Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

Part 2: The Wandering Miko

Chapter 1: Into the Deep End

"When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room."

Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf

"Say, Senju, why are you dissecting corpses? I mean, I know that the Senju are a bunch of freaks–" Madara side-stepped the younger shinobi's punch, "But your hobby is a tad bit excessive, don't you think?"

Madara had zero intention of starting a friendship with the white-haired boy. They would probably face each other in battles one of these days and probably ended up killing each other. But still, he goaded the Senju as per routine – because God, punching the boy in the face was quite a stress-reliever and the feeling was definitely mutual.

The Senju continued to throw punches and kicks. "It is called science, Uchiha. Not that you have enough brain cells to know, you uncultured swine."

"Tsk, tsk… at least I don't have two left feet," Madara sneered and grabbed the Senju by the wrist and, unthinkingly, tugged him into a better stance and jabbed his fingers at the areas that required more work. The boy muttered a quick thanks and threw him a punch, which Madara once again sidestepped only to get kicked on his right hips.

Madara produced a grunt of pain and turned into a defensive position. "That's better."

The younger boy smirked. "I know."

They went at it for almost an hour. Him teasing and correcting the boy's taijutsu form like he did to his own brother before the spar progressively turned into more violent when ninjutsu upon ninjutsu were brought into the mix. The spar eventually ended in stalemate, and they were lying on their backs by the end of it. Madara considered it as his win when he managed to get into a sitting position first.

Madara hobbled into the still form of the Senju soldier, who was lying face down on the edge of the creek, and nudged the boy's bruised ankle. "Oy, get up."

No response.

"I know that you're awake. You can't fool me, Senju."

Still, no response.

Exasperated, Madara dragged the boy by his collar – he became worried when he saw that his lips were a bit blue – and unceremoniously punched him on the chest.

The boy woke up gasping, coughing out water, and upon opening his eyes and realizing what had happened, promptly started sobbing like a baby. Madara sat down next to him and patiently waited until the boy calmed down. The younger boy would probably slap him if Madara hugged him like how he would comfort Izuna.

The boy hiccupped. "Why did you do that?"

Madara took a bite of apple which he stole from his sparring partner pocket. "Do what? Stopping you from drowning yourself to death?"

The Senju boy's petulant scowl was back. Red tinged his cheeks. "I'm not trying to drown myself. I'm just trying a new technique for breathing underwater, that's all."

"Right…" Madara said dryly. Trust a Senju to act demented and stubborn. "Like I said, you can't fool me, Senju. You're not the first person who tried to use me as a means to kill themselves."

The boy blinked, remnants of tears marred his cheeks, which had not lost all of their baby fat. It was strange to see the albino without his petulant scowl permanently etched on his cherubic face.

"My big brother was… he was very sad," Madara started. "He had been sad for a very long time. I think he couldn't keep up with the pressure. The war took a heavy toll on him. When I was seven, he tried to kill himself by using himself as a shield for an attack that was meant for me. He lived, obviously. There's no way my father would let his son died in such a stupid way. My brother tried, again and again, and he kept on living. I quickly learned to push him out of the way every time he tried to pull a similar stunt until he eventually stopped altogether. I thought he was getting better.

"One day, he asked me to smuggle him these herbals and invited me for a tea. I didn't think much of it. I was quite happy actually, because we had never been especially close – we had different mothers, you see. He was very nice to me that day. He asked me about my day, then told me about his and told me stories about his duties as clan heir. He then tucked me to bed and I remembered nothing else. Two days later I woke up in the infirmary and I was told that my brother had ended his life. Overdose, they said. It was quite a scandal. My father was beyond furious." Madara massaged his temple. "One day I was the spare son, and the next I was the clan heir."

The Senju looked down on his hands. "That's messed up."

Madara snorted. "Welcome to the warring states."

The Senju chuckled, but it sounded choked. "My elder brother died a few days ago," he whispered, "and now I am the clan heir. I have never wanted the position. I have never really liked fighting, actually… but I love creating new techniques. I am not charismatic or kind, unlike my brother. People already think that I am a freak because of my looks and my odd interests." He covered his face with his hands. "I'm out of my depth."

Madara turned to face the Senju, gently tapping the boy's shoulder so that he stopped hiding his face and looked directly at him. "All I can say is just keep on living. Sure, life sucks, but that's nothing new. I'm not saying that everything will be alright, but you will cope, somehow. Don't do that stupid stunt again, or I swear I will gut you myself. You will live, grow older, and you and I will meet in battlefields. We will become so strong that nobody could stop us, and then he will shake hands and stop fighting. Everyone would have no choice but to obey us and then you could retire and invent as many techniques as you wanted to. You hear me?"

