My Beloved Sakura,

Yours will be the eleventh letter I write, and I still feel as if I have far too much to say. I hope you are well and your front of the war is similarly blessed, and I hope you are sent back soon. My own tour will probably not end before yours given the difference in risk, and for that, I am sorry; I would love to take you and all your siblings in my arms, and miss you utterly. I hope that you've still been able to dedicate some time, at least, to your inventions. Despite their less than pleasant impact on my garden it was always wonderful to watch as you tried and tried and—inevitably—succeeded. It is still amazing to me how much you've accomplished at such a young age; you're a child, still, barely a teenager, and yet you are already well on your way to making your mark on the world.

I still remember when your father and I took you home from the hospital. There was the worry, of course, because (as you know) you were an oddly unreactive infant, but you looked so much like dear Kenta, except for your hair, and you looked at everything with such wonder; I adored keeping you with me as I kept up with my housekeeping, because you so rarely cried and you were so happy, and would always be sure to say goodbye to you before I left for work.

When you opened your chakra senses for the first time, those months terrified your father and I. Every day you stayed asleep, unresponsive to the world around you, was like a blow to the gut. And yet we never gave up hope; you, we knew, wanted to live. And so you did.

And after the second time—when your third cousin said we needed to force you to learn how to cope—when we spent all those weeks in that training field it was even worse, and yet we still did not give up hope. Every time you were allowed a break, every time the pain went away, you turned to us. We feared, your father and I, that you would grow to hate us, that you would associate us with the pain we were forced to put you through, and yet you never did. Every time you looked at us, and we knew you loved us, and that gave us the will necessary to get through the rest of your treatment. Even now I think that it would have been one of us who would've given up before you; you were always a fighter.

Watching you play with your sister…

Hi Sakura,

It's Kohana. I'm not sure what to write. I've never written a letter before.

I have a boyfriend, I should probably start off with that. He's nice. His name is Ken, and he's fifteen, and he's a merchant. He's really nice to Himari, too, which is nice. Some boys aren't, so I knew I'd have to be careful when I started dating.

Actually, I probably should have started by asking how you were doing. I don't know if you can reply, but it's still the nice thing to do. So pretend I did that first, and asked if you were holding up alright and if you were in any pain and when you are coming home, before I mentioned the boyfriend.

I do want to know all those things, by the way! But this whole 'push for morale' seems to be a one way street.

I know it's not particularly morale-boosting, but that reminds me of the caller they have set up outside the Administrative Building. The Yamanaka send someone out there every day, and tomorrow it's my turn. Every day, sometimes for hours, the caller lists out every shinobi who was killed in action, missing, or returning home. I'm going to listen for you and everyone else on the return home list, but honestly I don't want to hear your name. So far it's been almost entirely shinobi who were maimed too much to continue.

I'm doing a lot of babysitting these days, when I'm not doing anything else. No one is much in the mood for flower buying, except for funerals, so mostly I just arrange those while I watch everyone's kids. Konoha is so empty right now that every adult who is remotely qualified is working the job they are remotely qualified for, and for me I guess that's kid-rearing. Himari helps, which is good, or else I'm fairly sure I would have torn out all my hair and moved to an Akimichi farm to be a hermit.

I really, really miss you Sakura. It's not the same without you.

Ren left a month ago and…

Dear Aunt Sakura,

I am nine years old today. You are almost fourteen. I don't think I really realized how young you were before. You were a genin when you were my age. I can't imagine that. I'm not going to be a genin for another year, and that's with them getting rid of the final Academy year. My mom says I should write you well wishes, so I wish you are well. I am, and so is my little sister Yoriko and my Mom and my aunts on her side and Himari and Kohana on my Dad's. I don't know about Dad. He went away.

Aunt Kohana says that when you and her grew up your Dad was basically never around at all. That must've sucked. I really like my Dad, and I know Grandpa is really nice too, even though I don't see him much. I don't think I'm going to do what he did, though. I think I want a big family, like Dad's, and I want to stay home and raise them and pretend that I don't remember all their names even when I do like all the parents of big families do. So I've decided to follow your path, instead, because Mom says the only reason you were made to leave was because you were a sensor, and I'm not.

