Weeping Samurai | Uchiha Itachi [Editing]

Chapter 9: Distant Rain

 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 next few days after the encounter at the crossroad were easier for the team and much clearer to Shiro. Itachi would occasionally pull over on the road to look at the map and check to see if they were on the right track, only to get back with walking a few moments later. With the scroll, the estimated week of traveling across the Land of Earth was reduced down to only five days.

Kisame was terribly distraught in passing two hot spring resorts on the way, grumbling to himself and let out sharp, frustrated sighs every time a resort would emerge from the horizon. It was to only linger in their sights for half an hour before sinking back down in the mountains behind them again.

Villages were their only source of rest; checking into inns for the night or sometimes just stopping for a bite to eat at a restaurant to only get back on the road half an hour later. Shiro bought another bamboo sheath from the next town they visited, seemingly to have left her other one, empty from the onigiri of course, elsewhere in some inn behind them. She stocked up the pipe with more rice balls, allowing a food source whenever those frequent, unfortunate days passed without a village nearing their sights.

The second day after their last village hotel check-in, their first night in a cave together, Itachi made the suggestion to retire. Kisame scoffed in reply, complaining about how the rock floor messes up his back during his sleep. Nonetheless, after a few moments of bickering, Itachi calm and passive as usual but Kisame roaring at him in protest, the large shinobi finally gave into his drowsiness and took a seat inside the cavern they were standing in front of.

Shiro took the liberty of cutting down nearby trees, dead and delightfully bone dry, for firewood. Itachi lit the pile up, providing a nice inferno for them to bask in. The night was chilly as usual, and it was quite the luxury to have such a warm fire in front of their laps. A storm brewed in the sky, eventually releasing the cool rain, pounding down on the dry landscape as Shiro passed around some dinner. They all ate quietly as their eyes stayed glued to the blazing fire, their breaths puffing clouds of steam in the cold cavern.

Kisame, as always, fell asleep before Itachi and Shiro did, laying down on the warm cave floor, heated up by the now dying fire, and left his two teammates to sit in silence. The drizzle of the rain mixed with the crackling of the flames and the soft snoring of the bulky ninja was somewhat soothing to the samurai; so much that she actually felt at home for the first time in twelve years.

Itachi suddenly cleared his throat.

“Shiro-san,” he muttered softly, his dark eyes reflecting the golden-orange tongues that danced on the blackened wood. “May I ask you a question?”

Shiro's narrowed eyes glanced over at the raven-haired shinobi. His knee was brought up to the side, his arm resting on it as his other leg extended out before him. His Akatsuki cloak was shed, folded neatly next to his lean, fit body.

“It depends on what the question is,” she murmured back, returning her gaze back to the mesmerizing fire.

There was a slight pause before Itachi spoke again.

“Your sister,” he finally uttered. “I can only imagine what you're feeling right now. You must really love her if you've been willing to sacrifice your entire life to rescuing her.”

Shiro stiffened at the subject of her imouto being brought up, but then relaxed as she silently ruminated about her past experiences with her; Yoru was so innocent and cute back then. Shiro wondered if she was as hostile as she was in her dream, pondering on what she was like now.