The Senju laughed, genuinely this time.

"Anyhow, speaking of your questionable hobby, I believe what you're looking for is this girl. A Brunette, has dimples, around six to eight years old. No insignia. Unknown skill set, but a more than decent medic with unconventional methods. I once saw her maintain blood circulation by pumping a heart with her hand, and it worked."

Senju tapped his chin. "No insignia, you say?"

Madara took another bite of the apple. "Yes. If I knew who she was, I would have hunted her down by now for trying to kill me."

The insufferable brat smirked. "I would've thanked her."

"See, that's where you got it wrong, Senju. But I understand, I am ultimately humanity's finest specimen, thus I cannot blame you for your jealousy–"

"Gods, here we go again–"

"At first glance, the Land of Fire agricultural landscape appears to be dominated by rice paddies, laid out in regimented grids across the lowlands that comprise around a fifth of the entire landmass of the country, and tightly packed into mountain valleys and coastal terraces wherever slope and aspect permit. There are, however, a series of other important grains traditionally grown in the country, including barley, wheat, buckwheat, beans, and millets, and they supplement rice especially in mountainous areas or in famine."

The cow mooed as Shikamaru milked its teats.

"With the exception of the capital and few other cities, most of the land is still undergoing land development. The provincial and district offices organize large-scale projects using peasant labor as a form of tax to open paddy land on nearby level ground. The land is state owned because it is public, publicly irrigated, and developed with state-organized labor. Peasants are allotted parcels of paddy land but in return can be forced to participate in state land-opening activities. Powerful peasants often abandon their public paddy land and open their own lands in the mountainous back country. It is not difficult to maintain private rights to such lands, and in doing so, they easily avoid the labor demanded by the state. Tiny pockets of valley land tucked away among the hills are suitable for such individual development because water is readily available from springs and streams."

Shikamaru stopped milking when the udder sagged and wrinkled. He lifted the bucket and sidestepped before the cow could kick him. It was simply his luck to get stuck with such a troublesome one. Cattles were a hassle to find, especially since the Daimyō Court tried to discourage a meat diet as it did not want rice-growing peasants to consume meat. Samurai, the warrior-class people, however, regularly hunted for wild animals for their own consumption.

"Leading peasant families choose land suitable for development near a water source in the valley, where the wind is light and there's no danger of flooding. Powerful peasants will gain control of the water source and then develop paddy lands, extending from the area nearest the water source deep in the valley to the level land below. They will also maintain dry fields in the hilly areas adjacent to the valley in order to supplement their diet by raising buckwheat and other grains besides rice."

Shikamaru deposited a handful of fresh grass for the ungrateful cow who now had its back turned to him.

"Of course, both the paddies in the valleys and the low-lying paddy land have their disadvantages. The former, dependent on local water sources, frequently suffers drought. The latter, on the other hand, is often flooded when the river overflows its banks. So, even though crops have been planted, in some years there is no harvest, and in especially bad years planting itself is impossible."

Shikamaru walked into his makeshift kitchen and poured the milk into a double boiler. He then created a clone to pasteurize the milk whilst he himself grabbed a straw hat and a knife.

"And that is where I came into the picture."

Nara Shikamaru was dirt poor, no question about it.

The realization came in with the same glaring clarity as the fact that the sky was blue on the first day of his exile as Shikamaru bit on a roasted snake that he was sure would taste better with a bit of seasoning. All he had in his possessions were a few layers of shabby clothes, books, and toiletries. He was, essentially, a beggar, and without his chakra was no different from any other refugees out there.

He owned a land, of course; a wide valley that was tucked between two lovely hills with a small river flowing on its center. It was every upstart-farmers' wet dream and Shikamaru was sitting on top of it. However, it being an illegal land meant that it had to be protected with utmost care; and protected it was.

Through quick sweep around the parameter Shikamaru had found nothing less than fifty, chakra taxing glyphs that functioned as a barrier to protect the land from prying eyes. Their design was ancient, very inefficient, and Shikamaru was not sure whether he could tweak them without blowing himself or everything within the radius. However, if left on their own device they would run out of chakra 'battery' in less than four weeks and Shikamaru would be left to fend the valley off of vultures that would no doubt swarm it and try to plant their grubby hands on it. If Shikamaru tried to 'charge' it himself, he would soon run out of chakra and die.

By abandoning him alone in the valley, Shikadai and fams had basically signed his death warrant – him, an unknown variable with unknown abilities – with minimum effort and zero casualty whilst ridding themselves of a troublesome land. Using it for minor military barracks simply did not worth its heavy maintenance cost. Truly, the whole thing would have been commendable if Shikamaru was not the one who received the brunt of it.

