Hello everyone!

So this is very different for me. This isn't a ship fic. It's actually a fic set in the Naruto verse with 2 original characters. The main female character is based off of my Girlfriend whom is, quite simply, the light of my life.

Is the main male character based around me? Well... yes absolutely. This is a gift to her.

Frightful, the exhilaration in the limbs when carrying oneself away from burden- nary inhumane the lit fire propelling speed, further and further onwards. There is nothing to the chace, for none begone had seen a whisper of disbelief in their truth; that she would not run. In that they were correct, she did not sprint, she was withholding with a taut, splitting, rope of patience to retain control and not dive fast into the undergrowth. The threads were thinning fast, however, as yet another guard passed by the alcove hiding her figure conveniently from the full moon's luminance. Yet, she knew, she had observed well into many hours of the night- this night, the moon would not burn so bright, it would be shadowed for a time, a glow around its rim; those unknowing would panic for the occurrence- screaming of an attack in the lower town, guards would run to report, and she could run to the forest under the illustrious shadow. No frantic sanction would see her depart under such a frightful absence of lunar comfort. This; would not be a long, her time would be short, but she had scampered around this wall before as a child, and she knew how to slip around the west wall to where the forest grew close around the stone.

An intake of breath near her, jagid- heightening in pace- outside the alcove where the patrol man had just passed, it was luck that he was opposite the direction she intended to dive- her back facing her fore. A mumble escaped him, though she was to far to know what, her breath held for fright that he had seen the scrap of her purple dress peering from the crevice- the fabric too large and heavy to follow her figure fully into the space. Not a dare to attempt and shift the fabric once more, he may yet turn to look. That was when she heard the cries in the distance, a hussle, a bustle, the breaking of wood, the contrasting light of torches being lit- yells could be heard. Still, she dared not move for a moment, until she heard a shout near from the guard and then; the slap of leather boots hitting the wet cobble retreating towards the town.

At this she leaned out of her hide, careful in posture as her body slipped out of the stone shadow, irises glanced fast from her left to right; though the dark was far too vivid to trust, she allowed herself to snap the rope with a dagger made of exhilaration, and she sprinted to the west.

Her shoes were of cheap leather, open at the top and even though there were hardly a puddle left on the stone path from yestereve, her feet were not so lucky to be spared from moisture as the hem of her dress. Her ears could hear with a further clarity, the panic of the people, and though the sharp stab of empathy grazed her; she did not slow her pace, nor glance their direction. Rock held her conviction, and she had no want to break its hold on her, the edge of the wall- that is, the gate was typically guarded well by bored men with lagging eyes and twitching hands; this was not so presently. As she knew it would not be, in quick look to the ramparts it took no large mind to observe the watchtowers -though lit- were not occupied, their people descending down the stairways to aid the guardsmen in calming the people. Necessary, as the shouts declaring warning, foreboding signs, and the filth of the chakra were distinctive enough for even a woman not paying particular attention to the crowd to comprehend.

A snort escaped her, amusement showcased by the mist of her action; even in dire situations, she could not keep from expressing it, wondering at their process of thought. It was not a ponderance she kept, her concentration taken by her careful slip around the wall- she did not wish to be spotted, dim though the chance may be in the obscurity of the haloed moon; she knew if found running, she could be declared the one responsible without pause for rationale.

Once around the stone, she slipped into the leafs of the underbrush. The branches of the forest parted for her as she continued to run- for she had to run a distance at least, in precaution of slight paranoia, now of all times she could not fathom being caught. The snapping of the wood behind her as the branches sprang back into place did ease the itch of her nerves propelling her forward. Her pace slowed slightly as the trees became denser, as nature began to thicken in presence, the wind echoing around the wood in brushes of a whistle and the quiet chattering rustle of the branches and leafs above. Grass long and brushing both against her dress and underneath it tickling at her legs as she walked. A little giggle bubbled in her throat for the feeling, a small coil upwards at the edges of her eyes and mouth. Deeming herself a respectable distance away from her captor, she stopped for a moment to pull of her sodden shoes- their moisture uncomfortable against her skin; feeling instead the tickle of the grass underneath, along with the moist ground, the dirt getting between her toes as she curled them merely to enjoy the sensation, not bothered by the pebbles or rocks also there.

