a once-over dubiously; Mariko was dressed in riding attire, looking fully ready to mount her new dappled mare. "What?"

"You clearly want to ride your new horse," Sumiko said quietly.

"No, maybe I want to ride Maki," Mariko said, making a lame excuse about her old pony, who was now being ridden by some other little girl. "And who said this was my horse? All I did was name her…"

But Mariko should've known better. On an island that treasured their jewels and gems and land and horses, naming a horse meant claiming it, and Katrina was, by title and heart, Mariko's.

"That makes her yours, silly." Sumiko rolled her eyes and handed the reins to her little sister, relinquishing the horse and strutting proudly out of the arena. She left a ten-year-old girl with a wild, most likely unbroken horse in the ring. Alone.

"What are you doing?" asked Ryouichi urgently, making a move for the gate. Sumiko shushed her older brother forcefully, and the poor prince shut up. If the mistress of horses deemed that Mariko was capable of seeing to this horse, then that was it.

In the ring, Mariko petted her mare's muzzle fondly. Katrina, whose ears pricked upon hearing Mariko's voice, nickered a low, guttural sound from her throat. Finding the mounting block, because there was no way on this island or the mainland she was getting on from the ground, Mariko looped the reins over Katrina's head and led her forward. A cautious foot in the stirrup, and then her right leg swung over the mare's back with quite some effort – even the mounting block was too low, so she had to jump a ways.

Upon mounting, Mariko found that her forgetfulness would eventually become the end of her. She hadn't adjusted the stirrup leathers, and they were far too long for her. Sumiko had long, slim legs, while Mariko was small and…short.

The little blunette was afraid she'd startle the mare, so she just froze in place like that, hands clasped loosely around the reins and resting on a forest of black mane, legs dangling free. She sat up slowly. When the mare didn't move, only pointed an ear back towards her, Mariko let out a shuddering breath. If the mare bucked now, she'd fly into the wall.

"Easy," she muttered, reaching down to grab a stirrup leather. The mare blew air through her nostrils, scaring the living daylights out of Mariko. Once she'd collected her wit again, Mariko continued to pull the stirrups and readjust the buckles so that they were the correct length – well, as close as she would get them. Her toes slipped into the irons and she felt a more solid weight in her heels, seating her more firmly in the saddle. Now, perhaps, she wouldn't fly off as easily.

"Are you sure she'll be okay?" said Ryouichi again. He was always concerned for his youngest sister, because she was small and fragile and young.

"I don't really know."

The two princes spun on their sister then, eyes wide. Sumiko was expressionless, eyes locked on the odd pair of horse and girl in the ring.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" hissed Ryouichi. He was livid, and Ryouichi was not the type to become enraged. Katsurou closed his mouth, pressed his lips together, and told himself not to say a word, or endanger them all. He was smart enough to recognize that if he interrupted now, Ryouichi may begin to yell with Sumiko, and they would startle the horse, and Mariko would fly into the wall.

But the mare was quiet, still, ears continually checking on Mariko.

"Just wait," Sumiko snapped in a low voice.

At this, the unusually agitated Ryouichi could only seethe in place.

"I'm going to pick up the reins now," Mariko said, as if telling the horse what she was about to do would keep her calm. Another ear pointed towards her, then a soft whicker. Mariko collected the leather straps in her hands, feeling a tension when the line went taught. She let out a breath, and was about the relax, when the mare burst forward into a lively trot. Mariko couldn't help but let out a high-pitched yelp.

This sent Ryouichi leaping at the arena gate, but Sumiko shoved him aside. She was rather strong for a fourteen-year-old. Katsurou kept his mouth shut.

The dapple-gray mare, after about a month and a half of good feeding and care, had filled out her skeleton and was now a magnificently muscled being. She trotted with an even, smooth step, haunches pushing forward. The slope of her shoulder made for a long, smooth stride, and her neck arched beautifully.

Scared half to death, Mariko rode as calmly as she could, posting to the horse's quiet step. The reins were rather loose, for she feared upsetting the mare with a tight grip.

"Thirty seconds," slipped through Katsurou's lips, because he couldn't help but make a jab at his sister. Sumiko glared.

Mariko dared to sit deeper in the saddle, and the mare perfectly transitioned in a grand canter, her stride eating up the distance. She loped around the corner, ears flicking back and forth. It was as if she had been trained before, despite being a river horse caught on the run.

"One minute."

"Oh shut up," hissed Sumiko, watching her younger sister somehow cling to the mare, partially amazed, and partially terrified.

