AN/ OK, here's where the new version begins to differ from the old version. I really need your reviews so that i know what you think. But as usual, I won't bother with flames. I'm open to constructive criticism, but nothing worse.
As usual, I don't own Naruto or its characters. Only my OCs belong to me
So read, enjoy and review.
Killer B smuggled me safely past the village patrols –all they saw was the jinchuriki leaving for his training ground in the Valley of Clouds and Lightning. When I was permitted to emerge from my Transformation state as one of his Supervibrato Lightning Blades, I found that we were in a water-filled valley, mist clinging to the surface.
"Try not to get caught," Killer B said. I nodded once –I didn't know how to say thank you, or that I appreciated the risk he was taking for me. Emotions were as foreign to me as the concept of a family. I raced away, footsteps rippling as I moved across the shifting surface using only my chakra. I reached the far cliff wall out of the valley, scaling it –again, using nothing but my chakra.
I was on my own.
I ran, using all the training that the Cloud ninja had drilled into me. I knew that they wouldn't just let this slide –I was a powerful tool, an asset to the village that constantly craved jutsu and kekkai genkai, even in this time of peace. But now that I had turned 'rogue', I was sure that I would be viewed as a dangerous liability. I was sure that they would sent Jonin-level hunter-ninja out the moment they found that I was gone rather than risk me falling into the hands of their enemies and becoming a serious threat.
But I had an advantage –actually, now that I thought of it, more than one.
First, these guys had trained me intensively, too long and too hard –I knew how their operations worked, how many ninja were assigned to a squad, how many Hunter-nin there were and the regular patrolled routes of the borders. That meant I knew the best and unguarded routes to take, as well as the least likely (which meant that they were the safest) places to hide. I knew the terrain as well. I had been trained hard and long –the Raikage must have wanted me for espionage and assassinations –the fact that I had made my first kill at the age of six proved that.
Second –my control of chakra was well advanced for someone my age. There weren't any ninja-trainees in the Cloud Village Academy who were my age and could maintain any chakra to even perform a basic Clone. I could already run up the sides of trees and vertical cliffs as well as dance across water using nothing but chakra.
Thirdly and finally, there was the fact that I had the blessing of having a powerful kekkai genkai at my fingertips. I was sure that the rare blood-trait of my clan had been the primary reason I had been taken –besides my inner demon. I had already extensively expanded its capabilities just from practicing on my own –from the handful of petals that I could conquer up when I had been two years younger, to a storm of lethally sharp blades that I could command now –and that was the least of my talents. I had been raised and conditioned to be an effective and deadly tool.
I had to focus on getting over the border undetected –once I was out of the Land of Lightning, it would be beyond their effective range. Yeah, they could send ninja from other lands after me –to either capture or assassinate me –but it would just make them, one of the Great Shinobi Nations, seem weak if they were seemingly threatened by a girl. They wouldn't jeopardize their influence over me. I was sure that I would come across them again, though –and when I did, I would have to be stronger.
I was sure that the Raikage and the leading Jonin would suspect that I was returning to my home village, to my homeland, so they would look in the further-off lands that led there first, hoping to intercept me. But I wasn't going that way –I didn't know where I would be going.
I clutched at my stomach, covering the marking that I knew that only appeared when I was drained and on the point of exhaustion. It was the seal that kept the thing inside me. And what if that clan, that home village in some far-off land that I supposedly hailed from, was real –what would happen if they all hated me? Would they look at me with eyes that mixed hate, anger, disgust and fear together, like they did in the Hidden Cloud? I couldn't bear to find out –I wouldn't be able to stand being subjected to that agony again.
No. My only option was to start a completely new life, where none knew of my past or the thing sealed up inside of me.
Escaping the Land of Lightning seemed relatively easy now that I had done it, and I had found something that made it seem like a cake-walk. And that was finding a way to be accepted into another life was proving difficult.
The Land of Frost shared its northeast border with the Land of Lightning, and was a small shinobi nation. It shared a lot of similarities in terrain with the neighbour –as in high snow-covered peaks and deep ravines and gorges. But here, there were also plains that extended to the south –rolling farmland where the wheat and barley grew, where there were orchards of fruit trees rose from the earth.
I had found a hidden route that rove through a small ravine that was easily missed amongst the swirling currents of a river, merely by chance. It had been a rough ride until the water had flowed into a gentle pool and I had been able to clamber out –soaked, exhausted but alive. I had had to dispose of most of my gear, securing the kimono top so that it resembled a yukata. I kept the sandals as well –and the tanto.
