The price of solitude is windburn, Sasuke thinks wryly. He pulls up the collar of his shirt with his hand to block out the coming windstorm, though it does very little to keep the dust out of his eyes.
Spring in the Land of Lightning is nothing like what Sasuke remembers of Konoha springs, as old as those memories are. Konoha springs were as fierce: cold dew in the morning and wet grass that stuck to the insides of his sandals, popup storms and the lingering smell of rain.
Spring in Konoha was temperamental and brief, raging until the May heat burned it up. In that brief time, though, spring would invade the entire village better than any enemy army had ever managed, bright green and arrogant.
In Konoha, Sasuke knows, the cherry blossoms will be blooming soon.
It's been nearly six years since he's seen them. He spent last spring biding his time in a cell under the Hokage Tower, cut off from the rest of the village without so much as a window. The seasons never seemed to change in Otogakure when he was there before, and any time between then and now was a blur of many things, but least of all color.
Spring in the Land of Lightning is different. It's pissed off and broody, like it has something to prove. The wind on the mountain howls into the night, demanding his attention. The paths leading upwards are increasingly narrow and inhospitable, lined with thin, dark trees that twist and bend like mangled bodies.
Nothing green grows there, not even weeds.
The early morning skies are grey and hazy with fog, but by noon his neck and back both ache from a sun that only burns hotter and angrier the higher he travels. There's a thick ring of clouds around the top of the mountain, covering the peak entirely, but even that does very little to shield him from the sunlight.
All this, and it's only March.
It was the middle of summer when he had first left Konoha, bogged down and lethargic, but more than half a year has passed since then. Fall was a blur—he started walking and couldn't bring himself to stop until the snow began to fall. He spent the next two months in Yugakure, working odd jobs in an onsen while the windows grew dim with frost.
When February came and the weather began to thaw, he started walking again and eventually ended up in the Land of Lightning, following caravans of merchants up and over mountain paths.
Lately, though, his journey has been solitary, and in more ways than one.
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The downside of rest is restlessness. After he's made camp for the night, Sasuke lies on his cloak with a blanket pulled over him, unable to fall asleep. The mountain is just as wired as he is, and the wind rattles throughout the night, kicking up clouds of dust and grit that stick to his lips and teeth.
He rarely sleeps, and when he does, he rarely makes it through the night. More often, he rises when the sun does and restarts his trek up the mountain after finishing his breakfast. It's repetitive, but repetition is its own kind of comfort.
The simplicity of it appeals to him, in a way. There's something soothing in the way the mountain path gradually draws him in further, winding tight like a snail shell. Of course, the weather seems to become more and more hostile as he continues, lashing out against him like an animal cornered.
Despite this, it makes it easier for him to think, though he also wonders at times whether he's spent too much time thinking, and not enough time acting on his thoughts.
When he was still in Yugakure, his schedule was often set for him: he rose when the service staff began their early morning duties and followed them in their work—chopping wood, clearing snow and ice from the rooftops. He went to bed when the other guests went to bed, and in this way, each day resembled the last.
In the hours between, he would linger. He sat and waited in the common areas for an opportunity to make himself useful, taking his meals alone and watching the other guests share food and drinks and conversation.
The time there moved so fast that it almost scared him to look back on it; one day the snow began to melt, and it hadn't felt like a minute had passed.
He told Sakura when he had left the village that he wanted to view the world with fresh eyes, but after several months of chopping logs and sipping jasmine tea in the onsen, he began to think that whatever he was looking for wouldn't be found there.
He hasn't yet decided where he'll go after he's made his way through the Land of Lightning, but most of his journey has been unplanned. Iwagakure is one option. Ame is another—with the Akatsuki gone, it's an easy place to disappear into, one where few questions will be asked.
He'll have to pass through Konoha eventually, even if it is only for a quick visit. Naruto and Sakura's letters have insisted on as much, but they're content to wait for him, and he knows he's free to wander as long as he'd like.
Still, he knows better than to keep them waiting indefinitely. He has his own desire to return, an internal clock that ticks a little louder the longer he waits and keeps others waiting for him. There's a promise he made - next time, maybe - that he still intends to keep.
It's a promise that he wants to keep, one that was broken to him so many times that the only way it'll ever be kept now is if he keeps it himself, to someone else. It's a complicated thought, but there's no rush to deal with it just yet.
There's no rush to do anything when he's out in the mountains alone, chasing ghosts.
For now, next time is still far in the future, even though he knows it is nearly springtime in Konoha, and the cherry blossoms will be blooming soon.
Sasuke turns over on his cloak and tries to make himself more comfortable, though it's a wasted effort at best.
He'd say it's because of the rocky ground and the howling wind, but he's slept in worse conditions.