Then, a door slammed.

Alarmed, Katrina's head whipped up and her ears flattened, and she gave one mighty buck that unseated Mariko with ease. Katsurou must've yelled something, but no one heard it, because everyone was scrambling into the ring.

"Loose horse!" came the shout, as Katrina pounded through the open gates and into the courtyard of the barn. Katsurou, who ran faster than the rest of them, reached Mariko first and scooped her into his arms.

"Don't touch her!" exclaimed Sumiko. "Check her neck, first!"

Mariko repeated "I'm okay, I'm okay" at least a hundred times, but Sumiko was thorough. She ignored the shouts of alarm from the barn and checked her baby sister from head to toe, and once she was satisfied that the only harm done was a bruised bum an a lot of sand in her pants, dust on her face, Sumiko stood.

"This is what happens when you force me to do things," Mariko said. Her voice was without menace, and there was even a small smile on her face.

"But it was worth it, right?" Even though the danger was great, and Sumiko knew that it could've been a lot worse, she was relieved. And she was glad that the little smile on Mariko's face was a new type of emotion, yet to be seen more in the little girl's eyes.

To take risks was a part of life she would learn with time.

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma,

I've got this terrible ache in my shoulder. I think it's because I fell off Katrina again, yesterday, but it's a bit different. I've fallen of Katrina tons of times, even though I stay on longer than anyone else — did you know that we're jumping the country stone walls with Katsurou now? — but this type of ache is sort of different. I can't really describe it. It's on the edge of my left shoulder, a little bit onto my back, which makes no sense, because I fell off and landed on my right side today. But it hurts every now and then, when I'm sitting and thinking and just plain tired. Well, besides that, I had to embroider today. Seriously, Momma, of all things, they made me do that again? It's funny when I think about it.

.x.X.x.

She had been four, a teeny thing, a bob of blue hair that toddled around the palace with the happiest smile on her face. Mariko had a tendency to look a year or two younger than she really was, because she bumbled around like she had no idea what she was doing.

And she didn't, really.

Her favorite things included riding lessons, piano lessons, and playing games with her siblings. After the strenuous task of learning one line of a children's piece, Mariko mounted her rotund little pony, Maki, who dutifully stopped in all the most inconvenient places and refused to budge, even with her little heels digging into his sides. And, after all that work, Mariko still had enough energy to want to play hide-and-seek with her brothers and sister.

"What's our range today?" Katsurou said, dressed up today like an Hurricane soldier, complete with the black collar and all. Yesterday, he had dressed up as an Uzumaki, going as far as to throw a red, peppery powder into his hair. Everyone just sneezed, and it did nothing to cover his blue hair. He wanted to paint it with their mother's face pastels, but obviously, he had been declined. "I'm sort of tired of staying within the living rooms, you know?" he added. His adventurousness was a trait that carried on all his life, and at ten, he got bored quite easily without a change of setting. "Can we go outside?"

"Not unless nii-san says so," Sumiko answered, fiddling with the hem of her dress. It was itchy.

"You can't play in that," scoffed Katsurou, wrinkling his nose. Sumiko glared, the most ferocious glare a little girl could conjure.

"I'll change, and then we'll go find nii-san," she said. Katsurou folded his arms triumphantly.

And so, the trio of blue-haired children scampered down the halls to the palace library, where they had most of their lessons. There, they found their eldest brother bent over an enormous, dusty textbook, squinting. Ryouichi had just gotten his glasses, but he often forgot them in his room.

"Hey Ryo, you done?" Katsurou leaned on the desk casually, skinny arms grabbing for the book. Ryouichi snatched the text away out of habit, because the hands of younger siblings were always reaching for this belongings.

"Yeah, let me finish this last page."

"Why are you reading that?" snorted Katsurou, blowing at a flop of hair that fell across his face.

"Why don't you?" Ryouichi replied smoothly.

The trio waited for their eldest brother to finish his reading, which he did quickly. He clapped the volume closed briskly and asked: "What are we doing?"

"Hide-and-seek," Katsurou said. He held up a hand, to keep Ryouichi from interrupting. "But, we're going outside this time."

Ryouichi stared at him, and Katsurou turned to their sisters jubilantly. "See?" he said rather jovially, "he can't even tell us that we can't go outside!"

"No, no I can't," agreed Ryouichi. "But we have to be careful, still."

