THIS. SO LONG. WHY.

Kishimoto was a troll this week.

Anyway, I've got a gazillion things I should be studying/working on, so here you go for now! It's long, so read it in bits and pieces if you get tired. I don't even know anymore...sorry if this story is just a confused mumbo-jumbo of stuff. Lol.

I placed 2nd at conference yesterday, whoooo...better than last year, when I just failed right away. I got kicked out first round, lol. This year, I kicked butt! Well, partially because I improved a lot and was second seed.

Anyway. Enough about me (I'm horrible, lol).

NOW.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, because Kishi's a trolllll.

HERE YOU GO

DUN DUN DUNNNN

Chapter 14: Eyes

.x.X.x.

It's light outside.

.x.X.x.

The cat licked his paw, somewhat bored but remaining alert. His keen ears flickered towards the slightest sounds, and the jarring clang of pots and pans sent him hissing and scrambling up his tree. Nonetheless, he watched the entourage of people carefully. All were familiar — he was tempted to follow, but refrained from doing so — except for one.

The one man who smelled like the not-breathing. He was alive, very much so, but he reeked of blood and death and several other things that made the cat recoil.

A twitch of his tail, and the thin feline disappeared.

"I'm not sure whether I should interrogate you or kill you," Tobirama said, slamming a fist on the table. Toka hushed him.

"Let me do my job, cousin, and you do yours," she hissed quietly, shoving him towards the door as she took a seat across from the cuffed and chained man. Tobirama grudgingly moved out of the dark-haired woman's way, if only to post himself in a corner of the room, a watchful eye trained on Kakuzu.

He was no more than a few years older than Tobirama, really. Younger than Hashirama, but with a wider-set build and a skin toned more olive than the First Hokage's tanned complexion. He had a nest of black hair that draped almost to his shoulders, and his sclera was an odd hue of firebrick red, dark and menacing. His eyes were a vibrant yet faint turquoise that somehow evoked a strange, concentrated focus despite the lack of a prominently visible pupil. Wires pierced the edges of his lips, as if sewing his mouth shut, but not all the way. He was almost sad, trapped, a hand occasionally brushing the frayed wires with a heavy sort of contemplation.

But Kakuzu's eyes told a different story completely. If he talked at all, it was mostly to connive his way around questions.

"Perhaps I should bid the information off on the black market," he mused out loud. "Sell the location of the hostages for national leaders willing to look for them. Who would be in trouble then? Konoha? Hurricane?"

Toka paused her rapid scribbling and glanced up at the man. He had an unnervingly deep, gruff voice, and constantly sounded like he was chewing on something. His tone was demeaning and his sewed mouth bent into a sadistic grin.

The black-haired woman paused; she put down her pen and clipboard on the table and folded her hands in front of her patiently. Tobirama had melded into the shadows of the corner, willing himself to stay in one spot.

"So," Toka said, initiating her interrogation as if greeting an old friend. "Where did you say they were at?"

"Who are we talking about, again?"

"Lord and Lady Gen of the Tea Country, and Mistress Tari of Hurricane's High Court." Toka stood, then.

"I have no knowledge of these people you just named," Kakuzu replied simply. He folded his arms and looked menacing; far more menacing than Mariko would have expected from a man cuffed to the chair and the table by a strong Mokuton.

"Ah." Toka primly slid a few documents his way. "You might recognize their faces."

"Never seen them before in my life."

Toka left the photos in front of him before sliding out of her seat.

"Very well," she continued, without much celebration. "I suppose you would rather experience 72 hours of torture instead of answering my questions?"

She leaned down and hissed, "I am far more thorough than any Uchiha you will find in this village, I'll have you know."

Mariko left at this point. She had no want nor wish to see Toka's true interrogation style, and there was another place she had in mind at the moment. Tobirama watched her go, just a flicker of chakra behind the one-sided mirror, disappearing down the hall in a matter of seconds.

.x.X.x.

There's a Wolf in me.

.x.X.x.

The waterfall would have been beautiful, frozen over like a crystalline immortalization of time, but yet it terrified her. She stood at the bank of the pond, studying chunks of ice floating in the frigid water. She supposed that stepping onto the surface had not been such a good idea, but yet after she climbed out of the freezing pond, she stood there and stared blankly at the portion of ice she had just broken. It wasn't her fault that the ice broke; how could she have known that it had been so thin?

But she didn't like the idea of falling, so she guessed that her reasons for standing there like an idiot freezing on a winter day had to do with her sudden loathing for the ice. She accused it of breaking on her, sending her into this wet, shivering mess. It was cold, obviously, and Aunt Tari's jacket – discreetly borrowed from an unattended hook on a wall – did not suffice for the current weather. If anything, her rubber boots were filled with gushing, cold water, and the inadequate pair of breeches she'd grabbed from a laundry pile – obviously not hers – were sopping wet. There was nothing better than soaking oneself in an ice pond on a subzero winter day.

"Mariko! What are you doing out there?!" A tall figure scooped up the fourteen-year-old in what seemed like half-hug half-reprimand. He was twenty this year, and tall and broad and strong.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied simply, her quiet monotone a familiar drone by now. "You're early."

He was early, indeed, for his biannual visit home. Then again, Katsurou cheated plenty of times, finding excuses to stop by his homeland or bring his wife on unnecessary but thoroughly enjoyed vacations.

"Well. I decided to jumpstart my plans, of course," said the Second Prince, grinning eagerly. "I brought my—"

"Your lovely wife, yes, I know," replied the youngest princess, somewhat sedately. "Now, I'm cold."

"I can see that."

She was skinny and small, shivering through her very skin to the thin skeleton that somehow held her up.

"I heard you're skipping lessons again," Katsurou said, disapprovingly.

"Not anymore," replied Mariko defensively. "I'm back to studying."

You're causing us trouble.

Was it a voice in her head, or was it true? Nonetheless, Mariko shoved the thought away and tramped back to the palace. She slipped in the back door, followed closely by her older brother, and shook off her sloshing boots.

"Mariko, honey, don't just leave those there," sighed Aunt Tari, appearing like a magic godmother to swoop all discarded clothing from the ground. If she noticed that the clothing was soaked, she gave no indication. "Katsurou, my dear, welcome home."

"Thanks, Auntie," he replied fondly, smiling. "Have you seen Yuuna? I'd like to show her the archery fields — hey!"

Aunt Tari promptly snatched Katsurou's jacket from his shoulders, spinning him so that he was forced to relinquish the article.

"You're not showing your lovely wife anything until you have a good dinner," the woman said tartly. "I'm sure she would like to take a rest, too. Especially after that long trip." Aunt Tari sniffed, and added: "The girl needs some peace, you know. What with her hustle-bustle of a husband over here…"

Katsurou flushed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He threw a grin at Mariko, but was a bit dismayed to find that she didn't quite respond. Mariko, sensing his disappointment, offered a small smile in return. He ruffled her hair; she shoved him aside.

There was much excitement in the palace – it seemed that someone else had arrived.

"I swear, this carpet was not here two months ago," came the loud complaint. "Who put this ugly thing here?"

"Hun, I don't think we should be worrying about the carpet," replied an unfamiliar voice, accompanying the loud one. This one was male, his speech laced with a pleasant mainland accent.

"I sometimes wonder how you guys find your way around here," came a third voice, another woman. It was high and light but firm and grounding, also with a mainland accent, intoned with a slightly more northern pattern. Mariko had always liked listening to foreign accents, even if they didn't sound so pretty. She'd long since decided that the Uzumaki women had the nicest voices, and that the Kirigakure men were the gruffest and hardest to understand. Then again, she had never met many other foreigners, especially from beyond the nearby Lightning nation.

"This carpet is ugly, don't you think Yuuna?" Of course, the one who complained about the carpet would have to be Sumiko.

"Well… if you say so, Sumiko-san," the second woman laughed. She had a very nice voice, decided Mariko.

"Maybe we should just leave the poor carpet alone, dear," sighed the man. Now in sight, Mariko could see that he was an extremely handsome man, tall and somewhat thin for his stature, but very elegant and neat. His hair was a deep copper, a tinge of cherry gracing his short cut, and he held himself with an air of grace.

"You know, Ren, how about you just relax?" Sumiko threw her husband a sardonic grin, patting his arm. Ren did not appear comforted, but relaxed his expression with some effort.

Eighteen years of age, and already bossing him around like the head the house. Mariko was not sure if she should be afraid or be impressed. Perhaps a bit of both. She pitied poor Ren, who was constantly harried by his buoyant, enthusiastic warrior of a wife.

"Shoo, shoo, all of you!" snapped Aunt Tari, bustling into the main foyer, herding them all like sheep into a pen. She clucked at them critically, frowning all the way. "Off to dinner, you insolent children!"

"We love you too, Auntie," called Sumiko over her shoulder, grabbing her beloved's hand and dragging him to the dining hall. Then, she spun around, practically yanking his arm off, and exclaimed, "Mariko! I didn't even see you! I have to introduce you two."

And that simply reminded Mariko why tonight's dinner was such a big occasion: Lord Ren of the Hot Springs was to have his first visit at the Palace. Katsurou, on the other hand, had been scheduled to arrive about a week later, but of course, he came to crash the party.

"Ren, this is my little sister, Mariko," said Sumiko proudly, grabbing Mariko by the shoulder and pulling her forward. In an instant, fourteen years of princess etiquette kicked in instinctually, placing a modest smile on her face and prompting her to curtsy properly and politely. Not too low but not too shallow, dip your head slightly while you bend your knees — right foot behind left, just briefly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ren said, sounding warm but crisp and mature. He bent forward slightly, bowing stiffly, all the while keeping a firm hand on the small of Sumiko's back.

"Oh relax," snorted Sumiko, "she's my little sister, not the King."

When both Ren and Mariko owlishly blinked at her, Sumiko scoffed.

"You too Mari," added Sumiko sharply, "you can treat Ren like you treat one of our brothers."

Mariko stared blankly at her sister, flashing the smallest of smiles before dipping into another perfectly executed curtsy, and then proceeding to slip down the hallways to the dining hall. This timing was dreadful. A bare face, slightly sun-tanned but still quite pale for an islander, Mariko sought the comfort of her white mask. She slathered a slab of white across her face and then patted purple-coal shadows onto her eyelids. She looked like a somewhat deformed ghost, but it would have to do for now.

"Take that off, silly," came Sumiko's voice as the older girl swept into Mariko's room without so much as a knock. She immediately picked up a towel and threw it at Mariko. "I'm serious. Don't wear that."

Mariko discarded the towel rather carelessly, refusing completely to shed her pastels.