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The ring of clouds around the mountain top seems lower when Sasuke wakes up the next morning. It's close enough that if he's diligent, he thinks he can reach and surpass it by midday, even though he's slowed his pace since he started.
The mountain paths have been growing less defined as he climbs higher, and the well-worn trails he relied upon when he first entered the Land of Lightning have since given way to steeper inclines and unreliable ledges that crumble when he tries to pass over. He's more careful when he walks, using chakra to ensure the ground beneath him is steady, and that it will at least hold until he's passed.
Of course, if he truly wanted to, he could scale the mountain in less than a minute with a few well-placed jumps.
In an even shorter amount of time, he could reduce the entire mountain to rubble with a single raiton. He could destroy the entire mountain range in a matter of minutes, leaving only a crater in his wake.
But he doesn't. What would be the point in it? Destruction is easy, for someone with his kind of power. That isn't what he wants anymore. Now, he wants what the mountain represents: solid rock that's weathered years of harsh windstorms and human traffic.
Those things like stability, consistency, growth—whatever it is that will not come easily to anyone, regardless of their strength.
And that, he thinks, is something that can't be rushed, regardless of how much it grates on him at times.
His life isn't like how it used to be, the way it was for almost ten years, dedicated to a single quest. Almost half of his life, he realizes, and what has he to show for it? He's aimless now, scouring the continent for answers to questions he hasn't even been able to form yet.
Back then, before this, there was always a persistent need to act—a man he needed to kill, revenge that needed to be wrought. Back then, his mission had seemed as impossible as it was simple. Now there is very little that is out of the realm of possibility for him, and nothing that feels simple.
And what is he to do with that?
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Sasuke breaks through the cloud cover shortly after dawn the next morning. The wind finally calms to the extent that Sasuke is able to lower his collar and hood and eventually remove his cloak altogether.
The clouds aren't like the morning fog, though; they remain even as the sun rises and his neck begins to grow sore with the uncomfortable heat against his back. They surround him, though when he gazes upward, they go much higher than that, beyond what his eyes can follow.
And then some, he thinks.
With that thought lingering in his mind, and with the clouds still scattered around him, he decides to make camp early that day. The journey has been lonely, and even the facsimile of company has its own kind of appeal.
Letters from Konoha have been frequent all throughout his journey, but they stopped once he crossed the border into the Land of Lightning.
Politics!, Naruto's last letter grumbled. Sakura's offered a little more insight.
Because it's you, she wrote, simple yet poignant, and the situation is never as simple as it should be. The Raikage might not be so forgiving if they find letters going over the border to reach you, regardless of how innocent they are.
But, she concluded, if they give you any trouble, Lady Tsunade says she'll intervene with the Raikage on your behalf, and I intend to hold her to it!
The clouds linger even as the sun begins to set and the air grows cold. The ones above his head turn into a golden orange halo. They cover the perimeter of his camp, almost as if they were watching him, waiting to see his next move.
Something about it is strangely nostalgic, in a way that makes him want more from them somehow, if only because it's been nearly five years since someone has waited around him so patiently.
His lips are dry and cracked from the sun and wind, and when he speaks, his voice comes out as more of a rasp. "The weather is more bearable in Konoha this time of year," he offers.
He immediately feels insane for saying it.
He wonders if he can attribute it to the altitude, to the air growing thinner. To the prolonged loneliness, where he only has his summonses for company.
"You've probably never been to Konoha, though," he adds, as if that would make what he's said any less bizarre.
The clouds don't seem to mind. As if invited in by his remark, they curl lazily around his feet, weaving amiably between his ankles like a cat.
If he didn't know better, he would almost think of it as a sign of approval. Or developing senility.
"You would be able to travel there on your own with very few complications."
Of course, there is no reply to that, but he feels emboldened to continue talking as he lays his cloak out on the ground, knowing that the odds of being overheard by a living person are virtually none. "And the journey to Konoha is not long."
For a cloud, at least, it would not be long. A cloud - unlike a man - could go anywhere under the sky.
In the physical sense, Sasuke could perhaps say the same for himself. If he truly wanted to return to Konoha, there would be nothing to stop him. The same, he supposes, is also true of Kumogakure.
Though it would not be without force, it would be force within his ability.
Regardless of whatever entreaties were made to the Hokage behind closed doors, there's nothing - no law or command, official or otherwise - that could stop him from returning to the Land of Fire and his village whenever he wanted. From going anywhere that he wanted.
No, whatever bar there is, it's inside of him—a repulsion, a magnetic push that tells him not yet, not yet, not yet, every time his path veers towards the Land of Fire.
But he will return one day. He's made a promise that was never kept for him, and by keeping it, he can perhaps show that the life he lives now is different from the life he lived before.
He might even be able to make himself believe it.
"But I suppose it is different for you," he tells the clouds. "There is no reason for you to leave here."
With no ties, no history, with no one waiting for them, why would anyone go to Konoha?