Illumination had already returned and the silver-grey light of the moon, though obstructed by the canopy of trees, was once more a viable enough guide to light examples of obstacles ahead. Truly she had no destination in mind, other then the principle of escape, she had no other concept of what to do with herself once the walls of stone were behind, in light thought she had fathomed journeying to a village, the concept of simplicity, though she knew nothing of how to live a simple life, or indeed much of life at all, were one to make question. A traveller, she had fathomed briefly, one to see many a place, witness a new scape every day with the wonderment of an eye that had seen nary nothing of new concept. There was no ideal in her head, for she could not contrive of one; she knew too little of what was, what truth lay beyond the walls, that her mind could not comprehend much further then what had been known, as it were.

In that, all she knew was to travel west- there was a country to the west. From her brief education, she knew it was one with strict rules, that it was corrupted by the foul disease that nary all -save her motherland- were plagued with. Running through the veins of those in that foreign land was the sickness of chakra, poisoning their brains black with its temptation; a bringer of evil, as the great Kyuubi itself.

Weeping became her as a child, as she was told of the corruption, the sure indication of evil that possessing chakra posed; this truth integrated unto her mind with a paranoia others could not have experienced, a warning, a dare.

Hiding away in a corner, she had been silenced by the keeper of her foster when discovered, mocking her ruination of self, of worth. Told to keep quiet, that no one desired to see her emotion over such matters, it was pure irrelevance unto all but her- and instead of tears, she would better serve them all to sweat with her work.

Thrown out of her protective corner and unto the floor, scraping her small knees and small hands, almost hitting her head on the cobblestone roads, ordered to go work on the well as she always did. Sniffling, she did as bid- not ashamed of her work, proud to do a task which may earn her a margin of respect from those around; she never slacked in her task, nor took break until the sun was at dusk.

Though she had made few mistakes when laying the stone those were not forgotten by the keeper and some other children had questioned if she would even succeed- every flaw was indicative of her ability unto them and the keeper. Thus, she resolved to not fail in her work, for they would see when she completed it, and they would then acknowledge her capability, and her worth as a person. When done she had beamed in pride whence returning to the foster building, her teeth glimmering brightly in a smile at six years old, smearings of dirt all along her arms, legs and torso -some on her face from where she had run her arms over the sweat on her brow. She had been told 'well done,' then given a larger task, told to not fail, and shoved away into her room until the dawn.

Tentatively, the next morning over breakfast for all, she had asked if she may have a day to rest; her arms had felt stiff and her body was still heavy for want of sleep. The keeper that morning had turned towards her with a demeaning eye, sharply narrowed, posture tensed, and chin tilted up for a superior stance, and though she did not yell, her voice crackled as she spoke her response, spittle out of her mouth.

"You should be grateful, girl. You are given a home, food, and a place to rest your head, you are not beaten here. Loath as I am to admit it, I cannot legally throw you out, but I will if you don't show me proper respect. I own you, do you understand? Be grateful I see to your needs at all." She gave no rebuttal, daren't, as in her head she wondered if the old woman was right. The reason for her being sanctioned into a foster home was because of her flaw, her flaw of having been born with natural chakra. Thus, it seemed to her, only logical, that she be grateful to the keeper for willingly feeding and sheltering her; even if, the only reason she did so was because she had been ordered to by the village leader.

Now she journeyed to a place of which she was afraid, those tellings from her youth pounding deep into her mind, integrated and cruelly echoing- truth or fiction it did not matter; they existed. Yet, there was nowhere else she could travel, there was no country eastward, and north was too far for her to travel without assurance of safety. At least when she crossed the border, she was certain none would follow her- too afraid, she had already decided that she would ask for asylum; though she knew little of the act itself, only having heard of it being granted a scarce few times for those escaping a brutal home within the country eastward -whom did not possess chakra either.- Was it condemning, a creation of evil? She could not know, for she had never met anyone outside of herself who possessed it. The country she was presently travelling toward was 'The Land of Fire,' it was infamous for its power- brought upon by the skill in ninjutsu, by those using chakra. Forbidden as all other the large nations, a large land much as her own- forested with several lakes and rocky plains.

However, the only reason she was aware it existed was for her uncouth ability to peer into conversations she shouldn't. A curiosity holding her mind, she had heard a border patrol speak in whispers underneath her window- she'd turned off her light, and very slowly opened her shutter to stare down at their figures. Normally, two men talking in hushed tones was an intrigue, but nothing to bother listening upon, yet- there was a type of mocking disgust layering under their tones, even whispered, and she had given into her interest. From what she had learned, though minimal by way of one conversation- there were several countries adhering to their opposing ideals, allied with each other and not. Several wars had occurred between each, a fact both men of the patrol had snickered over -she hadn't heard the sound, but their movements spoke clear enough.- It was a fact that she had always found hypocritical, for within her motherland there were countless civil wars- caused for all manner of reasons.

