#suturenin

The vast forests of Fire Country have fallen away, and only clinging shrubs remain this close to the Hill Country border. The land feels bare, the rocky landscape foreign and unsettling. Thunder rumbles somewhere far to the south, but the sky above remains dingy gray with threatening rain.

The Jounin at her back shift restlessly. The Sandaime had smiled at her, when he gave her this assignment, but it hadn’t quite reached his eyes, and his smile had been thin where it curved around his pipe. Hill Country, he’d told her, Is neutral ground, and your guard will meet you by the border.

Jun watches idly as a crow’s dark wings carve through a thermal, then send it in a lazy spiral, climbing into the damp air. The Flock eases her tightly-bound fear, if only somewhat - at the very, very least, she has them.

There’s a prayer waiting to be said to the gods of luck, should her guard be one of the more unsavory types Kiri has to offer - but she won’t say it aloud, not yet. Her next two weeks are going to be spent on Kiri’s bloodstained soil, she’d like to save her prayers for when she needs them most.

MINAMI HUFFED   /    inching away from the boy sat next her with obvious disgust. Boys sucked. They were smelly  ,  loud and weird and she didn’t want one so close to her. When it became clear that she couldn’t scooch down the seats any further  ,  Minami felt a wave of irritation overtake her. Didn’t he know not to be near her   ?   She already broke the arm of the last kid who tried to invade her and her sister’s space  ,  and the dozens of other acts of violence she committed were more than enough to keep the other students away. Maybe he was an idiot  ,  or maybe he really wanted to test his luck. Either way  ,  Minami wasn’t having it. The second the teacher turned around to face the board she gave a good hard kick to the boy’s shin  ,  baring her little fangs at him.

@suturenin​ from here:

Ruri offered her fellow jounin a mild smile in return. She was relieved that the blood that was staining his legendary blade was only out of self-preservation. And what wouldn’t a shinobi do to protect themselves?

Her father hated shinobi. Especially those from Kirigakure. They were known as the most savage. The most bloody. The most ruthless. It was their biggest asset and their biggest downfall. Ruthless ninja were not known for their loyalty, after all.

But… Ruri thought the legendary swordsmen were- incredible. And here she was, speaking to one of them. His hair was messy, his body type was compact and his mask was- 

Cute. The slits for his eyes permanently looked like he was making a cute n_n smiley face.

Except that she couldn’t be sure what face he was making.

@suturenin sent 🤝 for a starter

This had to be among the worst, if not the worst assignment of his lifetime. When Yahiko had enlisted with Hanzo’s military, he had dreamed of the life of Konohagakure shinobi, as described to him by Jiraiya all those years ago. Not this. Not one of a glorified gofer, running from country to country as his village leader ingratiated himself with the five Great Nations. But this was what the shinobi of Amegakure did to make a living, and it was their desperation that made them compliant. Hanzo knew this. As much as he pretended to be blind to the destitution of his country, he saw it well enough.

But alongside its cheap labor, Amegakure also thrived on its exports, and often the two went hand-in-hand. Other countries wanted Ame’s technology, which was easily mass-produced within its highly efficient, industrialized center, and Hanzo provided the bodyguards to escort it safely for an additional fee.

So Yahiko found himself on a boat bound for the Land of Water, with a dozen others from his village willing to take any job that would pay them. He didn’t know what the caravan contained, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t supposed to ask questions. And Yahiko didn’t particularly care, either. He just wanted the long journey east to come to an end.

The mist grew thicker the closer they came to land, and its familiarity brought unexpected comfort. But there was no rain, despite the persistent humidity, and the air contained a warm, salty scent that followed them even after they docked and ventured inland. Exhaustion melted away as Yahiko marveled at the little fishing houses, the market that lined the streets out of the port, and the landscape beyond. As rarely as he ever came to the Land of Water, he would have to spare a coin or two on a souvenir for Konan and Nagato. 

Later, of course.

They trekked another hour into the countryside, to a location at which they had been instructed to meet an escort. Yahiko signaled for the caravan to stop and stepped cautiously forward, hand hovering above the hilt of his sword.

          There's just something about men who are completely disgusted with him that he feels like he needs to take a complete 180 and flirt with them. Reverse psychology, maybe. The attention goes to his head. He tries to reach for the edge of Kushimaru's mask near his chin, tugging at it playfully.

There is nothing left of Might Duy but a charred husk of a man. 

Something great and terrible has happened here, among the rubble and splintered timber, and something great has been lost.

Jun takes what pieces of Might Duy she can find that do not crumble to ash in her hands. The Hunters have not yet arrived, and the embers of battle have not yet grown cold - she has precious little time, to find what she wants and slip away unnoticed. Kirigakure’s Hunters will seek the fallen swords, and she hopes against hope that they will honor their swordsmen with a proper burial.

“Ma,” a crow calls her. “Found it.”

The slender sword is stuck in the bole of a fallen tree, handle wrapped in razor wire, decorated with the sickly sheen of dried blood. Her heart sinks when she sees it, she knows what it means. There is a soft fondness in her heart for the eccentric, standoffish man who wielded this blade, though he doubtless would not have thanked her for it. Nuibari, she remembers. The Long Blade.

A shriek startles her, but it is not one of alarm. A crow barrels out of the sky, chattering anxiously. “Ma,” she calls, breathless with excitement, and the tiny flame of hope flickers, burning in her chest.

She turns, and reaches out - and hesitates, fingers a hair’s breadth away from the cold steel of Kushimaru’s sword. A decision is made in the space between flesh and blade, and she grips the handle firmly, drawing Nuibari from the wood. She does not flinch when it bites into her palm.

What a strange bunch her Kiri nin are, in turns bloodthirsty and strangely, subtly sweet. She’s all the gladder to see them, since they were not a bond she’d expectedly to make.

She’s not really paying attention, inking some seal or another she’d copied on the way here - paying only enough attention to their bickering to know if she needs to get out of the way. The troublesome seal holds her attention, and the stilted way he calls her escapes her notice. She tilts her head slightly to let him know she’s listening, but does not look up from the page.

The sea stretches out before her, a vast expanse of steel-gray, vanishing into the misty sky. The crows seem to be having fun, gamboling in the salt-spray and chasing the lingering seabirds, and she watches the little ripples their wings paint into the surf when they fly close to it.

The people here are quiet, and they don’t smile. But they ignore her, and that’s alright. She likes how the mist feels on her face, cool and damp, and she likes watching the ships drift in and out of sight in the heavy fog. There’s not much else to do, anyways.

Stay put, her mentor had told her.

Yes sir, she’d said. And she’d stayed put.

It’s the first time she’s been this far east, and the first time she’s seen the sea this color, or this vast - Kirigakure has no trees to break up the skyline, a flat expanse as far as she can see.

She’d been doing her best to stay out of the way, but clearly it hadn’t been enough - a weight collides with her back, and she yelps as she’s shoved forwards onto her knees.

“Watch it!” The elder crow barks, stooping into a dive so his wing-feathers clip the ear of the rude one with the straw-colored hair, fluttering over to land on Jun’s narrow shoulder as she rights herself. She’s skinned her knees, and she feels the sting of splinters, but that can wait - she’d been told to stay out of the way, and she doesn’t want to be in any trouble.