Protect him, Kushina sighs, the silent words echoing in the small space. Her chest feels empty and void. Protect him, guard him and keep him safe from harm. Shield him, my beloved prince of whirlpools and of tides, child of leaves and sun, son of wind and storm.
Kushina lets her tears fall into her bloodied apron. Naruto chokes on his sobs and she can't help but cry harder.
My sweet, precious son.
~~~
He has taken to practicing his kata in the clearing next to the ocean. Helping with the building of the bridge when he can. His teacher is still asleep, lying on the futon in the room upstairs.
He trains. He swallows his pride and asks his teammate, the boy with the black eyes to help him with his aim. He receives a half-hearted glance but he ends up in the clearing with him, throwing shuriken at carved targets on trees. The boy gives him a nonchalant sneer and returns to their client's home. He sits and soaks his tired feet in the welcoming water, listening to the cry of the wind, his only friend in the midst of the fog.
He cries. Because while the icy waters of the Land of Waves were a familiar friend, it still wasn't home. He doesn't feel the shine on his skin or the beach beneath his feet. He can only listen to the wind sing to a prince that doesn't exist about a home that he's never known.
The wind doesn't forget him and gives him a cold embrace.
He lets the salty liquid run down his face. Everything in the Land of Waves was cold, and while he didn't mind the chill, he missed the warmth of the sand and sun.
He sits there until he has to help at the building site.
~~~
His teacher has woken up. The man sits on the futon in the room upstairs, soothing voice now hoarse with disuse. He brings the elder a cup of water. He receives a pat on the head instead of thanks.
The wind roars unhappily at night.
He learns of the man that died. The boy that smelled of ice had saved the man instead of killing him. His heart soars. He didn't die. Then it plummets to the deepest pit in his stomach. They would have to kill him.
His teacher teaches him to climb trees and he succeeds, the breeze clearing his sight from fog. At the end of the day, he smells like oak and pine and salt. He doesn't mind. The wind approves and sings ever louder.
He stays in the clearing. He trains. He sleeps. He dreams of soft scarlet hair and delighted laughter. He dreams of warm water and sand under his feet. He wakes up with the taste of salt in his mouth and shine on his skin. The happy giggles ring in his ears, and he can't help but want more.
He misses the days where he could sleep, fish and run in the sun.
He doesn't cry.
The boy that smells of ice is standing before him in a lady's kimono, a woven basket held tightly on his arm. He was plucking a single leaf from the ground when he sat up.
The boy is startled.
He helps with collecting herbs. He knows that it is for the man, but he forces the information into the back of his head and pretends that he doesn't know. He lives a lie for the next few days. The wind doesn't sing to him anymore. He sleeps uneasily that night, crickets whistling in his ear, but doesn't dream of scarlet hair or delighted laughter.
He wakes up to two thugs in the house, and he immediately swoops in the save the client's family and leave for the bridge.
Dread pools in his stomach.
But he still doesn't cry.
~~~
The man died. The boy died.
He learned how feeble their lives were, in the face of a wide world. The fog lifts, and he can finally feel the sun on his skin and the salt on his lips over the snow that spiraled to the ground as a tribute to the fallen men.
He stands in silence until everyone disperses to their respective homes, chattering in joy. He stands, doesn't cry, and conjures up two shadow clones to carry the heavy man. He hoists the ice-smelling boy onto his back and carries them to nice spot overlooking the ocean where they belonged.
He knew.
The boy had told him where they came from, how they lived in the land of waters, of the bloody mist. They smelled like salt but no shine.
He thought they would appreciate a resting place without blood and war, and nestled them under the shade of a tree on a cliff. He stays up until dark to finish digging the holes for the boy and man.
The next day, his teacher comes and helps him lay them in their graves, and he covers their body with dirt and carves a cross out of wood. He polishes the sword and sticks it next to the man.
He stares at the mounds of damp dirt, feels tears wet his cheeks and escapes to the clearing where he saw the ice-smelling boy in a kimono gathering herbs.
He climbs up the tree and cries, staring at the swirling ocean. The water was ice cold, he knew, just the way the man and the boy liked it.
The man of deep waves and the boy of icy waters.
He thought it was fitting for them, and he stays on the branch, listening to the mournful tune of the wind until he had to leave.
He plastered a bright smile onto his face the next day when they left for home.
The wind thought that the bridge was named fittingly, and sang more cheerfully during their journey back.
He returned to his apartment, collapsed on his bed and wept. He missed the days where he could sleep, fish and run in the sun.
That night, he dreamt of sand under his feet, water staining his toes, salt on his lips and wind in his hair. The sky was dotted with stars and the sea was cold. He heard the delighted chatter of the boy and the proud tone of the man.
His hands are scarred.
His isn't five anymore.
DU LÄSER
Of Whirlpools and of Tides
Fanfiction'Save him', Kushina prays to spirits of sand and water. Of salt and shine, the ones that she remembered from stories of old. 'Save him, my child of waves and gales. The crown of leaves and sun. Save him, my darling son.' As she feels herself slippin...