It was under her own logic that she proceeded toward the large wooden barrier separating the Land of Heavens and the Land of Fire- scarce few cared to so much as think of the other countries- those whom possessed chakra anyway. Thus, logic held that the borderline would be scarcely guarded, a few samurai, with bored expressions and exasperated mindsets. For equally, it stood to reason that none from the opposing land would wish to enter theirs, and nothing would be gained; indeed their countries had been closed off from one another for a century, and to her knowledge, no conflict had erupted betwixt them since the 'age of war.' Her education on history was menial at best.

It was unfortunate, but the sun had fully risen from slumber- though it was forenoon, as she arrived at the gates. She was no samurai and could be easily spotted attempting to cross if caution did not aid her. Thus she crouched down as the forest became thin, the bushes becoming her cover, though she was careful not to cause a disturbance by hiding within them. One man stood with poorly polished bold white armour, katana sheathed at his side- each plate gave a faint click against one another as he walked. She was westward of the large gate, and yet another guard stood infront of its towering figure, he however, did not move to and fro, no indeed he was a stationary- and she mentally cursed his post.

Her thumbnail found its way between her teeth as she pondered, her eyes looking towards the ragged brown shoes she still held in her grip, it was possible that she could toss one, or both, into the trees -to hide the area of projection- as a distraction. Once more she glanced over the shrubbery, she was a far way from the gate and in order to escape she would need to toss the shoe from a relatively close position otherwise she would not have time enough to run before they discovered it had been a diversion. Indeed they would certainly hear her sprint. She was relatively stealthy, but she doubted her ability to sneak behind the stationed shinobi from behind the walking guard and slip past the gate; that is not to mention that the large structure was most certainly shut -even if she could not properly see its angle from where she was, mere rationality dictated so. At least, she thought with sanguine; she had been correct about the minimal guard.

She looked along the length of the wall, seeking an indentation, a small crevice she might slip through -she was short and scrawny, it need not be large at all- yet there was none. However, as her gaze swept briefly upwards, it returned to stare at the canopy of the trees overhead, not from her; one evergreen was leaning heavily towards the wall, its topmost branches hung over the top. Near it, on the other side there was a similar tree, in nary the same position, adjacent slightly, but not far enough to be concerned of, the top of the wall did not seem to be so thin that she would not be able to balance over it.

Cautious, she waited until once more the samurai passed by her, before she backed back into the more shadowed trees. The sun was not yet at the right angle to show her figure creeping in between and she felt relatively more at ease. Walking to the direction she had seen the slanted tree, she found it after a brief walk, naturally, it was in the thinned area of trees before the forest opened up- it was well-lit by the sun. Yet its lower and mid branches were thick, as was the trunk, an easy climb for even a beginner such as herself, the top branches overreaching the wall looked to be sturdy enough to hold her weight, as did those of the opposite tree. Breathing deeply, she undid the twine binding the bottom and side of her shoes together and wrapped it around her wrist. Then proceeded to braid her hair. It was long, below her waist and it could easily be caught on the twigs or indents in the wood, it was the colour of sunlit cedar wood, but if it hang down below her as she climbed and watchman saw he would not mistake it for mere wood. Her braid was made, it was thick, hung down her back, and had places where several clusters escaped- but it was reasonable enough- and she had been hard-pressed to tie it at all.

Waiting until the watch was a fair enough distance away from her position as to not immediately hear her ascent, she walked with light step to the tree, and as soon as capable she grasped the tallest branch she could reach. Her time was limited, and he was pressed to reach the upper layer before the man turned back westward facing. It was by misfortune that she had not climbed many trees in her youth, for if she had, she was sure her pacing would be vastly improved. Not that it was the only factor, she did have to proceed at a rather lacklustre pace to insure she would not greatly rustle the branches. Gritting her teeth in annoyance as her dress almost caught her foot, she stepped a slight hastier then intended. It was a nuisance, the hemline was just above her calves yet it still managed to come between her foot placement, she hadn't thought to rip it shorter, and cursed herself for the oversight.