Sometimes - even with all of those things and more - Sasuke finds himself wondering the same for himself.
Inexplicably, he thinks again of Sakura's last letter: Because it's you, and the situation isn't as simple as it should be.
"If you did want to go to Konoha," Sasuke finally says, "it is springtime there, and the cherry blossoms will be blooming soon."
The rest of his day passes in silence.
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Sasuke rests the next day.
The paths along the mountain are growing ever thinner, and he is never more than a few feet away from its edge. He finds a small cave to leave his few belongings and sits along the ledge.
He allows his legs to dangle, able to see all of his progress beneath him. Each individual step feels small but, in the aggregate, when he can see it all at once, he's come much further than he'd realized.
"But what would you care about that?" he asks the clouds, knowing they won't answer. "For you, even that distance is nothing."
Again, he can't help but concede that the same is true for himself.
"But distance is not always a simple matter of miles," he concedes.
It's something he's always understood. Even as a child, physical distance was never as big of a hurdle as emotional distance was. Itachi was never more than a single room away, the same home, same village. Always within reach, but never fully present.
Recently, though, he can't help but see more of Itachi in himself.
Four years of his life passed outside of Konoha, and yet now that he has - in a sense, at least - returned to it, the distance only feels more oppressive.
"It was easier," he decides, "when I was traveling through the Land of Fire and Yugakure." When his hawk summons was busy traveling between him and Konoha, with Naruto and Sakura's letters safely tucked away in his weapons pouch.
For a number of reasons - his missing arm chief among them - the letters Garuda carried back to them had been brief and direct. He wonders if it's wrong that he's only now beginning to regret not saying more.
The ground below him begins to blur in a sea of fog, and he realizes he's stopped talking.
When he stands again, the clouds part to allow him through. He wonders if he's obligated to present them with some kind of explanation for waiting so long in silence.
"There is something I would like to say, I think. To someone who is still back in Konoha," he offers.
He thinks again of the cherry blossom trees, flowering again after the long winter. Of the promise he made that he has yet to keep, that was never kept for him. "But not yet. Not until I can say it in person."
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The next morning, Sasuke begins his journey up the mountain again. The higher he climbs, the more fierce the sun becomes, but the wind has gotten much more calm.
He supposes that's a fair tradeoff.
His throat is sore from the previous day. The altitude certainly has a hand in that, but in truth, it's been weeks since he's talked so much. His only relief is that the gentler weather means he can speak softer.
He has still not passed through the cloud cover entirely, but the clouds have multiplied around him. At times, their presence is so thick that even the sun is nothing more than a warm glow behind them.
It is almost a substitute for company. And yet, while Sasuke has always been a person who treasures his peace and solitude, too quiet of company leaves him somewhat restless.
Today, it's almost enough to grate on his nerves.
"There is nothing here," he snaps at the white, fluffy bands of clouds. "You could be anywhere in the world, and yet you are here, where there is nothing, or no one."
The wind on the mountain is his only response. That only makes him angrier.
He frowns. "At this pace, even if you were to leave, it'll be closer to summer when you arrive. Summer in Konoha is nothing you will care to see. The only thing waiting for you there will be wilting flowers."
The words spill out before he has the chance to truly think them over, and they leave an empty feeling in his chest.
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He realizes his threat was ineffective against the clouds when he rises the next morning to find they've multiplied around him. Even with his Sharingan, visibility can't be any more than a few dozen feet.
He isn't entirely sure why he had expected anything different.
In a way, though, he's relieved to see that they're still there. He's beginning to wonder if there is something about him that makes it so difficult for others to give up on him, even to their own detriment.
Even now, he can't help but think it's been nothing but a thankless endeavor.
Sasuke turns and begins to walk again, knowing the clouds will follow.
"To get to Konoha from here, you would first need to descend the mountain." Sasuke gestures at the greater sea of clouds below him that cover the tops of several surrounding peaks.
"Down from the mountains, you will find scattered villages. From the other mountains, several streams flow through them. You can use the streams as a guide, as they all eventually flow south into Yugakure, the Land of Hot Water."
He knows this area well, because he spent nearly three months wandering it aimlessly when he first left Konoha. It was safe enough as an initial choice: it was certainly more hospitable than Suna would have been to him, and it allowed him to so far prolong his inevitable stop in what had formerly been Otogakure.
He gestures again, miming the path across an invisible map. "To the southwest is the border into the Land of Fire," he continues, "the land will turn darker and less colorful, more urban. The borders of the country are less populated, but as you move in further, you will find more cities."
"When you pass over the center of the country, you will find the capital city. This is where the daimyo has his seat, and it is the site of some of the greatest architectural feats in the nation." Sasuke has never seen them for himself, but the information comes to him fluidly. "He resides in a palace built eleven generations ago, by his ancestor, a great warlord."