"You're still just as stubborn as I left you, hmm?" Sumiko waited for an answer. When none came, she relented and snapped, "Oh fine! At least let me choose what you're wearing!"

Mariko realized, in horror, that she had been wrapped in a thick, brown wool skirt the entire time, complete with a stableman's collared dinner shirt, mucked with soot and appearing more gray than white. Underneath, a shabby pair of slippers, and over the entire thing, still the same jacket that belonged to Aunt Tari.

She'd met her in-laws whilst wearing such a royal abomination, and curtsied without worry. What was she thinking?

"Here," offered Sumiko, producing one of Mariko's older skirts.

"That doesn't fit me."

"Sure it does," Sumiko prompted, laying it out on the bed. "Doesn't have to be formal, you know."

It was a simple, layered skirt, half of which swept to the floor, while another half was bunched up stylishly at the waist. Sumiko had made it a year ago, for Mariko's birthday. Unfortunately, it had remained untouched for the longest time, and the older princess could certainly tell that it had not been used.

"And you'll wear this one top," Sumiko added, laying an easily over-embroidered top on the skirt.

"I'm not wearing that."

"Then what will you wear?" Sumiko folded her arms and glanced skeptically at her little sister, waiting for her sense of style to be refuted.

"It's weird."

"Yeah, you're weird," retorted the First Princess, shoving the articles of clothing at her little sister. "No" was not an answer for Sumiko, clearly.

Mariko donned the outfit, and not surprisingly, it was a well put-together style, even if the top was a little too crowded for her eyes.

"See? Looks great." Sumiko ushered Mariko out the door. "Would look better without the pastels."

Mariko ignored Sumiko; why did it seem like she was forgetting their homeland already?

.x.X.x.

There is an Eagle in me.

.x.X.x.

Padding down the quiet hall in her pale, salmon pink ballet flats, the most prominent thought in her mind was that the long end of the skirt kept catching under her feet. Mariko was tempted to hike up the fabric and make a quick dash to the main foyer, slip through the garden and appear almost out of thin air at the dining hall, but she was well aware of Ren and Katsurou conversing behind her. They were shortly followed by Yuuna and Sumiko, who had a grand time comparing the fashion differences between the island nations and the mainland.

She was the outsider.

She was the only one with her pastels painted on, albeit haphazardly and quickly, and no one else acknowledged it. Ryouichi had faithfully patted on the ochre-colored dust on his eyes, giving him a defined look, a slight glow that offset his blue hair. The ochre was light and sandy today, not a dull yellow but more of a vibrant maize hue. He was stunning, but he almost gave it away for a second. The First Prince was waiting at the end of the hall; for a moment, he shifted his weight uncomfortably, and he transformed into an aimless wanderer. That is, until the group appeared around the corner, and he straightened into the outline of royalty, taller than everyone figuratively, though he lacked height physically.

"Lord Prince," greeted Ren, dipping his head respectfully. This was the complicated part, the part where Mariko debated whether or not the future daimyo of the Hot Springs was of higher status than her brother, future monarch of Hurricane.

"Lord Prince," echoed Yuuna, dipping in a low, well-practiced curtsy. Mariko mentally gave her a few points for a curtsy well done, for it must have been hard to sweep so low in those hard, high-heeled shoes.

"Sir Ren and Lady Yuuna, welcome to Hurricane's royal court. My apologies for the delayed greetings, but I sincerely hope you've enjoyed your few hours here so far." Ryouichi smiled warmly; he'd always had a face that exuded tenderness and concern. However, Mariko knew that under his natural softness, he was crudely assessing his two in-laws. Yuuna had been well acquainted with Ryouichi a number of times, now, so the First Prince was mostly slamming assessments on Ren.

The two men were of similar stature — thin but lean, with chiseled features and regal stances.

"It's absolutely lovely here, ouji-sama," chirped Yuuna, an arm comfortably looped around Katsurou's. The bold brunette had long since passed the test, though it wasn't as if Katsurou's choice in a spouse needed to be questioned. He was sensible, and she was an impressively good fit for him. While they were both adventurous and outgoing, she was a high flyer, keeping Katsurou from getting too grounded, while he managed to keep her from floating away too far.

"I am glad to hear it," replied Ryouichi. He answered Mariko's somewhat desolate glance by offering his arm, for all the other ladies had someone to accompany them. Mariko latched onto her oldest brother carefully, as if he might shatter. But of course, he was far more stable than she, and if anything, there was a higher chance that she would've become a mush of slug-like residue than Ryouichi having a nervous breakdown. "We have a fine course prepared, and a series of guests besides yourselves attending. I hope you find island cuisine to be a foreign delight."

"I believe I've had quite a few Mist dishes before," sniffed Ren. No one answered him, except Sumiko, who tugged at his arm discreetly. Mariko was keen, spying this and before turning around to glance up at Ryouichi. The look he flashed at her was partially amused and partially annoyed, which said a lot because Ryouichi wasn't the type to get annoyed.

If there had been a standard list of requirements needed to pass for Sumiko's husband, Ryouichi had it all down in his head. Obviously, there were some things that he was still debating in regards to Ren.

Dinner began subtly, almost like a bug creeping onto one's arm inconspicuously. The teeny plates and opening dishes were finely decorated and small, and grew in size until Mariko had forgotten which course had come before the other, and was questioning why the entrée tonight was so large and fishy (literally).

"Ah, is this currently a trend here? I've seen it quite a lot," Ren commented at desert, casually gesturing to a pastry. "It's borrowed from the mainland." He was referring to the taiyaki — carefully molded sweets, an almost cake-like little treat typically filled with red bean paste, and shaped like a fish. Mariko was fond of these, and found them adorable. "They are quite common and easy to find in the Hot Springs."

"We are always finding the most convenient products on the mainland," Ryouichi answered, loud and fearless. His voice carried lightly, but it resounded with an impressive echo. The King himself sat at the head of the room, watching his son's formal banter with the young future daimyo. "However, it is increasingly difficult to export Hurricane's finer delicacies, such as finely handcrafted agars and baker's goods, because the mainland does not host compatible industries capable of retaining the freshness and fine quality of such foods."

Score, thought Mariko.

"We do, however," added the First Prince, "recommend that you try the agar jelly. It's quite popular."

As if to prove his point, Mariko promptly grabbed a platter of desserts in a rather unladylike moment of brashness, and slid it down the table.

Ren regarded both of them with a slight look of apprehension — Mariko couldn't discern whether it was abhorrence or simply an upturned nose at being one-upped.

"Should you care to try," Ren said, "the mainland has a luscious variety of traditional foods. I have not yet seen anything similar to dango or takoyaki here, no? Is there not a Hurricane version?"

"The Crown Prince and I refrain from duplicating any form of culture from the mainland and calling it our own, but rather we prefer to try out the unique bits and pieces of culture that we cannot call Hurricane," Mariko told him flatly. "If anything is to be called Hurricane, then it is completely and solely from Hurricane. For example — this agar jelly."

Mariko smiled innocently and gestured with a rather unnervingly serious glance at the dessert plate.

Ryouichi sent her a glance that screamed, Perfect catch, baby sister!

To the right of Ren, Katsurou looked horribly amused, and Yuuna was caught between defending the poor mainlander and accidentally snorting her drink in laughter. Whatever the case, Ren was quickly falling down the Ryouichi Scale of Worthiness and Appropriateness, and he was not serving his side well.

Ren, reluctantly, backed off, and the rest of the meal proceeded calmly. At the end, he ran a hand through his carmine-burgundy hair and hung at Sumiko's side wordlessly. Even in his brooding silence, his eyes coldly measured up Ryouichi, who was thanking some of the other guests personally. For Mariko, she personally thought that this visit was rather boring; when Yuuna had visited for the first time, the entire dinner was a riot. Ren, however, had a sort of dampening effect on the entire situation.

King Hiroto approached them — he had been rather inactive for the past year, leaving events such as these up to his heir's planning, since the young prince excelled in those areas — and greeted the two mainlanders with much gusto.

"Lord King," both murmured, one bowing until all one could see was a head of dark red hair as he kneeled, and the other gracefully sweeping her mint-green skirts in a low curtsy.

"You may rise," Hiroto said dismissively. He was, in all honesty, not much for formality. In public cases, this was required, but at home, he was lenient. Even so, all four of his children never failed to robotically repeat the formal bows and curtsies when called for, because the actions were so firmly ingrained into their minds and bodies.

The king smiled warmly.

"Dear Lady Yuuna, how are you faring over in the Frost? Is the weather vastly different from ours, or is it similarly frigid over on the mainland?" he asked the brunette.

"Oh it's surprisingly warm this year," replied Yuuna eagerly, engaging into an easy conversation like putting on a glove. "I believe, for once, Hurricane is colder than the Frost!"

"Oh Father, it's snowing over there," snorted Katsurou, rolling his eyes.

"Katsurou," said his wife, "at least the waterfalls aren't frozen over."

The two began a teasing, and so Hiroto discreetly redirected the conversation to the more recently newlywed couple.

"And how are the Hot Springs?" If Hiroto gave any indication that his first impression of Ren had not been all the best, he did not show it. Mariko noted that Aunt Tari's aide was waiting patiently — and very unobtrusively — behind the king, waiting for his attention to divert from the conversation. Mariko feared that the girl would be waiting for a while.

"Splendid, Your Majesty," responded Ren, looking like a peacock ruffling his feathers. He seemed to fill out his lean frame and broaden his shoulders; Ryouichi, standing staunchly beside his father, did the same in a more discreet manner. It was a silent match between men, two royals who battled with wits and body language. "We're lucky to enjoy some nice weather. It tends to get rainy, but the Hot Springs tends towards a humid climate."

"The universe tends towards chaos, doesn't it?" mused King Hiroto, smiling at the young man. His comment seemed out of place, but Mariko knew exactly where he'd directed it. She was painfully reminded of some chemistry lesson or the other, and promptly ignored this reference. Instead, she assumed that he was alluding to the conflict between the future daimyo and his own son. "Son," continued the king, "are you fond of the hunt?"

"Certainly," replied Ren, face lighting up. "The foxes of the Springs are the swiftest of the mainland."

Certainly, he says, Mariko sourly mocked to herself. Oh shush. Now she was just being arrogant.

"Splendid, child," boomed King Hiroto, too loud for the context of the situation. "My sons and daughters shall invite you to a grand foxhunt tomorrow," he announced. "How does that sound?"

"It sounds marvelous, Your Majesty," replied Ren with comparable enthusiasm. "My deepest thanks for your invitation!"

My deepest thanks for your invi— who even says that? Mariko thought to herself. Silently, however, she slipped to Ryouichi's other side, a small, unnoticed figure. Oh well.

