This is the Land of Tundra. See how the winter wraps the shrubs and the grasses, how frost covers the lichens and mosses. See the forests, few and far between, hidden in the notches of geography where the cutting wind cannot reach.

There is life, in this land. It is hardy and resilient; meant to endure the slow death of winter. In exchange, it is vulnerable to sudden devastation. But hardly anything noteworthy happens in these parts, and nature had long ago taken a gamble.

Nevertheless, a fact remains.

Once destroyed, tundra will recover poorly. By its very nature, it cannot stand fire.

People, too, can survive the winter. Look. There is a mother and her infant child, walking through the wilderness that stretches between towns and villages. The mother wears layers of skirts and robes, dull and brown like dead leaves. The child is asleep, hidden under cloth, held against her mother's bosom.

She is a quiet, easy baby, and her mother is glad. They are poor and homeless, both of which wear down her body and her soul.

However, in this case, there is also a fear of others. They have enemies.

Or, perhaps, it is more accurate to say that the child has enemies.

Look. The baby opens her eyes, and they are as white as the falling snow.

The child is not blind, the mother knows. Indeed, the child's eyes can see everything.

And, for that simple reason, the child's life is in danger.

A sense of awareness came to Sumire slowly, over weeks and months. Her memory was a slowly filling scrapbook she didn't pay much attention to, at first. Another world, another time, another life. Such things didn't matter to a baby. It was the memory of death that finally made her see the picture she had been painting.

Sumire had drowned once. She remembered the still, dark waters, the burn of her lungs and the cold seeping in her skin, the loss of daylight above, the creeping dread as her strength vaned. If no one found her remains, her bones would be preserved for decades. It wasn't a bad thought. Let those old bones sleep, white against the black of the water and the black of the harsh, acidic soil.

Few things ever grew in the peat bogs, because those that were dead tended to linger. Centuries of dead things, supporting a thin layer of life. For that reason, there wasn't much room for those that made a living out of detritus, either.

Of course, her bones hadn't been old at all, she corrected herself absently (such things still didn't seem to matter much). She hadn't been a day over twenty, when she had slipped and was lost.

Funny, that, how easy it really was to die.

Sumire understood the harshness of life. The weak could not thrive in the north, where the long claws of winter never quite lost their hold. Summers were brief and wonderful, as everything strived to grow as quickly as possible in anticipation of snow and death. Beneath the surface, if one were to dig far enough, lurked an eternal winter that could never be banished.

And because Sumire understood, she didn't make trouble for her mother. She was as lovely as she was afraid, and she was afraid because she was weak. Sumire learned, matching scraps of chatter like pieces of a puzzle, that her mother had once been a maid in a tavern. Her father had been a shinobi, lonely and far from home, who had charmed her mother with tales of bravery and loyalty. He had been so tall, her mother said, and handsome. He had looked noble to her, even covered in old blood and old sorrow. Sumire bit her tongue and said nothing, even though she resented the longing in her mother's eyes.

Unfortunately, her father had been careless. Sumire couldn't quite forgive him for that.

Her mother hadn't known of his blood when she met him, but the truth was obvious in her new-born daughter. That moment of joy had mixed with horror, and those two emotions could never quite be separated ever again. Fear stained love, like blood on white cloth.

Her mother barely knew how to read, but she was not clueless about the world, or the reality of life for someone who had a bloodline. Such was the fate of a child born with the white eyes of a Hyuuga, far far from Konoha.

Sumire first saw her own face when she was one-going-two. They had been lucky enough to find a little hidden valley to stay the night and Sumire had left to get some water from a local fountain.

Her face was reflected on the surface, little ripples blurring the details.

Like snow, she thought and leaned down to see closer. There really were no pupils. Only the whitest of white.

She had the eyes of winter.

Life on the run wasn't all bad. There was beauty to be found in the wilderness, even though the two travellers were filthy and tired and often hungry – there was full moon on the surface of the water, the surprising rich colours of tundra, the clear crisp of the air. During the night, they sometimes saw colourful ribbons of light in the sky. In the mornings, the sunlight was bright and new.

There were shrubs to burn and water to heat and usually something to eat. Sumire had lived in the north and knew how to survive. Her mother, if she ever wondered, never said a word.