It is strange to realize after all of this time what information he has actually retained from his childhood lessons. He had always excelled in his classes, though, and history and geography were both staples of his Academy lessons, especially in his younger years.
"But if you linger there too long," he adds, "you'll miss the cherry blossoms. Hanami." He says it not as a threat but as punctuation. A story is nothing without stakes, or enticement. "It is something of a ceremony. Every year when the flowers bloom, people will have watching parties. There will be festivals."
From the skies, Konoha would be a sea of green, populated by bright pink islands. At such a height, though, without the ability to climb down and sit beneath one, it would be hard to appreciate the true beauty of a cherry blossom tree.
"It is more than a mere celebration," Sasuke explains, though he is unsure whether he is capable of putting it into words. "It is about nature. About time. It is an acknowledgment that—even the most beautiful things do not last forever."
He turns over the thought in his head as he continues on. "But in some ways, they do. The seasons change and return. The cherry blossoms will come back. Even when winter is the darkest, and the snow is piled feet above the ground, the spring is inevitable." Reliable, he thinks. Steadfast. Like the mountain.
"Winter is harsh, even in Konoha. The cherry blossoms in spring are a reminder that something so small and delicate can also be fierce."
This time, he doesn't bother to force down the smile that tugs at his lips.
"There—" Sasuke pauses. "There is someone in Konoha, waiting for me," he finishes clumsily, unsure how to follow his comment.
It is, he realizes, not unlike the paths he's been traveling. Some of it he can anticipate, but the longer he follows the thoughts, his memories, the more he finds that is unexpected and uncharted.
"There are ten stages to love," he says instead, abruptly. It's not his own invention, though he can't exactly recall where he would have learned it. Another lesson from Iruka, maybe, though it's not the type of thing even he would have wasted their time with. "The first one is exchanging glances," he says. "That is—that is how it starts."
But when does it begin exactly? What is love if not a lifetime of knowing glances, subtle - or not - glances from across the room, where shifty eyes may or may not go unnoticed?
"It—it is a recognition, that leads to—to the rest." Academically, he could effortlessly list off the rest of them.
And yet, he finds himself unable to proceed beyond the first step.
"But that is how it begins," Sasuke finishes clumsily.
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A lover has four solaces in separation. Again, it is something Sasuke knows with no recollection of how he came to learn it. Literature in the Academy was only taught in conjunction with calligraphy, and very rarely was it so creative.
Still, he can't rule out the possibility entirely.
Karin is another likely culprit; she read enough things aloud from her private collection during their travels that he can't rule out the possibility that he picked it up ambiently, in between her droning and loud bickering with Suigetsu.
The memory feels too old for her, though, more deeply lodged in his psyche to have come from something so recent.
A deeper part of himself wonders whether his own mother might have incorporated it into one bedtime story or another, or if it had somehow worked its way into his mind from one of the younger aunties in the clan.
Still, without knowing how or why he knows it, Sasuke knows that there are ten stages to falling in love, the same way that he knows that there are four solaces a man might turn to when he is separated from his lover.
The first solace is to look at an object that brings to mind their memory. Sasuke keeps his eyes trained above of him despite this, staring up at the peak of the mountain instead of the bundles of letters at his side.
The second is to paint a picture of them, but art has never been an interest or talent of his, and the Sharingan makes the point seem somewhat irrelevant. If he could call to mind someone's face without effort, attempting to recreate it with ink or charcoal would be a pointless exercise.
The last two solaces, he recalls, are to dream of a beloved and to touch an object they have also touched.
He does neither. At least, not as far as they're within his control.
Instead, he rolls over on his cloak, knowing his dreams have seldom, if ever, brought him that much comfort.
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The next day is his last.
They clouds are below him now, funneling downward in a stream headed towards the valleys below. Eventually, he supposes summer must come to Kumo as well.
The words do not come as easily the last day. At some point these conversations have begun to serve some kind of therapeutic function for him, he thinks, because when he feels conscious of the half-formed sentences in his mind.
"If you do find yourself in Konoha," Sasuke tells the cloud, "there is a message I would like you to carry back."
If the clouds have been listening to him at all, they will have no trouble finding Sakura. Even in the village with over a hundred thousand people, in his mind, Sakura still would be impossible to miss.
"Tell her…" Something, certainly. But there are words he needs to tell her himself, in person, that have to come directly from him. "Tell her that I made her a promise that I will keep, and that the next time I return to the village, I do not intend to leave alone."
With those words, Sasuke turns back around only to find that he's alone. He turns back around and sees a sea of fog below him, the peak of the mountain laid bare.
He realizes he's finally reached the summit of the mountain, that there is no further for him to go.
Or, rather, that he has gone as far as he can go, and that it is time for him to turn back.
There is, after all, someone waiting for him in Konoha.