Weeping Samurai | Uchiha Itachi [Editing]

Chapter 8: Reality

I do not own any Naruto characters or settings.  I only own my OC, Musei Shiro.

This chapter does not contain any descriptions of blood or violence.

I hope you enjoy the story of Shiro, the Weeping Samurai of the Land of Iron!

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The paw prints puzzled her, since there were no dogs anywhere in sight just a moment ago.

“They've gone...” Shiro's voice trailed off as she lifted up her head to gaze beyond the horizon, the sun a little lower than the last time she paid attention to it.

“So they have.” Itachi rolled up the map and tucked it once again in his cloak. “Let's just go. We've got a lot of ground to cover, so it's best to head out now.”

“H-hai.” Shiro stared into the mountains, backing up slowly as the two shinobi started their way again. She turned around on her heel and caught up to the men, slowing to an easy canter behind Kisame.

Her expression had restored its original flawless makeup; not a single crease adulterated her cold but glowing pale face.

Their traveling was once again plagued by a haunting silence, and ever since the encounter with the two cloaked wanderers, Shiro's mind was now churning with curious thoughts.

Who were they? Why were they wearing hooded cloaks on such a warm day, despite the occasional cool wind? How did they know we were in search of Orochimaru's hideout? If that map they had was out dated, why was it so crisp and clean?

Her foggy mind slipped into a void of her own voice echoing in her head, her eyes staring off at the ground.

Before she knew it, the sun had sunk all the way in the sky and left it an endless black. The stars glittered like little fireflies against a never ending backdrop, flickering and twinkling beautifully as they surrounded the glowing half moon.

The trio came up to a village at about ten o'clock, having to have been walking nonstop for a full eight hours. Shiro could sense some irritation from Kisame, the big man itching for a nice hotel room and a nice bed to sleep in. Of course, he told Itachi this, and he had no other choice but to comply to his demand.

The raven-haired shinobi lead them to an inn where Kisame worked his scary magic in renting a room for the night. The lady at the front desk basically threw the keys to him and cowered under the wooden desk, quivering from his menacing appearance and from the giant sword that was slung across his broad back. Kisame led both Itachi and Shiro to the room.

“Don't go and get carried away in a killing frenzy again,” Kisame joked as he flashed her a teasing smirk. “We're actually in a town now and we'd have a harder time getting away from here if an incident happened.”

“Don't talk to me like I'm some five year old girl,” Shiro snapped as she entered the room after Kisame opened the door for her.

“It seems like we're babysitting,” Kisame scoffed as he followed Itachi inside the room. “You're like a mentally unstable assassin...oh wait.” The large man glowered down at her.

Shiro flashed him a threatening look, thrusting her katana sheaths to the wall with a loud thump. She marched over to the shark man and jabbed a finger at his rock hard chest, looking up at him with the most loathing gaze anyone could ever give.

“It's not my fault I'm mad,” she snarled darkly as she bunched up her hand into a fist, pushing against Kisame's chest. “Blame the people who burned down my village. The insanity started to spread when I saw my parents' lifeless corpses,” she spat with burning hatred. “It infected my brain even more when people started to call me that dreaded nickname; it sent my reputation from a nobody to a ruthless killer. Everything rooted from when Umi Gai was destroyed, and I was the only one affected by its aftermath.”