Do you have any suggestions for that? Going into Research, I mean? Because I know I'm taking all the right courses but I don't know what else to do. Really I only chose Research because it wasn't frontline, but Aunt Kohana says Aunt Ayame thought her specialty through about as much, so I figure I've got a chance to do really well, even if I'm not as smart as you.

Yoriko wants to know if you're having a good time, but I know you're not. A lot of the others in class think that being on the battlefront is going to be great, but most of the people I know who have been up there don't talk about it like it's fun, and I don't think you find it fun either. Still, if you are allowed to write us back, could you lie? I don't want Yoriko to know about the world yet. She'll find out soon, I know, but she's still so happy I don't want that to change.

Love,

Rento

Sakura,

You could probably tell, from the quality of the paper if nothing else, that this letter came from the Main House. I want you to forget that. Forget, for the moment, that even now I am your superior and will one day be your head. Instead, think of me (like I know you always did in your mind) as just some kid named Inoichi that you used to tutor.

I messed up Sakura.

I messed up bad.

You were right, I wasn't ready to fight, but now it's too late to turn back and I already have so many regrets and I haven't even hit puberty really and

I don't know what to do. So that's why I'm writing you.

You and I, we seem like we're the same kind of smart. None of us has really had to struggle at any point in school, and both of us value cunning above brawn in a fight. But while I've always been a bit better at the family skills—not just the bloodline, but also seeing more of what people try to hide—you've always seemed better at using the skills.

I don't think you have any idea how much my Dad likes you. He thinks you're funny, and blunt, and always wanted to hear what you told me after my tutoring sessions were done. I never told you that, though, and you were never one to dig, so I don't think you know that.

Well, now you do.

And, more than that, I'll tell you this: my Dad likes you more than me, and my Mom does too.

Both of them love me more than you, of course, but everything you didn't like about me they didn't—don't—like about me either.

I spent a very long time not caring about that. I knew I had bad qualities, I knew that I could be abrasive and stuff, but I always figured that they'd go away over time.

I suppose I was right about that, but I didn't spend enough time considering the 'how' of the equation.

Anyway, the point is, while I notice things like that—things like your sister Kohana's crush on me, or how Himari really wants to be a ninja but always hides that because she knows it's impossible, or how your mother really, really did not plan to have that many kids—while I may notice them, I don't do anything about it.

Nothing nice anyway.

And you... you notice things too, obviously, but more than that…

It's more… you seem to extrapolate more, I guess. Make more use of every bit of information you do glean to understand the world better, and to try to make the world better—Dad told me about how your group was coming up with a list of problems to solve to try to get me to do the same thing. I never bothered with any of that. Just kind of ignored anything that wasn't interesting, that wasn't useful to me.

I'm active combat, now, probably one of the few letters you'll get that isn't from Konoha. I had to pull a few strings to send it to you. I'm active combat, mere years away from my father retiring, and it's time that I stop lazing. But I don't know how.

Sakura, dear cousin, please tell me how to be better.

I will treat you as my elder, even if just in letter form, because I have wasted years barely trying and now I don't know how to fix it.

My sensei's dead.

My Dad's old.

I'm patrolling Fire, and I'm so tired of being a screw up.

Please. Help.

Inoichi.

Sakura,

It is a shame we did not have longer to talk when Shin and I arrived at your camp. I was glad to see you healthy and in good condition, and I am sure you were glad to see me in much the same way (especially given the length of time that Shin and I were unable to report in.) Do not lose hope of the peace that will come, and know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.

Sensei.

Sakura,

I've named my son Ibiki. He snores a lot. He also screams and cries a lot, but I'm told that's normal. I'm back to work, and leaving him is hard, but I know my friends will take good care of him. This is your official notice, however, that you are his godmother. You are highly enough positioned, prepared enough, and a close enough friend to me, that I think it is the only true option. Aiko screamed in fear when I tried to hand her Ibiki for a minute, so she's out. I have similarly chosen Juro as his godfather.

Good luck,

Sachiko.

Dearest sister,

(You're not actually my dearest sister, by the way. I'm addressing all my letters like that. Well, the ones to my sisters anyway.)

I am very, very, very, very, very, very, very happy I did not become a ninja.

I really wish you hadn't either.

The minute you come home (and ingredients are easier to find) I'm making you all your favorite foods, so start thinking about what you want because it is going to be the first thing I ask you about, and I am going to ask you, because you are not going to die.