"You're twelve, man, lighten up!" Katsurou exclaimed, patting the First Prince on the back. They all scrambled for the library doors, and upon an early decision by Katsurou, it was deemed that Ryouichi would have to be the seeker. The oldest boy groaned inwardly as his siblings split in all directions. Nevertheless, he turned to face the wall and counted to a hundred.

The waterfall behind the palace was like a secret treasure chest, and naturally, all three ended up there. Despite their separate routes, they all converged at the same point, and alarmed one another by bursting into the clearing beside the little river at the same time.

"What're you doing here?!" yelled Sumiko. Not waiting for an answer, she dodged into the leafy greens of the forest to the north, and hid herself. Katsurou threw his youngest sister a look that clearly told her not to follow, leaving Mariko alone beside the little pool that trickled off from the waterfall. The rushing waters fell into a deep pool, and formed a decently sized pond, before rushing off behind a mass of boulders to another cascading river.

It was a hot day, air buzzing with heat, and Mariko enjoyed the cool mist that sprayed off from the falls. She wore a little girl's leggings and wide-strapped dress, but despite this, she wasn't afraid to crawl about and dip her legs in some dirt. She had nowhere to hide, now, because Sumiko had taken to the cover of the trees, and Katsurou had stolen their old campout beside the boulders. She couldn't follow either of them.

A distant rustle and snap of underbrush indicated Ryouichi's arrival. Mariko eyed the falls, scrambling to the left, near where Katsurou had gone. Then, abruptly, she broke off alongside the pond, scrabbling over a few sharp boulders. There was a little bit of sloping rock wall, there, and then a length that extended behind the waterfall. She knew this because her mother had shown her one day, perched upon the high ledges and singing a lullaby.

"I know all of you are here," came the voice from a distance. Mariko leapt as high as she could, which wasn't very far. Her older siblings were rather careless, letting a four-year-old climb a rock wall by herself. She managed to pull herself up onto a higher layer, a slope that ran the length of rock until she reached the rushing waters.

Ryouichi burst into the clearing. His feet tread upon flattened grass, plants smushed by the shoes of the three before him.

Alarmed, Mariko dove for a ledge, her little body wiggling along the rocks. She was trying to make for the little cove behind the waterfall, a natural stone door that eventually led to a miniature cave. She could hide there and remain hidden for a day.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't make it. She wasn't even as tall as the gap in front of her was long, and the only thing below the gap was another ledge one might fall upon, and then a multitude of jagged boulders, lapped by water.

"Mariko!" yelled Ryouichi, eyes widening in horror. He nearly lost his glasses, which he desperately wanted to throw aside—they were too big, and the water was splashing onto them—but without them, he would only be able to spot a vaguely blue spot on the rock. He had no time to even think; he was too late already. He watched, through blotched, rainy lenses, as his baby sister tumbled from the rock ledge and hit the next one. And then, her fingers scrambling for a purchase on the slippery, wet rock, she tumbled again. There was a sharp cry as the corner of her back hit the craggy end of a rock.

Ryouichi was over the rocks and splashing through the small pools like lightning. He crawled over a series of pointy boulders, and maneuvered his way to her.

Curled up in a heap, left shoulder soaked in red, Mariko shivered and whimpered. At this point, she didn't know what happened. She heard the voices of her siblings, and then the voices of her mother and aunt, and then after that, she forgot.

Mariko awoke to a soft humming, the smell of freshly baked cookies, and a horrendous sting in her shoulder. She was lying on the wound, a terrible gash into the corner of her left shoulder blade. It wasn't a long wound, but it was rather deep. It felt like it struck straight through her back and to the front, under her collarbone. She was thin and small, so the rock had pierced her hard. Luckily, nothing was broken and nothing was severely damaged. It was almost miraculous, the poor girl.

"Promise me you'll never be so careless again, my dear," her Aunt Tari said quietly. She clucked around her niece busily. "Your mother was worried sick, you know."

"Where is Momma?"

"She just stepped outside to talk to your brothers, hon."

Mariko stared at the ceiling. She didn't want at the waterfall anymore, and the sound of water hitting rock outside her window was almost painful for a time. After a few more days into the summer, approaching July, all she wanted for her birthday was for the wretched sting and ache of every movement to go away. Her childish excitement was sobered for the span of a month.

They never played hide-and-seek after that.

