Weeping Samurai | Uchiha Itachi [Editing]

Chapter 11: Damaged

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

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

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

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Kisame eventually woke up from his “hour” slumber, which had extended to a five hour period. Shiro had mastered Chakra control in a little over four hours, baffling Itachi immensely. Her ability to learn and pick up on things was especially impressive, and considering her unstable condition, this new talent of hers surprised Itachi most of all. The samurai had taken fifty laps up and down the mountain by the time Kisame had waken, sweat rolling down her unbelievably pale face and her black eyes filled to the brim with a scorching determination.

The broad-shouldered blue shinobi rose from his sleep, stretching his massive maw into a deep yawn as he reached towards the endless blue sky with his large, stiff arms.

“Oh Kami, Itachi-san,” Kisame chuckled darkly as he puffed out a huge exhale, his shoulders dropping as he arched his back to stretch. “You're in for a rough ride today; I get quite grumpy when I don't sleep very well.”

“You slept just fine,” Itachi muttered simply as he continued to stare out of the shelter, standing at the mouth of the cavern with his back facing his partner. Shiro was still outside under the afternoon sun, her brow dripping in moisture and her forehead creased in concentration. “Sleeping five hours in; that's something I rarely allow, Kisame.”

The shinobi let out an uneasy laugh and scratched the back of his head.

“Ahh...sumimasen, Itachi-san. I'll be careful about that next time.”

“It did though, give her time to train.” Itachi's crimson eyes bore into the flustered girl, her pale cheeks flushed in a bright scarlet. “She must train hard in order to even think about challenging Orochimaru-san; she needs a miracle.”

“He won't actually go for her, would he?” Kisame scoffed, following Itachi's gaze that was glued onto Shiro.

There was much silence between the two Akatsuki members, the gentle breeze wispy and faint as Shiro stood before them, perfecting Chakra control by casually walking up a tree or standing upon still water.

Itachi sighed.

“No,” he finally answered, his voice grave. “The truth is, I've heard that Orochimaru doesn't even want her sister either.”

“Nani? (What?)” Kisame raised an eyebrow. “What's the reason for her being there then?”

“Musei Yoru,” Itachi said, his voice deep and husky, “daughter of Musei Daichi and Ayame, younger sister by four years to Shiro-san. She was influenced into the art of kenjutsu by her sister, who was a genius with blades.”

“I see,” Kisame chuckled, pacing over next to his partner. “So he wants her for her skill, as his very own henchman.”

“Secret agent, if you will.” Itachi nodded. “His very own personal warrior, brainwashed under his carefully chosen words.”

“Isn't she under the influence that Shiro-chan had killed the village of Umi?” A large smile stretched upon the large shinobi's chiseled face.

Itachi's scarlet eyes remained attached to Shiro, who rested on the highest branch of the tallest tree in the area. Her white kimono was slightly streaked in dirt, her snowy hair adulterated by some dust. Her slim figure perched low on the slender branch, one knee resting on the bark while the other remained up with her arm resting on it. Her dark eyes stared off into the far distance, clearly focusing on something beyond even Itachi's view. Her white dress rippled in the wind, which was slightly stronger higher up where she crouched. The raven-haired shinobi let out a slow breath, deep and disappointed.