Ryouichi sent her a sidelong glance. He excused himself from the conversation, leaving their father to continue conversing jovially with the two couples. An extended arm proffered an easy escape, and so Mariko latched onto her brother with a swift sweep of her dragging skirt. (She told Sumiko that the dress didn't fit, but she hadn't meant that it was too small; it was just the opposite.)

"That was absurd," muttered Ryouichi, a speedy hand flying up to push his glasses up his nose. He usually didn't angrily shove his smart-looking lenses up his face with such viciousness, but he was considerably peeved at the moment.

"He's cocky," Mariko offered simply, shrugging. Ryouichi glanced down at her, and his face slightly melded into his usual, soft self. He then poked her in the side, laughing when she squeaked in surprise.

"And what are you wearing? The Sumiko Setup?" He may have been a thin man, but he was sturdy enough to shoulder a frustrated shove from his fourteen-year-old sister.

"Better than trousers," replied Mariko, frowning.

"True."

"So. Do you have a plan for tomorrow?" Mariko dodged another mischievous poke — "Stop poking me!" — and swatted him away, trying to find out exactly how he felt about their new husband candidate. She figured that this didn't quite make sense, since Ren and Sumiko were already married, but she supposed that it was fun to evaluate the new brother-in-law nonetheless.

"I usually do have a plan, Mariko," deadpanned Ryouichi, dodging her when she attempted to reach up and fix his shaggy hair.

"You need a haircut."

"So do you."

She grimaced, and he grimaced, and then they burst out in laughter.

"So?" she prompted again. "The plan?"

"Ah, yes, that." Ryouichi was quiet for a few moments, contemplating. "I know: run him into the ground."

"That was more evil than usual," Mariko noted, suppressing the urge to giggle. Ryouichi was a tactician — he was much more likely to plan an outrageously overdone, over-calculated plan in which a surprise attack was formulated, or the river was somehow redirected into the path of the hunt. Whatever the case, Ryouichi's plans were the complete opposite of his usual sensibleness. His plans of doom were, in a word, funny.

Well, running Ren into the ground sounded pretty funny, too.

"So you're going to chase him around?" Mariko made a face, arching a brow and sidestepping a skillfully timed poke. She squeaked unintentionally, and Ryouichi snorted with laughter.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"You are."

.x.X.x.

Here I am, this is me.

.x.X.x.

It was not a convenient time to be acting up.

But, being a horse — a horse that didn't want much to do with Ren's mount from the mainland — Katrina completely disregarded this fact and decided to grab the bit and buck a few times.

Mariko, who appeared delicate and small, held on with an unexpectedly mighty effort.

"Your horse is excitable," stated Ren flatly. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Oh, you're concerned for me, how nice. Mariko scolded herself; he was simply being kind, that was all.

"I'll manage, thank you."

They set out with a group of six hounds, noses to the ground and diligently snuffling through the tall grasses like they always did. This was a routine Sunday, and they were loosening their muscles for a possible chase.

Katsurou reined his big black stallion in close; Katrina snapped at the other horse.

"Rocks, Mari! Your horse is such a—"

"Oh quiet, stirrup-head," snapped Sumiko, catching up on her surefooted palomino. The horse was absolutely striking, with its golden coat and silvery mane, flowing in the wind. A perfect partner to the stunning Sumiko.

More perfect than Ren, Mariko sniveled to herself.

"Let's look by the river," Ryouichi suggested, astride his elegant copper horse. The chestnut gelding was just like him — tall and lean, alert and incredibly aware of all surroundings. The horse was like a deer, skinny and slightly knobby-kneed, but quick and agile.

To her dismay, Mariko realized that they were now comparing horses.

Ren, of course, had "the Springs' currently booming financial state to thank" for the transport of his horse to Hurricane. He sat with a sort of refined ease atop his lovely white stallion — to which Mariko scoffed silently, there's no such thing that's not a white horse, his skin is dark, therefore he is a type of gray — with reins in one hand, while the other rested on his leg casually.

"My good mount Kriha enjoys a decent chase," Ren said.

Mariko was beginning to wonder how, when, and why Sumiko fell in love with this man.

Yet, her sister was completely doe-eyed around him, and he softened considerably every time she linked an arm around his. That is, when he thought no one would notice. Mariko, however, had a penchant for sneaking around in her flat, old, leather boots that had long since lost their incessant squeaks.

"Hurricane terrain is rough," Katsurou warned. "Listen carefully when we tell you there are rough patches about."

"I'm sure Ren can handle it," Sumiko defended. "Right, honey?"

Ren threw his beloved a winning smile.

Perhaps he was not so bad…

We'll see, Mariko told herself. She glanced at Ryouichi, who was skillfully keeping a blank face. His chestnut fidgeted under him, sensing the disguised unease in his rider. The Crown Prince kept a steady hand and soothed the animal, patting its neck reassuringly. Mariko wove her fingers through Katrina's thick black mane, untangling the knots that had gnarled themselves ferociously through the reins. The mare's mane was so long that Mariko was getting things stuck in it, and it was not just the regular burrs and flakes of hay. She made a mental note that she'd see to cutting it soon.

The hounds sniffed yipped enthusiastically, and they set off at a brisk trot. A few local huntsmen and young lords were accompanying them, including a few ladies that enjoyed a good outing. The group set off at a steady canter, crossing the flat, grassy field with ease. The weather was better than the day before; slightly chilly, but clear.

"This is rather informal, isn't it," commented Ren snidely. Most of the group chose to ignore it, save Sumiko, who told him that they were there for the ride, not the actually hunting and dragging of a poor fox.

The hounds caught a scent, and took off.

Katrina, being the stubborn, forceful horse that she was, snatched the bit and followed at a flat out gallop. However, she didn't fail to bump rumps with Ren's gray stallion, Kriha, and causing a commotion.

Both Ren and his horse didn't like being outrun, and thus, the chase began.

.x.X.x.

The limit exists.

Or does it?

.x.X.x.

The steep but crumbling stone wall loomed before them, and if the three other blue-haired siblings had anything to say about this hunt, it would be that it was far too fast for comfort. The youngest of them, quiet on foot and bold on horseback, stuck to her horse like a burr and did not hesitate when the mare launched over the wall without a care in the world.

Ren followed successfully, smiling to himself when his horse cleared the wall with a foot to spare and catching up to Katrina with a few long strides. Sumiko, Yuuna, and Ryouichi, whose horses were lighter and smaller, slowed down and paced their way to the wall, clipping over it neatly though lagging behind. Katsurou, who rode the biggest horse of them all, waited a few strides to let his big hunter gather himself for the leap.

"The footing here isn't atrocious," noted Ren, as it was supposed to be ugly terrain.

"It gets worse," Ryouichi called when the rest of them caught up a little ways.

The dogs took up a new direction, howling and barking gleefully as they pursued a strong, fresh scent. They wove through the forest, and unfortunately for Mariko, Katrina felt like jumping over every single twig and stick and bush that happened to be in their way. The blunette considered herself lucky that her horse refrained from hitting trees at the last moment.

Whatever Katrina decided to do, Mariko simply hung on tight and stuck there for the ride. In fact, she hoped that the hounds would bring them to a difficult hunt route, particularly the one with the river and the ditch and the absolutely enormous old bank that hardly anyone could jump onto. Katrina could bowl down anything in her path, and she could also fly over it if needed. She had the strong, rounded haunches of her river horse heritage, and she was not below leaping creeks from bank to bank.

One hound picked up a bigger trail, veering towards the river. Here, the water was not as wide as in the city, and considerably shallower.

Katrina's ears pricked forward, and she tugged at the reins. Mariko, gripping tight with her legs and sitting deep in the saddle, felt the horse's hind end coil beneath her, as if reading to spring outwards at the touch of a heel.

"There's a river coming up," shouted Katsurou. "You okay with jumping it?"

He was talking to Yuuna, who agreed readily. Ren and Sumiko were already pushing their horses to the bank, racing towards the water fearlessly.

"Sumi, there's a ditch beyond the river!" Ryouichi shouted after them.

"You think I don't know that!" Half her voice was lost in the wind, for she'd already turned her face back into her palomino's silvery mane, and was matching her husband stride for stride.

Kriha the daimyo's horse pounded furiously forward, reaching the edge of the river and leaping magnificently to clear the entire thing.

Mariko, grudgingly, admitted that he was a fine equestrian and had a skillful horse.

But could he outrun Hurricane's river horse?

After everyone leapt the rushing river, they found themselves descending a slightly muddy ditch. Katrina pulled her head up and sat on her haunches, sloshing through the mud and sliding to the bottom. Unlike the others, who got bogged down in the mush, the dappled grey mare easily kicked free of the earthy trap and cantered away.

Ren's "white" horse was soiled.

"The Springs tend to have more steep, muddy landslides due to our heavier rainfall," he said at one point.

Obviously, he was unfettered by the landscape so far, and thus forced them to the "wacky bank that has a stupid fence at the top of it", according to Mariko and company.

And it truly was a strange bank — lofty and square, a steep ascension to a rise of land hosting a hostilely tall fence.

No. Really. The bank was huge.

Not that Katrina cared, really. She sort of just sat back on her haunches and launched herself six feet in the air, scrabbled to get a hold of the loose dirt at the bank's surface, and then took three quick strides to the angry-looking fence (which she popped over casually). All the while, Mariko tucked her hands neatly into the crest of the mare's neck, poising herself lightly and securely in the stirrups.

Ren galloped and galloped and — Kriha slid to a surprised halt, right at the base of the bank. The stallion snorted it at incredulously. He'd been able to clear everything before this, so why couldn't he get over this new obstacle?

Simply put, the bank was just far too large.

The rest of the group pulled up, glancing at the hounds and Mariko on the other side of the fence, up on the higher slope of land.

"How did you even get up there?" Katsurou waved, half gaping half grinning at his sister.

"I jumped."

And then, Ryouichi appeared almost magically on Mariko's side of the fence, seemingly disappearing behind a tree and reappearing at his youngest sister's side.

"You coming?" he asked, his face the picture of boredom.

Mariko could not tell if Ren was trying to keep himself from glaring, or if he was just extremely uncomfortable. Whatever the case, the last two island Aokami siblings had one more point on the young continental lord.

Too bad for him.

.x.X.x.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel awful, stirrup-head. Can you see? I'm not sure you can see."

"I can see."

"Is it just me, or is my throat not lined up correctly?"

"Oh, deal with it!"

"Katsurou, you were the one sobbing over me like an idiot. Mariko over here was a rock."

"I think Katsurou was the rock."

"Anyway, has anyone contacted Ren? Oh Mariko, don't make that face, he's not that bad."