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma,

Winter this year seems to be hitting late. It hasn't snowed, really, except for the most pitiful slush I've ever seen a couple days ago. And can you believe it? They still haven't told me my destination yet. How can I avoid it if I don't know what it is? What is this is Sumi and Katsurou's doing? What if they want me to be the good child and get married obediently this time? I only know that Ryo is on my side, because I've seen him try. He tries so hard in everything. I really wonder how he does it. Yesterday, he almost dropped Aunt Tari's pressed flower collection, you know, the one with the hibiscus flowers in it? My favorites are the ones that have lots of colorful rings. There's one with deep pink in the middle, then a light ring of pale red and white, then deep red, and then orange at the ends. The simple ones are pretty, too, like the pink one that fades to white. There's only a few blue ones, but those are darker, like turquoise or lavender, sort of. Besides that, tonight, we have the winter gala. I think I might pretend to be sick. Would you be disappointed in me, then, Momma? Though, I don't think Mr. Hozuki is coming back, which is pretty funny. Maybe this time my husband will be with the lot, though I'm not sure if I want that, still. Any ideas to my epic escape? Well, any of your ideas would just be my own imagination, wouldn't they?

.x.X.x.

There was a letter, addressed to Mariko, brought to the barn for her by a speedy footman who was far too nervous for mail delivery. At first, the princess was extremely excited — did Sumiko suddenly decide to attend? Or maybe, Katsurou was going to be a father, and she an aunt?! Or maybe, a friendly letter from Uzushiogakure, announcing the opening of some random building and an invite to the grand ceremony! As her ideas got out of hand, leading to the Mizukage announcing that he'd construct a bridge to Kumogakure, the name on the letter made her hopes fall.

Ryouichi.

And then, she felt terrible, and immensely so, because that wasn't fair to Ryouichi. Especially since way up in his office, he had hardly any time for anything, let alone stepping outside that office, and the fact that he had to send a letter to talk to her was sad enough.

See me. It's about your "plan".

Of course, Mariko told Ryouichi everything, during rare moments of spare time. In those precious minutes, she spilled just about everything, stopping before her innermost fears and worries, because those were things even her mother in the sky didn't know of.

The brush in her hand was thrown into a random bucket, along with seven other horsey items that had been spread neatly outside Katrina's stall door. Padding through the brown slush of the yard, Mariko made her way back to the palace. She found that the gardeners were arguing at the side gate, debating whether or not King Hiroto had ordered red roses or yellow ones, or both, so she skirted around and picked her way through the front garden. The poor patches of arranged flowerbeds were wet and mushy with melting ice, and rather depressing with the eerie sheen of minimal light that filtered through the gray clouds.

"Your plan".

What did it mean? Was she finally to learn of her mysterious, nameless husband? Mariko enthusiastically plunged past the flowerbeds, almost recklessly plowing through bundles of stacked snow when she didn't feel like winding through the maze meant for guests enjoying pretty flowers.

His office was at the top of one of the towers, and she had a splendid, panting time making her way up the endless flight of stairs. Sometimes she wished she had wings so that she could float her way up. Then, she thought to herself dully, A shinobi would've had no problem with these stairs. And it was true, for the one or two shinobi messengers a month that wore the funnel-like storm symbol of Hurricane on their foreheads flew up the staircases faster than a swallow darting to its nest.

"Enter," came the answer to her knock.

"Ryo," exclaimed Mariko breathlessly. "What happened?"

Before Mariko could string together some excited theory about her ideas of Sumiko returning or Katsurou fathering a baby, Ryouichi motioned her to his desk. She approached, chest heaving as she caught up on her oxygen.

"Your plan, Mariko," Ryouichi said, for what must have been the fourth time, because she was babbling nonsensically again. Of all people, Ryouichi was the most skilled at brushing away the cute, senseless prattle that seemed to dance from her mouth. Often enough, if someone got the Second Princess talking, and she was sure she was comfortable, the endless string of cheery talk that came from her was overwhelming. Yet, the listener would stare in awe, nodding absently at her pleasant, lyrical voice, before she realized she had gone too far and she snapped her mouth shut, terrified.

"Did you find him?!" came the immediate answer, causing Ryouichi's brow to quirk, amused. Someone had given his youngest sister sugar, because she had to be running on something to be this energetic…

"I did. Finally," Ryouichi said, rubbing his head. Nowadays, his glasses never slipped down his nose that often, but he constantly made the motion of shoving nothing up his nose, as if the habit comforted him.

"No, wait, tell me slowly." Mariko was suddenly terrified, unable to sort out her emotions. How was she to deal with this? Take it all calmly, and all at once, or bit by bit, so it could soak in? "One thing at a time, and start from where I'm going."

"You're going to Konoha, from Ice Harbor to the Fire Country's Port City."

