Inheritance

The Winds Shift

Any that tried to come close would find the earth beneath this entire thicket-lined forest clearing had been ground down to fine particles, and added to his arsenal. This was his domain, and nothing would set foot here without his permission without discovering just why Subaku no Gaara was so feared.

Today, at least, there was no threat. Gaara did not exactly relax—he never did—but he did allow his attentions to shift from the perimeter to their encampment. Dozens of tents, tattered and hastily assembled stood erected besides waterlogged fires. The Land of Lightning's climate had not been kind to them, but their hunters were loathe to cross the border, and they had been given little choice.

Danzou's hunters had been relentless in their attempts to wipe his people from existence.

As he slowly walked into camp, the silence struck him, just as it always did. These people would have never been this silent at home—talk, bickering, laughter, weeping. All the sounds that humans made, that he had once found so detestable, he now longed to hear again. But just as Konoha's vicious retaliation had changed him, it too had changed what was left of Sunagakure's populace, perhaps irreversibly.

"Gaara-sama?" A half-whispered, timid voice called. The source was a small mouse-haired Genin, who spoke to him with head bowed.

"There is no presence I can feel, Matsuri. Signal the others they're welcome to continue their work."

She breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, before bring her hands to her mouth, and whistling out a bird call.

It would be a lie to say the camp burst into life. Slowly, tentatively, what was left of Sunagakure crawled out of tents, and began to shuffle around after their menial tasks. In the same way, shinobi crawled out of hiding spaces prepared for ambushes. Of these last remnants, only the shinobi met his eyes, offering respectful, borderline reverent nods and salutes as they went on their way.

That had been one of the other changes since the massacre. People looked at him differently now. During the retreat, it had been Gaara that had held the line, aided by a surprisingly willing Shukaku. He'd been able to fully transform and control his demon's power, and leveraged it against the Konoha shinobi with savage efficiency.

Even now, he couldn't pinpoint why he'd done it. He'd certainly never felt any love or affection for his people, but something had changed in him. Gaara hadn't been able to watch his countryman slaughtered in their own home, not without a fight.

And so he'd fought. Fought like the demon they'd all accused him of being. He'd killed and torn and crushed until he was certain there were no more to be saved. It was only after that he realised he'd done so without feeling any of the joy he used to feel when killing.

Instead, it had come in weeks and months after. Having led what few, broken remnants he could clear of danger, he taken them on the run, holding back with what few shinobi that could still fight, all of the forces Konoha's murderous new Hokage could send.

Before long, the fear in the eyes of Suna's people that had so long haunted him had disappeared, replaced by an entirely new emotion that made him feel dizzy when he thought about it. Respect. Acknowledgment. Gratitude.

Slowly but surely, they found the bravery to approach him in their downtime. Only ever quiet words. Brief. Cautious. Thank you for saving my son. You are the only reason my family made it out. My sister is alive because of you. I'm sorry.

He treasured every syllable.

"What do you think it is that you sense?" came Matsuri's voice again. She was still stood beside him, now following his gaze, trying to see whatever she thought he could see out in the mist.

"I'm likely just being over cautious," Gaara said, the lie slipping easily from his lips. No reason to cause a panic. They were all scared enough as it was. "Have you seen my sister?"

"Hunting the last I heard, would you like me to find her for you?"

"Please."

Mitsuri inclined her head and scurried off to find Temari.

Gaara sighed. They would not, he suspected, have made it far without Mitsuri's ability to organise and corral people on Gaara's behalf, as well as support him with managing their confusing emotional needs. She was only a Chunin, but had already proved herself to be crucial to what was left of their village.

She was prone to panic, though. Gaara supposed she lacked the assured calm that only came with experience. Therefore, Gaara couldn't afford to let her or the civilians hear what he was now certain of—not until it was absolutely necessary.

They were being hunted.

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