There were times they lived in villages. Sumire quickly learned how to pretend blindness to hide the pearly sheen of her eyes and there was always work for a barmaid. The locals were usually decent folk who pitied the mother and the blind daughter and they were allowed to stay as long as they made themselves useful.

But nowhere was safe enough, because she and her mother were not shinobi.

Sumire was two when she first killed a man.

She had slipped in her act, had avoided a kick from a drunken missing-nin with deftness that belied her supposed condition, and he grew suspicious. Sumire had seen the calculating glint of his eye and had stolen a fork from the kitchen when she went to wash the cutlery.

(She would have preferred a knife, but those were the pride of the cook. He was the kind of man who wouldn't balk at the thought of lashing a child.)

When she went to the alley behind the tavern to take out the trash, the missing-nin was waiting. She pretended to sob and struggle, but while she was tiny, the drink had made him sloppy.

One couldn't be squeamish about blood and death in the north, and so she wasn't. Her fear was for herself and for her lovely, loving mother.

She thought like that up until she stabbed him in the eye and blood sprayed over her face. It was scalding hot against her chilled skin, and red like the sunset.

Sumire's mother found her there, emptying the pockets of the dead man with shaking hands. The fork was still stuck in his eye. There was a puddle of vomit near the wall.

Sumire and her mother looked at each other, and within those moments was an eternity. Her mother's apron was covered in beer stains. Sumire was covered in blood.

"Oh, my little violet," Sumire's mother said sadly. "I apologise that we must live like this."

She took off her apron and began to clean Sumire's face.

With the dead man's money, Sumire's mother was able to purchase some scrolls. It wasn't much. Some forms on self-defence, a little on chakra, how to grip a kunai. Sumire looked at them and thought of her mother hiding in the cover of the night to get these for her, fearing someone would wonder at her purchase and follow her. So much effort for so little.

"The spring will come, my little violet," her mother said. "One day. We must be patient and strong."

Outside, Sumire agreed. Inside, she didn't. But if she had been a person who would give up so easily, she would never have survived a single day in the north.

Sumire loved chakra. It was like magic, and nothing like the petty charms and spells of her old life. They had never seemed to work anyway. But chakra did, and flowed around and over her hands like cool water, or made solid blobs like clear ice.

She was far too young to do much with it. Even chakra control exercises got tiring after a while.

However, while any Hyuuga worth their salt would have cringed at the way she went about it, Sumire's attempts at defending herself took more and more from the underlying principles of Jyuuken.

Sumire was two-and-half when she first saw the world of her birthright.

I suppose I really am a Hyuuga, she thought, even though I am a bastard and shouldn't have been born. She had known this, of course, but the reality was more intense than her mind could ever provide. The world was nothing but faint mist for her eyes to pierce.

What would her clan think of her? Would they shun her? Most likely, she concluded. From what her mother said, they were like nobility in this world. Peasants might accept a mutt, if it was useful and didn't get uppity. It was so much more complicated when the people of your blood had a pedigree.

When Sumire was three, her mother died.

She had grown thinner and greyer on their endless journey, and Sumire could see how the lack of roots slowly made her mother wither away. Sumire was a creature of winter and could manage. Her mother needed a roof over her head and a fire to keep her bones warm.

Just before spring, her mother took ill. Sumire tried to help her, gathering wood to burn and what food she could find. But her mother would have needed far more and the illness consumed her.

One night, Sumire awoke to see the clear world of Byakugan. The first time it happened, she had clutched at her face and gasped, uselessly, before her mother could calm her down enough for her to cut out the chakra flow. Now, she only needed a moment to get her bearings.

It was a kind of reflex, one that had not been written in her spinal cord at birth but one that she had developed due to stress and need. But it was old instincts that were at the root of her self-defence mechanism, those that had little to do with shinobi and everything to do with patterns of wind in the grass that might be a predator.

Sumire didn't know that. She had died long before books became common. But she believed the warning and let her eyes see through the world.

As it turned out, it wasn't an enemy she had sensed this time. At least, not an enemy that could be run from.

Her mother coughed, a wet, tired sound. Her mother's breath wasn't the even, unconscious flow of someone awake, nor was it the deep sighs of someone asleep. Every breath seemed like a battle to be won, and her mother's strength was waning. She would lose.

Sumire held her mother's hand as she died. Sunlight streamed through bare branches like a promise of spring. Her mother smiled. "I'm sorry, my little violet. I would have so liked to see you grow and bloom. But it seems I am fated to die before spring."