"Last time I remembered, he didn't open the door for you."

"Shush, stirrups. That wasn't a big deal. It's a door!"

"He was also kind of rude to us."

"You are remembering things from years ago."

"Uh. Like three?"

"Four."

"Whatever, he's still rude."

"You're just messing with me now, aren't you?"

.x.X.x.

Ren's horse must've paced that bank for about ten minutes before giving up and following the group around Ryouichi's shortcut.

.x.X.x.

"Maybe."

"Do you all hold a grudge against Ren? He's a darling, really."

"Ugh. Don't call him darling. He's like the picture of a greedy Prince Charming."

"So you all hold a grudge against him?"

"Nah, I'm good. It's just Ryo and Mari that have issues with him. Dunno why."

"Mariko?"

"He didn't open the door for you."

"Will you stop it with the door!"

.x.X.x.

His horse was very, very muddy. It was quite amusing to see him refuse the offers of stable hands and gruffly lead his horse to the bath stalls by himself.

.x.X.x.

"Well, Mariko, think about it this way. At least he's nice to me."

"Is that supposed to have some hidden meaning that I'm not seeing?"

"Mari, what Sumi means is that Ren is not a fat, ugly old governor from an obscure corner of the Hot Springs Country, nor is he a crazy Kiri nin disguised as a peaceful Grass farmer. That is ugly. Or old. Or insane."

"Shut up, Katsurou, my throat hurts talking to you."

"Then why are you talking to us?"

"Go away."

"Nope."

.x.X.x.

He did, however, offer to wash down Sumiko's palomino for her. He then proceeded to make a decent bran mash for the two horses, which earned some points for him but then made Mariko glare because he hadn't made enough for everyone else.

But that was okay; Ryouichi hauled in a sack of barley and a bucket of apples, and they made their own.

.x.X.x.

"You two tire me. Ren is a good guy, okay? He's nice to me, he loves me, and he's sweet."

"Ugh, I'm getting cavities."

"Katsurou, get out of here. Anyway. Mariko, can you at least tell me why you hold a grudge against him? And don't say the door thing."

"The door thing."

"Mariko! Seriously! He's nice, okay? I don't see your fiancé being nice to you all the time."

"He opened the door for me once."

.x.X.x.

At night, when the couples receded to their bedrooms, Mariko had no want nor need to follow them and their evening activities, so she retreated to her own room.

She found that her window was open, and it was once again as cold as the Frost on a good day. Mariko ticked off the points that Ren had earned and/or lost that day:

1. He was rude.

2. He was snobby.

3. Okay, so he wasn't rude. He was actually quite the gentleman.

4. He was really snobby.

5. But he made bran mash.

6. And he gave Sumiko's horse a good rubdown.

7. But he's snobby.

8. He's so snobby.

9. No really, he's so snobby he could be…a snob.

10. He's snobby to me and to Ryo.

Mariko realized that she really couldn't come up with anything besides the fact that he was arrogant, a little stuck-up — looking down his nose at her all the time — and just plain cocky.

But he was a cocky gentleman.

She was confused.

.x.X.x.

"I don't see him doing anything else. You know all of our etiquette training? You should expect at least the same amount in return, you know."

"I don't think he's a princess."

"Mariko, I kind of want to hit you, but I can't reach you."

"You can hit Katsurou."

"Ow! Hey, no fair."

"Katsurou, you're like a big baby. And Mariko, seriously. You say that Ren is annoying—"

"He's like a spoiled, snobby brat."

"—but I don't think this Senju of yours is any better."

"He just doesn't socialize. Much."

"Are you really defending him?"

"No, not really. He smells good, though."

"Mari, can you give me an answer of substance?"

"Well, he opened the door that one time…"

.x.X.x.

Did he really open the door? Probably not.

.x.X.x.

"Seriously, my throat hurts."

"Then go to sleep, little sis."

"I'm not little anymore, Katsurou."

"You're teeny. C'mon Mari, let's get out of here and leave this lovesick little lady alone."

"I am not lovesick. Can you just contact Ren? Please?"

"If he opens the door for you."

"Yeah, yeah, we will. Sleep tight, sis."

.x.X.x.

Sundays, for Mariko, always had a bad aftertaste. She enjoyed the freedom of her day off – from studies, that is – but simply could not relish in the quick fall of dusk that ended her one-day vacation. Dismounting, she landed on her toes and used Katrina's shoulder to steady herself. Habitually, she unclipped her helmet and slung her crop under the saddle's girth billets so that she wouldn't have to hold it. After running the stirrups up, she led Katrina back to her stall and allowed the mare to cool down, rubbing a towel over the mare's damp, thick winter coat to prevent a chill from clinging to her.

"I have this terrible crick in my neck," she heard Katsurou complain to his wife. "I swear, it was definitely that carriage ride last night."

"It was bumpy," agreed Yuuna, hefting a saddle across the aisle.

"I think I slept like this." Katsurou sat down on a tack trunk and made an awkward attempt at leaning his head on the saddle rack beside him. "Uncomfortable, huh?"

Yuuna laughed, and told him to move so she could put the saddle down.

"You're ridiculo—" Yuuna broke mid-sentence and paused, whipping around suddenly and staring right past Mariko. "Katsurou."

"I know." From seemingly nowhere, he drew a small crossbow and stalked to the edge of the stable doors, absolutely silent. Mariko had no idea what was going on. Katrina's ears quivered, and she nickered in apprehension.

"Hey, girl," murmured Mariko, petting the horse's soft muzzle. "It's all right, what's wrong?"

Katrina pulled at the crossties and vehemently kicked out, clattering in place. Mariko tried to shush and calm the animal, but she was too riled up to pay attention to the short blunette.

"Sumiko, get in here!" hissed Katsurou, waving insistently.

"Wait, what? What are you doing with the bow, seriously Katsurou! You could injure—" Sumiko broke off when a myriad of arrows came flying her way, and they weren't from Katsurou's direction. Immediately, Katsurou drew three arrow shafts from a mysteriously concealed pack, and aimed. He swore under his breath; he didn't have enough arrows, and there was no time left.

A magnificently bright fireball came spewing across the way, skimming the edge of the barn so closely that it almost caught fire. Leaving the barn slightly charred, the fireball proceeded to set flame to a dozen arrows, successfully charring all of them to pieces. Only two or three strays landed in the grass with dull thuds, arrowheads burrowing into the hard winter soil.

The fireball was quickly followed by another, obviously from the lips of a Hot Springs shinobi.

"Duck!" And then Ren was grabbing Sumiko and running, because more arrows were flying this way and Katsurou was slinging shot after shot with tremendous speed to no avail. While his arrows met the attacker's head on, he had little to none left, and could not match the quantity, even with Yuuna supplying a second bow and arrow.

The slim redhead and his sapphire-topped wife crashed into the barn, effectively startling every single horse.

"You're a shinobi?" exclaimed Katsurou.

"In my spare time, yes," came the fiery, somewhat sardonic reply. Ren grabbed his horse by the reins, unclipping the crossties and leaping on his back. "Lord Prince, you are a shinobi as well, correct?"

"When I have the time, sure," snorted Katsurou, mounting his own horse quickly. "I can make a fountain or two."

"Come with, then. Your Highness?" Ren cast a glance back at Ryouichi, who simply melded out of the shadows like a ghost. "Do you prefer ground tracking or mounted battle?"

"I am not a shinobi, Lord Ren," replied Ryouichi carefully. Interestingly, Ren looked surprised. "Hurricane is not a shinobi nation, and I am only trained in the basics of cavalry style charges."

"I see." Ren changed his target to Yuuna. "Lady Yuuna?"

"Gladly."

"You're not coming," protested Katsurou.

"Oh yes, I am." Yuuna hopped up on her horse before he could tell her not to, and had somehow produced a terrifyingly large battle axe from her pack. She rolled up a large scroll, tucked it into her shoulder pack, and took the reins. "You are not leaving behind someone who can throw a battle axe more accurately than anyone in all five shinobi nations."

Katsurou glowered briefly, but allowed it. He had married a warrior woman, and this was the price he had to pay. No longer was he in Hurricane, obligated to protect the women simply because he could. He hated to admit it, and he grudgingly accepted, but sometimes Yuuna was the one protecting him.

"Why do we—what's going on?!" demanded Sumiko, hands on her hips. Alive and well, she was glad to be out of the line of fire, but she and Mariko were horribly confused.

"Someone just tried to kill you," Ren said, looking like murder. And he did, indeed, exude a black aura of anger, so much so that Mariko felt as if she could sense his intentions. Maybe it was his chakra, and however that shinobi energy flowed was being directly translated through his emotions.

"I can see that, but where are you all going?"

"To kill them," Ren answered simply, spurring his horse into an urgent canter. Within moments, they were gone.

Sumiko huffed angrily, but Mariko remained silent, a hand on Katrina's neck. The mare had long since calmed down, and was just slightly tugging at the crossties in anxiousness.

Perhaps, just a little bit, Ren had earned another point in the book. Mariko glanced at Ryouichi; his face was unreadable.

11. He's a brave warrior.

12. He's protective.

13. He's snobby, but he's willing to jump into danger for a loved one.

14. He's really snobby, seriously.

15. But he loves Sumi, so I suppose it's all right.

.x.X.x.

"I'll come back later with dinner."

"Tell me how the interrogation goes, Mari!"

"I didn't watch it."

"Well, go find out, because that man is going to have a piece of my mind!"

"Sure, Sumi, sure."

"I'm serious!"

"I'll make sure he opens the door for you."

.x.X.x.

Toka slammed a hand down on the table, but Kakuzu didn't even blink. In fact, he hadn't relented a single centimeter in the past three hours, and Toka was tired of it. Mariko feared that the woman was about to snap the man's neck, however impossible it seemed. To her surprise, closer inspection allowed her to see that the man who had practically killed her sister did not appear to be a bad man. He dressed in dark, menacing colors, with a cloak that almost shouted "evil villain", but he was not ugly or fearsome in a engrossingly disgusting way.

He was tall and dark, with wide-set shoulders and a square jaw. His skin was toned a natural olive, a shade of tan just similar to Hashirama's sun-toasted complexion. His hair was black, long enough to brush his shoulders, but not messy. He had a straight nose and a set mouth, accompanied by teal eyes with their strange nonwhite whites; all of his features pulled into a frown, but if he simply relaxed for a moment, he exuded a presence of security and solidness. He was not scary in those moments, nor was he nice. He was like a mountain, firm and just…existing.

It was almost comfortable, his existing. As if he was a pillar, forever steady and supporting, so that if one was to fall, he would never fail to catch. On the other hand, he was definitely an angry soul, brows forever creasing into a frown. His very essence was angry, forceful and raging at all times, even when he appeared calm.