Shikamaru had two options, to find someone who could tweak the seal or gain legal ownership of the land. Both required money, and like Shikamaru said, he was dirt poor. The latter had a higher chance of succeeding, as the valley was technically an unclaimed land, and as far as anyone on the outside could see it had been uninhabited for a long period of time and the neighbors were not aware of anyone living there. But still, even if he did succeed in gaining its ownership, once the genjutsu fell off, the only thing that prevented others from pillaging his land was a piece of paper, and that was not in the least bit reassuring, not when he was practically a nobody.

Shikamaru could steal the money, but stealing from an already miserable peasant was simply not his style. He contemplated taking golds from a local lord, but decided a second later that it would probably attract too much attention.

Seeds, however, were more loosely guarded and in this part of the country, almost everyone who was everyone had tons of them. Local warrior overlords and powerful peasants were central to land development and reclamation, although the actual labor was generally carried out by small communities of peasants. Because they had access to labor, the local overlords and powerful peasants were able to gain control of fertile, well-irrigated paddy land. As a result, their agricultural operations were generally stable and prosperous, unlike those of the small cultivators. The peasants' first obligation was to furnish labor to the local overlord and in return they could have food, seeds, and – in lean years – rice.

Unlike his overlords or peasants neighbors, Shikamaru knew a handful of tricks to handle the upcoming drought and the resulting famine and how to deal with pest and engineer superior breeds of crops. He could even use the underground lodging for hydroponic purposes as soon as he had the time to create some light bulbs; LEDs were still out of his reach, for now. Money was a guarantee, and once food became scarce he would be the sole crops' distributor; and if that was not enough, he could always sell other commodities as well. Shikamaru had memorized the Nara Clan Medical Encyclopedia from front to back; he knew which herbs that could be used to treat what ailments and had years worth of medical researchers inside his head. He might as well put the title 'Witch Doctor' to use.

Beneath the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, Shikamaru tightened his stolen straw hat and trekked through a field of poppies, one of the few fields of grown plants that were left untouched in the valley. He examined the ripening pods. His shadow lengthened into tendrils that spread out across the field, the tips of the tendrils solidified and formed a razor sharp blade. Shikamaru carefully sliced the bulb under the poppy plant; his shadow followed suit; and slowly drops of thick, white opium gum oozed out onto the pods' surfaces.

"That's it… come to mama, Big H."

Shikamaru grinned. He might just have enough money to employ a seal master, after all.

Nichijō, like its namesake, was a mind-blowingly ordinary place. It was a small village with a population of less than two hundreds, which mostly consisted of farmers. According to Itama, this was the place where he and his supposed savior were supposed to conduct their exchange.

So far, the only interesting piece of information that Tobirama had managed to garner from the locals – well, one farmer, in particular – was that there was a witch that lived on the southernmost part of the village. Tobirama would bet his money that the 'witch' was actually his target. The moniker might dissuade civilians from coming any closer, but for Tobirama, it was practically an invitation for infiltration and some espionage.

Sneaking out of the compound also proved to be easier than expected. His father did not even seem to notice his absence, too used to how Tobirama often faded into the background until called upon. It was Hashirama who used to lighten up their house. Tobirama was the quiet, brooding one.

Tobirama inched closer to the strange grass field that laid before him. His senses told him that it was a genjutsu, but he wasn't able to dispel it. A wide-area genjutsu seemed to be the most likely suspect.

Tobirama walked along the edge of the grass field, his eyes skimming over his surroundings to search for the anchors that kept the genjutsu in place. All signs suggested that it was an older type of fūin-genjutsu, one that provided a very good cloaking for the intended area, if a bit chakra taxing. It would have worked for any other shinobi, but not for an extraordinary sensor who also happened to dabble in fūinjutsu like Tobirama.

A particularly boring rock caught his attention. A glyph was inscribed on the ground below it. He crouched and shimmied closer to take a better look at it. The symbol that was used seemed familiar, and Tobirama was about to get his hand on it when a feminine hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him.

"What are you doing here?"

Behind him stood a brunette with a telltale of dimples on her cheeks. She wore pastel-colored nondescript clothing with no identifying insignia in sight. In passing, she could be any other girl from the village, but the way she carried herself was like a seasoned shinobi. The girl must have been the infamous witch.

"Ah, yes. I apologize for intruding your property," Tobirama said. "My name is–"

Shikamaru sighed. "Senju Tobirama. I know. What's a Senju princeling doing in this backwater county?"

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