Shivering, I had pressed on, shivering with the cold –but knowing that if I stopped to rest in the snow that was fluttering down around me, I would freeze to death in the cold. The forest was deep and dark, the ground bare earth from the passage of many feet, although there were a few patches of snow here and there. The trees were growing so close together that they formed a natural umbrella against the weather.
As I emerged from the last line of trees, I saw a village nestled on the snowy slopes below. I pulled back into the tree-line to study the settlement nestled between two towering mountains that obviously formed a natural border with the Land of Lightning. At what I presumed to be the entrance into the village, there was a plain worn-looking torii gate with faded paint markings. The houses that I could see had thatched and steeply-slanting roofs, set around fields that they must farm.
As I entered into the village, I had disposed of everything that marked me as a shinobi, burying the tanto and sandals under a thorn bush near the edge of the end of the trees. I had to be careful –I was still practically on the far side of the border with the Land of Lightning –beyond the border meant that they couldn't directly search here without having permission to come into the Land of Frost –but definitely not the range of their influence. I had to disguise what I was, as much as possible.
My last ties to the Hidden Cloud were now gone –apart from the Curse Mark tattooed onto the nape of my neck. For a moment, I reached up and covered the brand with my hand. I hated it, now more than ever.
As I stepped into the village, the heavy clouds overheads parted and white powdery snow began to fall in a curtain. As I began to explore, I realised that there was more to this village than what I had first seen. The village extended down the hill, with homes and fields scattered across wide and flat terraces; each level was ringed by a high wooden wall, constructed of poles tied together with rope and hammered into the ground.
Right now, it was winter. There were no crops to grow or harvest. People would be living through the coldest season in the warmth of their houses, surviving on what they had dug up from their farms over the autumn.
The streets were pretty much deserted, with the exception of a few children who were playing on the bank of a fast-flowing river that was swollen and meandering past the bottom of the village, beyond the final gate that led onto a main road which followed the banks of the river. It wound like a snake through the white landscape. Looking downstream, I saw a bridge that connected this side with the other –and on the far bank, I saw more empty and unused fields.
I sat on the high embankment, watching from a distance as the boys ran races on the flat bank, nearer to the drop-off into the water. But they stayed a distance from the water so that they didn't fall in.
The children were a mix of colours, I noticed as I watched –dark skin against pale or tanned skin. They were all wearing raggedly clothes and were as barefoot as I now was –but they all looked content with their lot in life.
The sun had been low enough already in the sky when I had first seen the village –and now the little daylight that was left was fading fast. I watched as the boys left, walking with women back to the village and the warmth of their homes. Meanwhile, I was ignored and unnecessary –and I knew that I would never find a home here. The people here were happy despite their poverty –the families were large enough already. None would take in a street-rat –they wouldn't have enough food, or money, or love for an additional mouth in these harsh months.
I wandered into the back-alleys, scavenging in bins for any pickings of food. Cats scratched, crows cawed and pecked and dogs bit, making it known that they were first on the pecking order and didn't tolerate a human interloper. Eventually, I settled on the bridge, drawing my knees up to my chest. I was cold, starving and miserable.
I heard footsteps moving across the bridge from the far bank, but I didn't bother looking up at the stranger who wouldn't notice a child curled up on the roadside –even if they did, they would have enough concerns without adding to their problems.
"You're alone aren't you, little one?" I heard a male voice ask as I looked up; I was surprised that anyone would stop and speak to me. The man was in his mid-thirties, with long black hair and a trimmed goatee. He was barefoot, wearing a sheepskin coat over a ragged-looking kimono; he was leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick.
I met his eyes –grey, as heavy as the clouds overhead –but they were not filled with hate. I didn't reply to his question –the fact that I was out here, alone, with night rapidly approaching should answer his question on its own.
"You'll die before the end of winter, a beggar's death, if you live out here," he said. Again, I didn't answer. "Your eyes remind me of mine –you've been on your own, with no-one to care about you."
What did he know? I still kept my silence.
"Why don't you come along with me?" he said, holding out a hand. I stared at the offered hand, then up into the face. It was a sincere offer –but why? "I live on my own, in an empty house," the man said. "I have no family, and harvest has been good for me this year. There is too much for a lonely old man like me to eat. Plus, I could use the company and you need a home."
I reached up and took his hand.