Perhaps, Mariko supposed, this was the heart of a warrior. A man who tricked himself into believing he was constantly on the battlefield and needed to have a weapon in his hands.

"Where," hissed Toka, for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

There was no answer, and Kakuzu simply shook his head. His scarred mouth pulled into a sad smile, and he shrugged. Toka's genjutsu had hardly brushed his consciousness, and upon realizing that he had an iron mental defense, the woman had become slightly rattled. She'd tried genjutsu after genjutsu, but the man had countered them with a surprising ease. Toka almost grudgingly resorted to an Uchiha, but the Sharingan had failed to evoke any sort of reaction as well.

"If I were you, I'd just stop," Kakuzu droned, yawning. "I've far too much experience against your petty genjutsu."

If Tobirama had been standing in that corner two seconds ago, Mariko had not noticed. He appeared out of nowhere and stalked up to the dark-skinned murderer, eyes glinting a dangerously bright scarlet. He glared at Kakuzu with an unreadable seriousness, as if searching for a weapon in the other man's eyes.

"Speak," he ordered, apparently casting a genjutsu that Mariko could not see.

"I'll tell you this," Kakuzu replied. "You may have trapped me in your genjutsu, but you're not making me talk whatsoever, got it? Your genjutsu has nothing on—"

The man went frigid, and the hand that was habitually at the scarred, sewn tissue of his face dropped rapidly. He muttered a confused oath, before struggling to maintain eye contact with Tobirama.

"Toka, just use that one," Tobirama muttered to his cousin, who looked rather put off.

"I was completely capable of—"

"I'm not a patient man, Toka. Get it done."

Toka then proceeded to elbow the white-haired Senju so hard that he would find a nasty bruise on his ribs later. She was not a woman who liked to be one-upped, and she was also not a woman to be treated with a tetchy attitude. If anything, she was the one with the fierce manner, always ready to slice an interrogation subject to pieces. Toka didn't like it that Tobirama butted in, but left it as it was for the moment.

Tobirama promptly left the room, closing the door a bit too harshly than he should've, slamming it for good measure. He stalked into the hall to find his little blunette waiting like a somewhat lost deer, meandering here and there while she waited for him to come outside.

"You been here a while, Shorty?"

"No, not long. I came to check on Toka."

Tobirama nodded, gesturing for her to follow. Mariko trotted after him, taking one and a half strides for every one of his.

"Have you gone to see your sister? How's she doing?"

He was awfully talkative, she thought to herself absently. But besides that, he just looked kind of mad.

"She's okay. Talking a lot and stuff," Mariko told him. "Katsurou went to inform the Hot Springs legislation of the, uh, you know."

He stopped, suddenly, and she nearly ran into his back. Her nose was practically buried in the fabric of his coat, and she backed off hastily to avoid a potentially awkward, embarrassing scenario. Then, on a whim, she threw her arms around him and hung onto the Senju as if her life depended on it.

"Shorty." He turned so that he could face her, a hand placed fondly on a sapphire-topped head. "You okay?"

"Are you okay?" she returned, slightly muffed through his jacket. She ventured a squeeze, pressing herself a little closer. He winced, and she realized that his rib was more badly bruised than she thought. Toka was a fearsome woman, and was not to be messed with.

As if reading her mind, Tobirama quickly said, "It's nothing. At least she didn't break my ribs this time."

Appalled, Mariko gave him a wide-eyed, baffled look. He snorted and ran a few fingers through her blue hair.

"But Shorty," he continued. "What are you doing?" Staring down at her, Tobirama watched the blunette carefully extricate herself from him, unwrapping her arms and reluctantly stepping back. She flushed a little bit and folded in on herself, slightly embarrassed.

"I thought you needed a hug."

"Well," he supposed, "maybe."

She lit up at this, but he glowered.

"Don't do that in public," he growled, almost menacingly. At this, Mariko boldly stepped up to him and grabbed his arm, leaning against him. It was oddly comforting, this position. She realized that being in close proximity of the tall albino Senju made her feel secure and safe and so very warm.

What am I doing? Mariko wavered, still holding Tobirama's arm but not really leaning on him anymore. But, what was she doing? Did he find it strange that she was suddenly so attached to him? Had something happened between them?

No…not really.

Yes, really.

No. Yes. No? No. Mariko began to confuse herself. What had happened? What was she doing? What is going on? Sumiko? Was Sumiko here? No. Sumiko was dead. No! Sumiko was alive! Definitely alive! Sumiko was…Mariko was…

"Shorty. I think you need to rest," Tobirama said, though his voice sounded increasingly distant, as if she was hearing him through a glass pane. Sounds came through in waves, oscillating between volumes. "Shorty? Hey, you listening?"

A shock of fatigue hit her like a train, a brick wall that she slammed into with extreme delay. Mariko could see flashes of things she should have processed ages ago — holding Sumiko's hand, the fleshy bump of her newly healed throat, a bloody chest, red, red, red, Sumiko dying…

"Shorty!"

And then, without even realizing that she'd fallen, Mariko was in Tobirama's arms, being carried to his room. He was brisk and urgent, but at the same time his touch was tender and careful. Gingerly, Tobirama rolled back the covers and set down the girl cradled in his strong arms. Mariko reached out and touched his wrist; he paused.

"Rest," he said.

"No, I was going to—"

"Going to rest," he supplied, tucking her in with the utmost care.

"—ask you to stay," Mariko finished. She then frowned, mostly at herself, because her mind was muddled and fuzzy. What was she thinking about? Of all things, she thought of a brick wall, hitting her an unimaginably painful speed. But, her natural logic told her that she should not have hit that wall, but instead, she should've soared over it on Katrina's back. Katrina. Where was Katrina? Mariko swore she saw Katrina out the window.

No, it was Katrina in the pasture.

No, Sumiko in the pasture. What was she doing there? And Katsurou and Ren and Ryouichi and just about everyone else she could possibly imagine. It was a warm, sunny Hurricane day, and Mariko was four-years-old, clinging to the hand of her mother. The weather was beautiful, ideal for a royal family outing, but Mariko was sick. Her throat was sore and she had a thick, wet cough that scared away their noble neighbors for the time being. She downed a bitter concoction that was supposed to heal her, but Mariko doubted that it was working. Her head ached with the force of seven suns, rays of heat pounding on her forehead and pulsating all over. The pretty green fields were blurring into a mass of earthy waves, a splotch of jade against a sky-blue blur of paint. Blue blobs, supposedly her siblings, bobbing all over the place, making her more and more dizzy.

And dizzy she was, falling over suddenly.

She was dizzy, she fell over suddenly.

Suddenly, Mariko fell, dizzy and disoriented, only her mother's hand managing to ground her for a few seconds.

"Stay," she murmured weekly, eyes struggling to stay open.

"I'm staying, Shorty," answered her mother.

No, that was definitely not her mother.

And then she realized that she was dreaming, a headache slamming against her skull forcefully, and the hand that was wrapped firmly around hers belonged to Tobirama. The pretty green fields melded into a soft darkness, a neutral gray that defined Tobirama's room in the dark, with only the remnants of evening sunlight filtering through the curtained window to provide light.

"Are you?" she asked.

"I am," he reassured her. Staying. I am staying.

He laid the back of his free hand on her forehead, which was burning up. She suddenly relished the coolness of his hand, like a soft wave of ocean breeze washing over her, soothing her discomfort. Tobirama thumbed a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he continued applying a gentle flow of chakra to her skin. It was delightfully cool, a subtle ice to her burning fever.

She heard the ocean and saw the ocean, but at the same time, she felt that it was raining. No, not felt — she smelled the rain, the cool afterglow of a storm, rolling through the sky. He smelled of trees and rain and, as always, of fresh linen. This time, a little bit of the wind and terrain, but clean of any dirt or blood from battle.

"I'm going to get you something eat, okay?" He began to shift.

"Don't go," she weakly murmured, trying to break through her lovely hallucination of green fields and family reunions.

Tobirama sank back down into his position, never letting go of her hand. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, which remained on her, slightly worried. Mariko's gaze fell to his chest, where the soft blue of the shirt he'd changed into lulled her into a quiet, drifting sleep.

The grass was soft beneath her bare feet, and though the wind was strong, a pair of arms wrapped around her and kept her from flying too far.

.x.X.x.

Sleep tight, Shorty.

.x.X.x.

It was still dark, a lonely lamp glowing outside the house and a couple of fireflies blinking sleepily. The little flying lights buzzed about with no particular aim, whirling in slow, lazy circles as their hind ends glowed fluorescent yellows. Their constantly winking signals appeared like miniscule beacons in the dark, quiet and soporific. She wanted to go back to sleep, mesmerized by the lights slightly dimmed by the lonesome lamp, but she found that her eyes were no longer heavy.

The bed was empty beside her, and she rolled over to see the time.

Two in the morning.

Mariko buried her face in a pillow, hoping to fall back asleep until the sun rose, but simply the scent of the bed's usual inhabitant kept her awake. She supposed that since she was not going to sleep again any time soon, she might as well just get up.

Swinging her feet around, Mariko sat up and contemplated the time.

Still two in the morning, give or take a minute. She'd hoped to pass the time staring at the clock, but obviously such a technique was attempted in vain. But where would Tobirama be at this hour? Last she remembered, he was stroking her hair softly, and arm wrapped around her.

Mariko slipped on her sandals, which she had discarded at the door, and straightened out her wrinkled clothes. She had not changed, and thus deemed it all right to go outside as long as she didn't look too messy. Padding outside, she meandered down the halls and absently ended up at the kitchen. There was a clatter of dishes, and she froze, curious as to who was inside.

"You find anything?"

"Yes." This second voice was Toka, definitely. But she was tired and groggy and didn't sound quite pleased.

"Whereabouts?" asked the first one – it was Hashirama, actually – before offering Toka a cup of coffee. She declined, and it sounded like they sat down at the roundtable. A chair scraped quietly across the hardwood, and Mariko heard a telltale creak as Hashirama turned towards the door. "Mariko, dear, you may come in."

Almost sheepishly, the blunette pushed the door open and peeked through the threshold.

"I couldn't sleep," she said lamely.

"It's all right," Toka replied, "come sit next to me." The older woman patted the spot next to her, and Mariko willingly obeyed. "Would you like to listen in on our impromptu info session?"

Mariko slid into the seat, folding her hands on the table and offering an ear.

"Well," Hashirama said, "where's that brother of mine?"

Mariko shrugged. "I don't know, I think he left a few hours ago."