Once at the top, she eased herself onto the wall, it was not very wide and though she was lanky one wrong movement would unbalance her; one foot was in front of the other pointed directly vertical, hands gripping on either side of the ledges. The downwards facing branch on the other side wasn't far away, and she needn't move far to come to it; yet her heart was erratic, she could feel each press beneath her breast- a tremble had seized her hands and heat was creeping underneath her clothes in an intrusion that should not exist with the gentle breeze ruffling the fabric. It was hasty, but she reached for the overhanging branch before she could call herself comfortably close- the sound of wind in the leafs was rising her nerves and focusing ahead of her and not the far ground was difficult enough- even for a focused mind such as her own. Though the grip of the branch calmed her hurried pace marginally, she forced an even pace in finding how to descend- her eyes were scampering down the path of the tree, however, they were not as at ease as she wished her mind would work them. As such, she ended up pulling herself onto the tree by the strength of both her arms holding- legs hanging off ominously her grip was tight, but sweat coated her palms. Her hands were still shaking even so, there was no way for her to get back on top of the wall, short of contorting her body in the way she could not. She also knew that she could not pull herself on top of the branch she hung on, she had built arm muscles from all her work- but the branch would not accommodate her figure.

There was a thick plane below her, however, not terribly far, though the drop would jar her, and she would have to focus heavily to not slip and fall off the side. Her shoes would have slipped right off, they had no grip, nonetheless she did wish for some comfort on her feet because it would hurt to fall the distance and land. Licking her lips, she gave a mental count, stared at her aim, and dropped at -instead of after- the count of one. It couldn't be helped, she screamed a slight with the fall, and when her feet hit the bark- the vibration riveting up her body with a painful twill. She winced, choking with the feeling of a splinter digging into the sole of her foot. Nevertheless, she reached for the next branch and descended with careful motions, avoiding the now sensitive area of her right foot. The ground comfortably close now.

It was as she was within a moment, that which she was about to push her toes into the grass beneath, a flash of light the corner of her eye, before a thunk sounded right by her temple into the trunk on her right side. It had her frozen with the sudden realization of an attack too fast for her to properly to have seen, the feeling of her heartbeat stopping for an instant before rapidly speeding up, far more then it had when she had been on top of the wall. She had been hoping for a time of leeway before being discovered by those from The Land of Fire, a proper plan of what to say- to already fully be on the ground, completely seen and evaluated with no weapons and a good oppritunity to plead her case. Being seen crawling down a tree, even if she was not doing so in a manner that could be contrived in any way as stealthy- was not ideal when in a nation of trained assassins. Swallowing in a hope to wetten her dry throat she fully landed on the ground; she stared at the man whom had thrown the weapon, he wore a green cloth vest with obvious padding, but not armoured with plating as she was used to seeing. Indeed, he had on cloth pants -thick by what she could tell- and a long sleeved turtleneck shirt beneath, she was by no means a warrior- yet his appearance unto her did not portray a fighter, not compared to the samurai of her motherland. She put up her hands in show of her vulnerability, she had no weapons on her and her chakra she did not know how to access the chakra she had been damned with.

The man made no move to attack, but she fathomed that if he did, she would hardly be able to see it. In front of him he held a type of knife- weapon? She had never seen before, it was plainly metal, shaped as an elongated diamond of with one end longer then the other- and then a handle. It was held before him, in plain defense, as his eyes watched her with hardly a visible blink, unknowing, and nervous, she kneeled on the ground, arms still raised. The wind blew heavy and whistled between them, leafs picked up from the ground flying about with its gust. "You crawled over the border." She tensed, she hadn't even known anyone had been watching her, though she should have. "You are not a samurai." It wasn't a question, but a statement, thus she merely nodded. "Why did you come over here?" For a moment she allowed herself to think, she did not want to be misunderstood and she would be foolish not to realize that this was a life or death situation.

"I'm running away from my motherland." Her voice came out higher then intended, and at that, a barely above a whisper. It was by divine force that she managed to keep herself steady at all. Watching him closely- as he was her, she saw a single eyebrow lift, an inquiry she was expecting- yet she was still uncertain of how to explain. "My-" She paused, shaking herself, it was no longer her home. "The Land of Heaven, you know, is against chakra and all those who use it, if one is born with it, they are considered a curse." A frown then infracted his face, obviously understanding that she must be in such a situation, slowly he put his knife away, and moved towards her with a shifting movement she had nye seen before. Until he was then gripping her arm and yanking her upwards, it was a sharp motion and she hissed for it- barely managing not to retaliate with instinctual violence.

Then he shoved her forward, both of her wrists put into hus hand as he held them behind her back- they then walked forward. "I will bring you to the Hokage to make a judgement. What is your name?" She limped with her pained foot still stabbed with a rather large splinter, yet smiled at the fact she had not been killed.

"Chouka."

Names:

Chouka: Butterfly Flower

Charis: Grace