That's an order.

I'm your older brother, so you have to listen to me.

Kaede would order the same if he was still around.

Honestly, I trust Sayuri and Akina to take care of themselves, and Kohana and Himari were smart and aren't ninja like me, but Ayame went and threw herself into danger and you've always been so sickly (and I know what you're going to say, about it having been a long time since those months in the hospital, but, dearest sister, you forget that I am eight years older than you. I remember every single one of those months, and Mom and Dad were more worried about your survival than they were with Himari, and she was the one that came after a difficult pregnancy.) And what do you, a sickly little child, do? You become a ninja.

I want to hate you for that.

You could be safe, at home, with me and Kohana and Himari and Ikue and our niece and nephew. Instead, you're risking your life.

This was supposed to be a happy letter, to 'boost morale' (they keep on saying that, like the words have any meaning) so here's your morale booster: if you come back alive you get good food. If you don't then I'll hate you forever. It is bad enough Kaede had to die. I'm not losing any more family members.

With love (or hate if you're already dead),

Kamui.

Sakura,

I don't know how many of our group are writing (or even able to write) but I have taken it upon myself to write each of you. Things back at home are…

Well, it's a war.

We might not be dealing with the day to day violence, but we are certainly dealing with the results of it.

I have never been happier that I ditched my plans to be a medic-nin.

The justice department has been very busy. With a reduced police force, and basically no excess resources to spare, the black market it booming. Konohagakure has instituted much harsher punishments to try to combat it, but punishments are only successful if they are caught, and it's very clear that we're only seeing a small subset of the crime that is actually taking place. Additionally, the civilians are furious at the harsh punishments—they've begun acting out against the Uchiha, too, believing they are being selective in who they go after.

Basically it's just not fun.

I'm sure, though, that it is far worse over there. You couldn't pay me money to trade places. But at least that's something—you can think about all the additional wages you're making with hazard pay. That's nice.

I know I'm supposed to cheer you up, but all I have for that (besides the money) is this: one day the war will be over. I just really hope we're there to see it.

Hoping for peace,

Aiko

To Yamanaka Sakura.

This is Bokuso. I am stationed in one of the POW camps at the moment. I am given to understand that you are still posted with the Second Brigade's Second Battalion, Sensor Unit. I hope you are excelling at your career. I have recently been promoted to chuunin in mine and have been assigned to writing my camp's intelligence reports. I know that Shin, among others, has read some of my work. It helps to know that my friends are working alongside me, even if we are so physically distanced. I hope you are allowed to write back. I miss you and all our other friends. I also miss home, and my home colonies. I have not seen them in several months, and I know you have been deployed for longer; I offer you comfort to deal with your long deployment. It is my hope that this war will be over soon, but I know that as the Samurai are brought in from our side, Iwa will be incited to bring out their own, and an entirely new phase will begin. Still, it is good that we are allowed to write again, and I hope that as time continues to pass we will be given similar reliefs in the future.

May your future be a happy one,

Bokuso.

Sakura,

so much must be said

and yet words hide from my pen,

finding me lacking.

Shin

Sakura,

I'll be glad to be done with this war. I know our trip to the capital was very clear about it not ending any time soon, but I guess I can't help but hope. I'm sick and tired of dealing with what I have to deal with, of living like I have to live. I'm sick and tired of not seeing you, not seeing Shin, not seeing my family.

Another of my brother's died. I knew it was inevitable, in a war as long and deadly as this one, but it still hurts. When we come together again, I think we should do something, together, to honor our lost brothers. Something which isn't a clan tradition—something which isn't tradition at all.

I don't know what, though. You and Shin have always been better at coming up with new ideas.

My boss—the other medic that works here—is petitioning for me to be transferred; he says I'm too young to go this long without a break of proper training. He also says it'll probably take a full year, at the rate this is going, before his petition will be answered.

I'm glad things are better at the front, but unfortunately that means it's much busier for me back here. I don't know when this letter will reach you, so, just in case, happy birthday.

Hopefully it'll arrive far sooner than that though.

I hope you're keeping busy. Right back to me if you can—I know that getting messages to the frontline is much easier than the other way around, though, so don't worry if you can't.

Love your brother,

Juro.