"He's missing out," Hashirama sighed. "He'll want to hear this."

"Now," Toka continued, "we'll just continue without him. Mariko, would you like anything to eat or drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Mariko vaguely regretted declining, because she'd missed dinner and hadn't had anything since. Her stomach would most likely begin rumbling soon.

"Well, we have information on your Aunt and the Lord and Lady Gen," Toka informed her. She nodded solemnly at her audience of two, and then, "They are in the Hidden Stone Village."

"Hidden Stone Village?" the two echoed.

"The Earth Country?" inquired Mariko. Toka shook her head.

"No, this is Ishigakure, a completely different shinobi village altogether."

"They're the ones in the undeclared nation, right?" Hashirama pulled out a file and browsed through it, shaking his head. "No, this is Iwa. We're talking about…Ishigakure?"

"Yes," confirmed the dark-haired woman. The nation is currently undeclared, but is affiliated with the Earth because they are neighbors."

"So basically, they copied Iwa and made a Hidden Stone Village rather than a Hidden Rock Village?" Hashirama said, brow creasing.

"Yes." Toka pointed at the map in Hashirama's manila folder, and he pulled it out to spread across the table. Mariko gaped at the map, which unfolded to an immense surface area. "Right there, next to Ame," Toka said, placing a finger on a small country nestled between the Earth and Wind nations.

I thought I knew this map well, Mariko thought randomly. Here she was, completely stumped by the fact that this nation existed, and that there was a new shinobi nation formed inside of it. Well, then again, this country was nameless and undeclared, so she supposed it made sense that she'd never learned of it. Geography was not her forte, even though she quite liked traveling. I like traveling now, but not before, she told herself. That didn't quite make sense, because the only traveling she'd ever done was this trip to Konoha. I like traveling around Hurricane, Mariko mended. I'm just confusing myself again.

A knock on the kitchen door, and Katsurou peered in.

"Do we have a plan to go to Ishi?" he said.

"You were listening in, weren't you?" accused Toka, though she meant no harm. Katsurou chuckled and let himself in, sneaking around Hashirama like a little boy who knew he'd done something wrong, but was overly excited about his sneakiness.

"We'll send a rescue group there," Toka told him.

"No, I want to go," Katsurou protested. "I've been traveling for a good while, so I'd like to continue."

Toka exchanged glances with Hashirama, who had not yet voiced anything of the matter.

"Then I want to go to," Mariko suddenly blurted. Everyone stared at her.

"No," Katsurou and Toka both said at the same time.

"You stay and look after Sumi," Katsurou said firmly.

"Ren's coming for her," retorted Mariko, now forced to support her little outburst – why was she so good at getting into messes? – though she had no idea what she was doing. "Besides, I want to travel."

Do I want to travel? I don't even know.

"No," repeated Katsurou, with a finality that would not be questioned. The Second Prince folded his arms, and from then on out took on the authority stance that mirrored King Hiroto's. They were, after all, father and son.

"Katsurou will go to Ishi with an elite Leaf squad," Hashirama declared. "The rest we'll deal with in the morning. I kind of want to sleep."

Toka laughed. "Of course, cousin. We should all go to bed, it's late."

And Mariko would've liked this, had she been able to sleep that night. Instead, she doubled back to the kitchen, where the map was still laid out, and pored over the nations for a good long time.

She realized, with a start, that the sun had come up, and she was tired again. Her eyelids were heavy and she had inadvertently begun nodding off.

"Shorty, you really need to sleep at regular people times," sighed a familiar, deep voice. He scooped her up, like he usually did, with a gentle, affectionate ease. "I don't know what to do with you."

"Me neither," mumbled Mariko, ignoring the tickle of her nose as a portion of his fur collar brushed her face.

.x.X.x.

"I demand entrance through this gate."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but—"

"Excuse me, but do you know who I am?"

"Sir, please hold on a moment. Let me get a higher official."

"I see no reason for the delay. The delegation of the Hot Springs Country will tear down your gates."

"Sir, pardon the inconvenience but we have no idea—"

"I request conference with your daimyo, this is outrageous!"

"Sir, we are a shinobi village, our leader is the Hokage."

"Oh just let him in, child."

"But Sarutobi-sama, he's…"

"It's fine. Let him in."

"Sarutobi-sama, if I get in trouble with the higher-ups…"

"You can blame me, it's fine. Sir, please come this way with me. I will take you to the Hokage Tower."

"Finally, a man with sense. Tell me your name, shinobi."

"Sarutobi Sasuke, head of the Sarutobi clan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Surely. Well, as expected of the renowned Sarutobi, I am pleased to see that you can read the situation far better than the average guard."

"Well, sir, we try. We really do."

"I'm sure. Now tell me, how much longer until my entire delegation can get through the gate?"

"I…am not sure, sir. I will see to it that they get through."

"Very well."

.x.X.x.

"Hey, Tobirama-sensei, my dad told me to come get you." Hiruzen, on the porch, with a gigantic watermelon in his arms, requesting for the Hokage's brother's presence.

"What's up?" asked the white-haired Senju, carrying his sleepy fiancée. If Hiruzen found this strange at all, he didn't say anything – he was smarter than that.

"There's a weird guy at the gates, and my dad just let him in."

"What weird guy?" Katsurou popped out of the living room and danced onto the porch, looking far too peppy at such an early hour.

"I dunno, he was all important and stuff," provided Hiruzen.

"All important and stuff," echoed Tobirama flatly. "What does he look like?"

"Um, he's got hair like dirt, but it's like the dirt in the old—"

"Saru, that explains nothing."

"Um. He's got reddish hair and is super important and stuff."

Tobirama glared daggers at his student, but stalked out the door nonetheless. Mariko stirred slightly at this movement and awoke to a hazily spinning environment. Her nose itched at his fur collar, and she patted it away from her face. He glance down at her.

"Mornin', Shorty." He set her on her feet, hands firmly around her waist to make sure she was upright. Seeing as the blunette was quite woozy and not fully awake, they stayed in this position for a minute or two.

"What's going on?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. One hand instinctively reached for him, grasping his navy-blue jacket to steady herself. There was a cloudy heaviness to her, the kind that came with an interrupted sleep.

"Saru says there's a foreign man at the gates, and that I should investigate. Come with me?" Tobirama nonchalantly extricate her fingers from his jacket and stepped away. She made a face, but didn't protest at this action. Mariko simply nodded and followed the white-haired Senju, glancing back at the boy who was currently peering inside at Mito cooking something delicious.

They intercepted Sarutobi Sasuke and the unexpected guest at the village center — Hiruzen must've moved fast, Mariko thought — just as they passed the main market. Almost immediately, Mariko did a double-take, and the foreigner's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"Ren!" she blurted, almost wondering if she was still asleep.

"Lady Princess," replied the Hot Springs lord, "what…what are you doing here?"

"She lives here," deadpanned Tobirama. "And you are?"

Ren puffed up like a peacock, bristling uncomfortably at the Senju's tone. Sasuke threw a glance between his son's teacher and the foreigner, deciding to back away slowly. He threw in a brief, "I'll catch up with you later. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir," before dodging away into the growing near-noon market crowd.

"Lord Ren of the Hot Springs," announced the redhead.

"Ah." Tobirama clearly still didn't understand the connection. "What brings you here, Lord Ren of the Hot Springs?"

Mariko was unsure as to whether or not the bubble in her chest was a giggle or a cringe. Ren visibly reddened, just slightly, simmering with his arrogant sort of pride. The blunette tugged Tobirama's sleeve and whispered, "He's Sumi's husband."

The albino's brows arched upwards, slightly intrigued by this statement.

"Well then, Lord Ren, this way." He waved in the general direction of Konoha's hospital, and they backtracked the way they came. Ren, rather offset by Tobirama's indifferent demeanor, huffed and demanded that they first allow his delegation to enter the village. Tobirama waved him off, not particularly worried about the traffic jam that was currently building up at the village gates. "I could do that," he said, shrugging, "or I could take you to see your wife, whose heart was gouged out and nearly ripped from her chest, had it not been for my brother's healing ninjutsu…oh, around…yesterday."

Tobirama stared pointedly at Ren, who opened his mouth and then closed it decisively. He was a slim, redheaded fish out of water, looking rather odd in his dark green travel jacket, riding trousers, and spurred boots. Then, throwing an accusatory glance at the Second Princess — Mariko couldn't figure out what wrong she was doing in this situation, but let it go as a Ren thing — he followed Tobirama rather docilely.

The aroma of something sweet and tangy reached them, wafting temptingly from near Sumiko's wing of the hospital. When Hiruzen bobbed in and out of a few rooms, passing out sweet cakes and lusciously sugar-topped pastries, it was evident that Mito was here. The elegant Uzumaki herself emerged from a few rooms down and waved at them. She paused, studying Ren, and then ducked back into Sumiko's room.

"Hiruzen, you're quite charming, you know that?"

"O-oh, really?"

"Mmhmm. C'mere, let me tell you something."

Tobirama made a face as he knocked on Sumiko's door; Ren squirmed impatiently at the sound of his wife's voice, almost like a dog needing to go outside, or a little boy that wanted candy.

"Come in," came Sumiko's voice, light and healthy.

As soon as Ren tried to push past and enter first, Tobirama slammed a hand across the doorway and blocked the other man with his arm. Then, deliberately slow, he glared and then allowed Mariko to enter first. The blunette decided that the butterfly in her throat was a giggle. She slipped into the room and found Sumiko conversing with Hiruzen, who was trying to decide which pastry was the prettiest so that he could give it to the First Princess of Hurricane. Mito, at the little sink and kitchenette of the private hospital room, was washing her hands and preparing an inevitably delectable lunch.

"Oh Mari, would you like some—" Sumiko's eyes widened, and she caught sight of her husband. "Ren!"

He rushed forward then, and embraced her without a word. Hiruzen wiggled awkwardly out of the way, ducking behind his sensei and offering a pastry. Tobirama took a mini apple pie and popped it in his mouth, earning him a brief scolding from Mito.

"How did you get here so fast?" Sumiko asked, but Ren was too busy studying the scar across her neck and the still-healing lump that was a hasty melding of her throat. It was almost endearing, the silent way he was worrying over her, his mask of arrogance dropping away and revealing the man that loved his dear Sumiko. Mariko doubted that she'd ever seen this Ren before, and knew that she probably wouldn't see it ever again. He was soft and weak, half defeated and half relieved. What seemed like shock from the almost-death of his loved one was evident on his heavy shoulders and hanging head; he was, in truth, more worried than he let on. Mariko wondered what exactly Katsurou had written to him.