No, no, wait, this sounded like her entire trip was already planned out. She fisted her hands, nails digging into palm.

"Then? Some daimyo or something?"

"Nope."

Ryouichi flipped few papers casually. He looked up.

"Senju," he said simply, without any explanation. Mariko folded her arms, Katsurou-style, because it seemed as if Ryouichi was dead set on keeping her waiting. The moment he had a window of time, he used it to his best ability, relishing each moment he would wait a minute and even relax.

But now, Mariko was silent, because where had she heard this name before? Senju. A name associated with "Konoha" and the legendary "god of shinobi", a man she had never seen. She pictured him as a gruesome but brilliant warrior, a man of unimaginable power who could shake the earth with a sigh.

"You are being sent to Konoha to be married to the leader's younger brother," Ryouichi told her, his voice flat as if he was reading from a book.

Mariko stared at him.

"What?"

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma,

I'm getting married.

In June.

.x.X.x.

April brought a wet spring, and showers to bring May flowers danced across the island. And along with it, a depressing gloom settled itself over the royal palace, the cutting commands of King Hiroto the only thing to shake people out of the dopy stupor.

Half a mind, half a mind, half a mind onward.

Preparations to the left of them.

Preparations to the right of them.

Preparations in front of them.

Mariko curled up on her pillow and watched them all. By the end of the month, Sumiko had visited twice, despite the long trip from Hot Springs' capital to the coast, and mail from Katsurou was the mailman's most common mail.

Quick notes like: Have you packed, yet? It's never too early. Or even Mariko, don't forget your face pastels. You can never have enough of those. All from Katsurou, who was the last person she expected to lecture her on maintaining tradition.

Royal messengers were on a rolling chain, a conveyor belt of communication. One would leave, and another would arrive. As soon as one left the palace, another stormed in, and when that one left, a next one knocked on their doors. At regular intervals, they burst into Konoha, and burst back. It gave Mariko a headache.

May rolled around, and indeed, the flowers bloomed. One day, Mariko found that Aunt Tari's pressed hibiscus portfolios had been left on her mattress quilts with a note in loopy, familiar handwriting.

My dear girl, I am sorry to say that your uncle, the brother of your sister and my own twin, has passed. I am to take care of his ceremonies, and today is the day I leave for the country. I am sorry to leave so suddenly, and on such notice, especially at such a crucial time. I hope you understand, Mari, how much I want to be with you when you embark on your journey. I, who has never experienced such a thing, cannot relate, but for your mother, I may hold your hand. But you are a grown woman now, in a way, I don't think you need someone to hold your hand anymore. Your late uncle's funeral awaits me, as well as a mourning family. Please take my collection as a memory, for I do not know when I'll return to Esmeralda, and even when I do, you will have long since set foot on the mainland. Your mother added the last hibiscus, if you ever need something to look at and calm your nerves. I miss you already, my dear, and wish you the most luck and happiness. Your mother and I are always with you.

Love,

Aunt Tari

Mariko stared at the pressed petals all sorts of colors, albeit slightly dried. This was to be expected with the passage of time, but when she flipped to the back, she found a slightly brighter hibiscus. Sapphire blue, with tinges of violet and turquoise, and a red core, the final flower. Mariko bent her head to it, as if by touching her nose to the thin film that pressed the dried petals down, she could inhale the will of her mother and aunt.

Then, silently, she folded herself into a bundle on her bed and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing even the slightest bit of light to enter her conscience.

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma and Aunt Tari,

Today is the second to last day of May. Tomorrow I leave for the mainland. I am eighteen years old, almost nineteen — Momma, how old were you when you left home and married Dad? I guess that doesn't really count, because you two fell in love. Would you understand, Momma or Aunt Tari, the pain I feel when I know my fate is decided? After that day in his office, Ryouichi never managed another message or conversation with me, because he was so busy. And because of that, my "plan" was never executed.

Well, that's probably because I never had one to begin with.

I'm always lost.

Special items:

1. Surprise! Second Mizukage at dinner.

2. Surprise number 2! First Hokage's wife at dinner. What a diverse dinner table.

3. Horses, for I am a horse person. It's been a while since I wrote anything to do with horses... hope it's okay!

4. Senju Senju Senju!

5. DUN DUN DUNNN

6. A slight parody of The Charge of the Light Brigade, simply because it was in my head, due to a classmate reciting it for his speech.

7. THOUGHTS? CONCERNS?! Tell me how I'm doing! :)

I don't bite.

Hard. =3=