Temari barely heard Shikamaru’s grumbled complaint over the howl of the wind, but she didn’t need to. She could feel it in the way he moved—resigned, exasperated, probably already running through a dozen ways they could have avoided getting stuck in this mess. Too late for that.
The cave was narrow at first, the entrance barely enough to squeeze through, but inside, it widened into something more forgiving—a dry, shadowed refuge carved by time and wind. Temari let go of Shikamaru’s wrist the moment she was sure they weren’t about to be swallowed whole by the desert. She swept her hands over her arms, shaking loose a fine layer of sand that had settled on her like a second skin. It was useless, of course. The desert didn’t let go that easily.
“That,” she said, pulling her scarf down at last and breathing in the still air of their temporary shelter, “was a mild one.”
She turned, leveling him with a look that was almost amused, but mostly just tired. “Welcome to the Land of Wind, Nara. Where even the weather wants to kill you.”
Temari reached into her pouch, fingers brushing against the rough fabric of an emergency cloth she always carried—just in case. Without a word, she tossed it at him. “Might help with all that sand in your face. Not much I can do about what’s inside your clothes, though. You’re on your own there.”
She rolled her shoulders, feeling the weight of exhaustion creep in now that the adrenaline had ebbed. They’d fought hard. Harder than expected. And yet, despite the storm, despite the battle, there was something about the way they worked together that sat right with her. Like fitting into the flow of a river, or, more accurately, a strong wind pushing a lazy cloud exactly where it needed to go.
She smirked, flicking a bit of sand from her glove. “Gotta say, though, you didn’t do half-bad. Maybe next time, you won’t need me to save your ass from suffocating.”
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