"You idiot," he murmured, almost inaudibly. The room was deadly silent, and it was awkwardly crowded. Then, clearing his throat, Ren informed her that he'd been in the area — in some temple that was promoting some sort of charity for the poor in surrounding nations — and that the letter to Hot Springs had been allowed to drop in early. They'd ridden like hell was on their heels until reaching Konoha.

Either that, Mariko thought, or he teleported.

Whatever the case, at least he cared. She supposed that Sumiko would be the only one to break his hard shell. Though he may not have been friendly to everyone else, he was a good guy. Everyone was good, if only they tried to keep it that way.

"Well," Sumiko said. "I was telling Hiruzen here that he was very charming."

Ren and Tobirama both made faces.

"I was giving him girl advice."

Mito tried not to snort as she offered the future Daimyo of Hot Springs a choice of pastries — upon glancing up at Mito's face, he quickly deduced that declining was not a good idea with this woman — and commented, "I'm sure he will have a very successful love life, hmm?"

Hiruzen flushed and tapped Tobirama's arm.

"Sensei, can we go train?"

"Maybe."

Hiruzen decided that he no longer wanted to be in the company of these embarrassingly nosy adults, so he sheepishly exited the room. Ren reasserted his mask of formality and dropped his voice somberly.

"I want to know who did this."

"He's been interrogated and imprisoned," Mito answered calmly.

"No. I want to see him."

"I don't think that's a good idea," the Uzumaki warned, setting down her tray of goods. "The Hokage is settling issues on this matter, and we are currently focusing our efforts of the rescue of Lord and Lady Gen of the Tea Country, as well as your wife's aunt, the Lady Tari of Hurricane's High Court."

"And where are they now?"

"Ishigakure." Mito trusted that Ren knew his geography; he did, and thus nodded in understanding.

"Then," he decided, "I will accompany this rescue group. The Hot Springs will fully involve itself in this matter, simply because we are—"

"Lord Ren," interjected Tobirama, "I do not believe that to be a wise decision. Do not act so brashly."

Ren threw Tobirama a stony glare.

"I can choose to do whatever I wish. As future daimyo of the Hot Springs, I have the right to mobilize my forces."

"Ren," Sumiko broke in softly. "It's okay, really."

"Sumi," he said, a little too harshly, "he hurt you. I will do whatever I can to stop whatever was that he was working on. This…monster that almost killed you." He softened, lowering his voice. "You almost died. You almost left me."

She looked down, her glance brushing his before focusing on her fingers, knotting and unknotting the bleached white hospital sheets.

"First," Ren said, standing up and staring at all of them, "I want to see the man who did this to Sumi." He pointedly looked at Mito, who did not flinch a bit. When she simply folded her arms, unrelenting, he almost imperceptibly shrank back and then addressed Tobirama. "I will join this mission, as a husband, an ally, and a fellow shinobi."

Tobirama exchanged glances with Mito, who pursed her lips but nodded.

"You will join Inuzuka-Hyuuga Platoon One," said Tobirama, hardly rattled. Mariko could tell, however, from the hard set of his jaw and the tension to his shoulders, that he was not at all pleased. Most likely, it was because Katsurou also wanted to tag along. "They are leaving in two days."

Tobirama muttered something about an unorganized mission and a hastily put together team, but did not show any expression on his face. Ren, seemingly pleased with his, sat back down next to Sumiko and took her hand gently. She appeared tired, head lolling to the side on her pillow, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. Mariko realized that Mito was on Sumiko's other side, applying some sort of intravenous painkiller with a needle and a carefully mixed solution that was chemically activated with the application of chakra.

"She's going to be sleepy for a while," said Mito, "but it's only to kill the pain. Her ribs are still knitting, and her throat is probably on fire all the time. Poor thing won't stop talking, either."

Ren said nothing, only let his stiff stance drop into a defeated slump as he stroked Sumiko's long, brushed back hair. He was like a sunset against a fading blue sky, his coppery hair contrasting with her cerulean tresses. He, too, was young. Too young for death and too young for such a shock. Mariko realized that he was just like them, just like Ryouichi — a thin boy with too much pressure and expectation ladled onto his shoulders, weighed down with stress.

All he wanted was a few minutes of peace.

Mariko and the rest gave it to him, slipping out the room quietly and heading back to the Senju compound. Mito broke off half way, heading to the Hokage Tower to tell Hashirama the plans, and the other two walked home in silence.

"Shorty, you have an annoying family," Tobirama said bluntly, upon reaching the main house.

"What's that's supposed to mean?" she snapped, glancing up at him.

"Your brother is stubborn, your sister in stubborn, your brother-in-law is stubborn," Tobirama droned, as if listing a compilation of complaints.

"This is coming from you?" she retorted, frowning. He brushed off this comment coolly, continuing on about how her family was full of stubborn people — including Mariko.

"I've yet to meet your oldest brother, so who knows," Tobirama finished, throwing a dry smirk her way. She frowned, turned to him, and then poked him in the abdomen. He scowled at this unwelcome strike, and grabbed her arm when she tried again. "Stop it," Tobirama hissed, snatching her other hand and scooting out of reach at the same time.

"You look ridiculous," she quipped. Mariko then regretted saying anything, because he yanked her closer so that they were face to face, noses almost touching. She vaguely wondered if she was going cross-eyed from trying to focus on him, but then glanced uneasily to the side.

Tobirama released one of her hands and tilted her chin up, lips momentarily brushing hers before he let go completely and began to walk away. She flushed, slightly angry and slightly embarrassed, and maybe a little surprised — okay, a lot surprised (pleasantly) — as she stumbled after him. Mariko clumsily grabbed his jacket, nearly tripping and falling on her face in the process.

"Well, Shorty?" he asked.

"Well, what?" She bit her lower lip and glared up at him. Then, boldly, she snatched his fur collar and pulled him down to eye-level. The little smirk that had been on his face his whole time remained, widening just a hair. In a unexpectedly tender gesture, one hand came up to cup her cheek as he kissed her, a teeny bit longer this time.

"Satisfied?" he said gruffly, straightening. She flushed and harrumphed, grabbing his arm.

"Fine," she said shortly, feigning a grudgingly content attitude.

"Fine? Is that all I get?" Now he was just playing with her, and he knew that it bugged the little blunette. Tobirama spun Mariko into an elegant dip, the kind she recognized in dramatic movies and plays, but never really fully comprehended could be possible in real life. He pressed his lips to hers, lingering. Her hands unsurely wrapped around his neck, and he pulled her close. "Now what do I get?" he asked, pulling away.

"Decent," she muttered sharply, though she had folded her arms around him and was burying her face in the scent of his fluffy collar.

"Decent," he echoed, scoffing slightly. "Sure."

He swooped her up into his arms, for what seemed like the hundredth time, and sauntered back to the house for a well-timed lunch.

.x.X.x.

"You idiot, don't die on me."

"Ren, who's the idiot here? I have the God of Shinobi on my side."

"And if you didn't?"

"Then I'd be dead."

"Exactly."

"…I'm sorry."

"…Me too. I love you."

"I know. I love you too. Hey, don't do that! Don't go all mushy on me, stirrup-head!"

"Shush, insolent bluegrass."

"How many times do I have to tell you that bluegrass isn't actually that blue?!"

"Probably a million."

"You idiot."

"Mmhmm."

.x.X.x.

Day three of Ren's stay, and the Konoha prison break rattled everyone. The ringleader killed at least five people, including one Sarutobi — for his fire-element heart — and one Hatake — for his lightning-element heart — plus two other shinobi for their water and earth attributes, respectively. A good number of inmates escaped, most of them recaptured but a few slipping out the gates.

The one headed in the direction of Ichigakure at a fearsome speed was pursued immediately by the already planned Inuzuka-Platoon One, plus a redhead and a blunet.

Hashirama himself dragged two inmates back to their cells; Tobirama flooded the main village road after ushering all citizens into their homes, washing a five more escaped prisoners back to their cages. And if the Uchiha didn't take care of the rest with flames and genjutsu, then the Shimura simply let loose with their Fuuton and sliced them in half, upping the dates of their death sentences — whether they had one, or not.

"We are going, now," shouted Katsurou, despite the fact that he was standing off against the God of Shinobi.

"Wait one hour, until this all calms down, and then you may track him," Hashirama said sensibly.

"How could you let this happen?!" the Second Prince continued hollering, flown into a frenzied rage. "You are the Hokage! Take responsibility!"

"Our prisons are newly instated, and our defenses were only built not too long ago. We are not an impregnable facility," Hashirama reasoned calmly. He was not at all shaken by Katsurou's flying mouth, a temper that was usually kept in check quite dutifully. It was something that the Second Prince and Sumiko shared, despite their ability to appear calm and collected.

"Still," hissed Katsurou. "It happened."

"That's right," agreed Hashirama. "And so we're fixing it, aren't we? Or would you rather I have killed him and let Sumiko die the other day? Then, this never would have happened, no?"

Katsurou went silent.

"It's happened, just like you said," Hashirama continued, "and that's why we're going to fix it. We are human, Lord Prince. I am human. That is why I strive to fix my mistakes, do you understand?"

Hashirama broke into a totally uncalled for peppy attitude, smiling and returning to his good old self. He pretended misread the severity of situation, and told Katsurou — rather sardonically — to go have a nice cup of tea and maybe a hotcake or two.

"We're leaving now."

"We're leaving in an hour," Hashirama replied. "Toka will accompany you, as will Ren, and you will set off with the eight-man group in one hour."

Katsurou glared. He practically bowled over Mariko on his way out, and she could only follow.

"Katsurou," she said softly. "What happened?"

"He broke out," snapped her brother, "that's what happened. I can't believe this!"

He slammed a fist into the wall angrily.

"Why us?" he suddenly asked, almost in pain. "You were supposed to come here and that was it. Now all the rest of us are dragged in."

"This is my fault now?"

"No. No, it's not." Katsurou turned to her. "It's mine."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mariko frowned at him, but when he met her eyes, she gasped. His eyes were turning gray.

"It's my fault," he repeated. "Everything is. That's why I need to go. You heard the man, right? Humans fix their mistakes. If I'm still a human, I can fix it."

"You're not making any sense," Mariko retorted, grabbing his arm. He shook her off and continued down the hall briskly. "Katsurou, what's wrong with your eyes?"

"Nothing."

"Obviously!" she shouted, exasperated. "Obviously nothing is wrong! Your eyes are gray, Katsurou."

"Maybe I'm blind," he replied.

"Katsurou!" Mariko leapt in front of him and blocked his way; he wanly looked to the wall. He looked heavy with a sort of pain-ridden guilt, and she saw that he actually thought that he was the source of all their misfortune.

