Rotted Rowan

Obito

Disclaimer: The beautiful story of Naruto belongs to Kishimoto, as do all his characters. Naasica is the only character that belongs to me.

Warning: All warnings were addressed at the bottom of the second chapter.

Beta: Cyndaquil123

"Ever on and on, I continue circling with nothing but my hate in a carousel of agony -

'til slowly I forget and my heart starts vanishing and suddenly I see that I can't break free - "

- Bad Apple

"Such a soft rain," Grandmother mused.

I did not respond.

"A rainy day, for a rainy heart," she whispered. "Precious little sapling, do you hate her?"

I closed my eyes.

"She will always love you, my dear, dear, girl."

I held my tongue.

"Do not hate her for this choice. Promise me, Naa-chan..."

I would make no such promises.

"Tsunade will be back..."

I opened my eyes.

"Tsunade is dead," I whispered. "She is dead to this family. She is dead to me."

This time, it was Grandmother who did not respond.

. . .

. .

.

Years had passed.

The war continued to rage on, and Kakashi and I had been sent out to the frontlines on multiple occasions (or I suppose, more accurately, we ended up on the frontlines on multiple occasions: either due to us pursuing an enemy, or an enemy pursuing us). We were both ten years old now, and we had both received battlefield promotions due to our efforts. While technically we were Chūnin, we still had to undergo the exams when it was time for them to be held in Konoha again in order to officially be Chūnin.

The war was savage, and we had witnessed some rather unsettling horrors. If I hadn't already been used to the bloodshed from Madara's influence, I would, most certainly, have been forced to be used it by now.

Most veteran shinobi and kunoichi were rather nonchalant when it came to that sort of thing. It was such a natural occurrence, such a normal thing for them, especially during war times. The majority of them were numb to it, almost detached. It had little to no effect on them, anymore.

A part of me wondered, again, if this was just a biological trait built into them. If, perhaps, their—our—brains were just wired to accept this sort of thing. It would make sense if that was the case, given the history of this world. If we weren't ready to accept this, and if we fought against it... well, we would be driven insane, wouldn't we? It had to be within our very DNA to acknowledge, and not fight against the gore we witness. At least, that was what I rationalized.