"Mom was right," he whispered. "And that was my fault too."

"What was your fault?" Mariko asked. She was tired of everything, tired of Katsurou and his riddles, tired of people getting hurt, physically and mentally. She herself had thrown away the blade years ago. Whatever was hurting Katsurou needed to go away too. Why couldn't she just wish it away with a snap of her fingers? There is no magic in this world, right?

"Everything."

"Katsurou, what are you talking about?" And she was tired of asking questions to which there was no willing answer.

"Sumiko, two days ago. This prison break. Aunt Tari."

"No, none of this is your fault."

"Mariko, think for a moment. If you can figure out what I'm talking about, then good for you. But for now, just realize that everything here is my fault." Katsurou sighed, running a hand through his blue hair. His eyes had truly turned a silvery, lupine sort of gray, hard like slate.

"…Have you gone insane?"

"Probably," he answered. Katsurou turned to his little sister and stared for a moment. "What do you see?"

"You have gray eyes."

"And?"

"That's it. You have gray eyes. What is it, an eye infection? Katsurou, I need you to tell me what's—"

"Nothing." He returned to his quick walking rhythm, jogging down the stairs and exiting the Hokage Tower.

"Will you stop that?!" She barred his way again, despite the fact that he could easily maneuver around her now. Mariko put a hand on her brother's chest, stopping him.

"It's my fault. That's all. So, I'm going to fix it. Simple as that," Katsurou answered. "Nothing more and nothing less."

"How about just nothing?" Mariko attempted, fruitlessly. "Nothing is your fault."

"Mariko, you're wrong. This, Sumiko, Mom...I don't know, maybe you're next. Or Ryo."

"What?"

"I killed Mom, and I almost killed Sumiko. Do you want to die too?" And then pained look in his wolf-gray eyes, reflecting the moon that was not out yet, told her clearly what she wanted to hear.

"You're sick, Katsurou." You need help.

He was an empty shell, a husk. Where had her brother gone?

.x.X.x.

The barn is burning again. Its top falls quickly this time, collapsing in on itself in a matter of seconds. The crumbling pillars curl in on themselves, folding into mounds of ash and debris. There is someone trapped beneath, screams faltering to silence, leaving only the sound of fire raging through the stables in the air.

A hand protrudes the fallen wood splinters, and for a moment, she fears it is Tobirama. Then, she realizes what she is looking at, and it terrifies her. It is not the white-haired Senju she has come to like more and more, it is not his snow-white hair and pale face. It could almost pass for him, but no, it is not the Senju, for the tuft of unburned hair that is spared from the dying flames is of a strange hue. It is blue, the only thing definable of the charred face and body.

In horror, Mariko realizes who she is looking at.

Her eyes also seek out the figure crouching over the dead body. It is a wolf, coat like slate and silver, eyes bright and hard as an emerald. A wolf that moves like a man, on his hind legs, hunched in an animal style, prowling like a demon beast.

The wolf touches a claw to the blue hair of the Second Prince.

Katsurou disappears.

.x.X.x.

Mariko, in a brash, uncalculated decision, threw everything she thought she might need into a saddle bag. It was the pack she sometimes slung across her shoulders when riding, and it would probably hold what she required. Then again, she wasn't quite sure what she required for such a mission, anyway.

Shirts, a two pairs of riding trousers, a small, thin dress — though she doubted this would be needed — undergarments, three kunai she stole from Tobirama's weapon's pouch and her notebook, despite her inability to wield them properly. Donning an old stable boy's shirt she'd arbitrarily decided to bring to Konoha, as well as a pair of dark breeches and sturdy men's travel boots — Katsurou's old riding ones, to be exact — Mariko slid out of the compound as inconspicuously as possible.

In broad daylight, that is.

Thinking nothing of the consequences, she tossed her pack into the little supply wagon and hid herself under the canvas, scrawled over in paint with "INUZUKA SUPPLIES". Too soon, she heard the voices of the platoon members, interspersed with Katsurou and Ren arguing.

Then, a face peered into the wagon, accompanied by a small black dog.

It was Inuzuka Shiro, curiously sniffing at the scent of an extra member. For once, Mariko remembered his name; she silently begged him to not say a word.

Shiro, rubbing his black puppy's ears, said nothing and only nodded. She mouthed her silent, relieved thank you, and curled up inside the covered wagon. The young boy — she wondered why he was accompanying this party, since he was only a genin — went alongside the wagon casually, tugging the canvas shut. All light disappeared from Mariko's view.

"Mom, the wagons' ready," he called. A woman's voice answered, telling him to stay behind it and keep an eye out. Shiro readily agreed.

Once or twice, Shiro's dog, Kuro, snuffled his way under the canvas and kept her company. She petted his soft, pointy ears, willing herself to calm down.

Until her heartbeat reduced to a rhythm somewhat slower than the rattling of the wagon's wheels over terrain, Mariko held tight to Kuro's neck, relishing in the fact that the ninja hound did not care that she was accompanying them.

She was in trouble, and she knew it.

The wagon rolled on, and on, and on.

.x.X.x.

Dear Momma,

I think that the Emerald Eagle was not a spirit, but the prince himself, and that we are all his descendants. The Wolf was just his inner darkness.

.x.X.x.

Mariko's breath caught in her throat, airways constricting in a panic.

But it was only Shiro, slipping a portion of the day's dinner to her and opening a flap of the canvas to allow some of the star's bare, twinkling lights inside.

"I won't tell," promised the boy.

Thank you, whispered Mariko. The Inuzuka boy, with the fang-like tattoos running down his cheeks, sat on the wagon's end, spooning a meager soup into his mouth as he watched the group. Mariko felt a faint pulse of chakra — it was the same sort of odd, displaced warmth she'd often felt from Hashirama or Tobirama whenever they molded a jutsu or expressed strong emotion — running around her.

"I'm hiding your scent," Shiro informed her under his breath. Whenever his mother or the fellow Inuzuka clan mates came around, or even the Hyuuga — who could've easily peered through the canvas with their Byakugan — and asked what he was doing by the wagon (one time, his mother asked what was in the wagon), Shiro easily cued for his dog's head to pop up. "Kuro likes it in there, and I stick with Kuro." He would then slip the dog a piece of meat, and Kuro would dive back down into the canvas to retrieve it.

It was Kuro in the wagon, not Mariko.

And it was unbearable in the wagon, but this was what she chose.

I'm so stupid, she thought miserably to herself. What am I doing here?

And then Katsurou would begin a debate with Ren, on something or the other of their route or time schedule. The Hyuuga and Inuzuka shinobi grew tired and tuned out, but all Mariko could hear was the strain in her brother's voice.

You're sick, you need help.

"Katsurou, you're overreacting," spat Ren.

"I'm overreacting? Are you sure, Ren? Because it seems like you are too."

"Fine! We both are! Get over it and stop freaking out, then! I'm overreacting simply because you are making a fuss!"

"There is a reason why I'm making a commotion," Katsurou snapped.

"Oh? And what is your reason?" Ren glared, the fire lighting up his auburn hair.

"I can't tell you."

.x.X.x.

.x.X.x.

When he realized that she was not in the Senju complex, not in the village, and not even within his chakra range, he stopped in his tracks. He pressed a hand to the wall, and an entire network of chakra laid itself before him. He could sense Saru all the way in his clan complex, lying in bed, fast asleep. He could feel Hashirama in his office, Arata down in the barn, working late at night. He could even feel the malice that was Uchiha Madara's essence all the way in the secluded Uchiha sector.

But he could not find her.

She was not even in her guest room, the one with the plain whites and browns that he had checked more times than she actually realized.

He could feel past the gate guards, and well into the forest.

She was not there. And she couldn't possibly be hiding her presence, for several reasons. One, she was not a shinobi, and therefore did not know how to make her chakra signature vanish. Two, there were very few people, high-level shinobi included, who could even attempt at successfully clearing their presences. Three, those who could never escaped him anyway, because he was the keenest sensor out there.

The white-haired Senju milled about, waiting for her chakra to just pop out of nowhere. He waited it out, sleeping for a few hours and napping briefly before morning came. Stalking out of the compound and still not finding her, he was inwardly panicked.

On the outside, he was a stone that ignored Saru and Koharu and Homura, all three of which came looking to train that day. They followed him curiously, tagging along wherever he went. When he peered into her room for the twentieth time, this time venturing look around some more — maybe under the bed, in her closet — he found that she had carefully tucked her book of flowers into the bottom of a desk drawer, with the bejeweled horseshoe on top. Her necklace, which she kept hidden behind the lamp in a small, hidden pull-out drawer of the desk — this he knew from poking around, though she had no clue that he'd done so — was gone. She hadn't worn it for quite some time, but it was simple fact; the necklace was gone.

Looking under the bed, he pulled out a few suitcases that she'd brought with her to Konoha. They were messes, with clothes messily stuffed inside, as if she'd pulled out everything to look at it before quickly shoving it all back in.

In her closet — almost empty. Her usual riding boots and trousers were gone (yet another detail he knew from studying her room when he was looking for her on a regular day).

Then, walking back to his own room, Team Tobirama tiredly making a train after him, the Senju grabbed his own supplies.

He reached for his weapons pouch and realized that it was lighter than usual, especially since he'd just stocked up. Always, he carried exactly fifteen kunai and twenty shuriken, with three scrolls inside to summon a thousand more of each. Just weighing the pouch in his hands, he knew he was missing quite a few.

Only twelve kunai remained.

Tobirama grabbed his hitai-ate and his armor, slapping both on quickly and running past his students. Upon reaching the main gates of Konoha, he sprinted out without a word and dove into the forest. About three miles out of the village, leaving his students in the dust, he pressed a hand to the forest floor.

There, just faintly, she was there.

Her signature was small and blue, like a little flower swaying in the wind. She was moving, steadily westbound, with the familiarly ragged chakra mark of Inuzuka Shiro beside her.

A straight path to Ishigakure.

Then, several miles past that, a dark aura. He sensed the signatures of five different people, yet they all traveled within one. They weren't full chakras, only little cores inside of one human.

Tobirama swore under his breath.

You idiot, he seethed.

And then he began running.

.x.X.x.

That was so LONGGG!

Pfff. And there are so many references in there.

1. There's a Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron reference.

2. There is a Mean Girls reference, of all things.

3. Or maybe it's just math class.

4. There is a Carl Sandburg poem reference (more than one, lol).

5. Yadda yadda, yadda yadda. Is it somewhat coming together?

6. Ren's an ass, lol.

7. Kakuzu, you sneaky bugger!

8. Chuuuu ~

That's all for now! :'D

*plays ominous music here*

9. Mariko, that was really stupid.

(oh well)