"I will live," Sumire said, and ignored the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "Somehow, I will live. I won't let myself be caught."

"You should go to Konoha. He was a good man, your father," her mother said, eyes sleepy and feverish. "I don't want to think they would treat you badly. But you are a bastard in the eyes of the world, and I fear no one will let you forget that. If you cannot find friends in your cousins, look for friends in other outcasts."

Sumire nodded. "I will, mother."

Her mother smiled, as life finally escaped her eyes.

Sumire stood and wiped off her tears. She ate breakfast and dressed. Then she went through everything they owned, trying to decide what was essential. She had to carry her world alone, now.

She wrapped her mother in the clothes she couldn't take and carried her body to the edge of a forest lake.

"It's cold in the water," she told her mother, "so I dressed you warmly. But it's not so bad to rest under water. It's dark and quiet, so you can sleep in peace."

She let her mother go and watched as she sunk. Her black hair was spread around her, and her face was white and calm. Soon, she disappeared entirely.

Sumire stood and walked away. Winter was cold and she had to move on.

Sumire woke up to find her hand holding a blade. The sharp end was sticking through a man's eye. She blinked sleepily as he screamed and clutched at his face.

She had seen him eye her the entire evening and hadn't been sure what he was after. Sumire now had enough of a grasp of henge to hide her eyes, but she was still three and tiny and couldn't maintain a very complex illusion. He might have seen through it and realised her value. He might have just thought that an orphan was an easy target.

Sumire had gone to sleep with a kunai under her pillow in any case.

She stood, quickly, stuffed one of her socks in the man's mouth and struck. She was no doubt a disgrace when it came to the other Hyuuga, but she could manage to kill. All it took was chakra and a gentle touch. The bright network inside everyone was so very fragile.

The man's heart stopped.

Sumire dressed and washed the blood off her hands. The water in the metal dish went yellow and she watched the patterns of colour as they formed. When she was done, she took her bag, stole the dead man's purse, and climbed through the window.

It was snowing. She would have to find another place to stay now.

When Sumire was four, she was caught by a team of shinobi from Kumogakure.

She supposed it was her own fault. She had been trying to find some food in a garbage tin and the sudden presence in her alley had made her pulse chakra to her eyes on pure instinct. The ninja had taken one look at each other and ran after her.

She fought, of course, because it was her nature to do so. She stabbed one in the stomach and bit another, but they were adult ninja and there were four against her one.

To their credit, they didn't hurt her for it. They did take away her weapons, but they also gave her a taiyaki cake. She gave the fish a considering look.

Later, when she was clean and wore new clothes, they took her away. She stared at the snowy land below her, moving past and gone forever. Some part of her was sad and resentful. Winter had been cold and harsh, but it had been her home, and violets had always bloomed in the forests when the brief spring arrived.

For a while she considered trying to kill the men who took her. She plotted, as they travelled towards the harsh Land of Iron, but couldn't come up with anything. And then it was too late.

The Land of Tundra had resembled her first home so much that she had thought it much the same, just populated by different people. She loved it, as much as she could when every moment of her life was a struggle.

In her mind, Sumire bid it goodbye.

(She never returned.)

A week or so later she saw the ocean for the first time. It was vast and blue like the sky and she wondered if it was as deep and cold as the abyss where her bones slept. The sea seemed too lively for that, waves and white foam and seagulls.

She hung on the railing that surrounded the edge of the ship and watched the vast horizon. She'd never seen this much space before and the wind smelled of salt. The world was big. She wanted to see more.

The ninja hadn't treated her badly. She thought she understood – they wanted her to become an asset, and thought that it wouldn't be difficult to win over a little toddler who was all alone in the world.

She thought they probably weren't bad people. They just wanted things, like everyone else.

She didn't make trouble for them and listened carefully. They told her tales of Kumo, their village, and the mountains and hot springs and awe-inspiring thunderstorms. She heard of the military of the Land of Iron and how shinobi had to take care not to be a trouble for the people there. She learned of the other five countries and their relations and how she too would grow up to be a ninja. For Kumogakure.

It might not be so bad, she thought. At least she wouldn't have to run anymore. Even though captivity chafed, now that she was clean and fed she didn't much care for the thought of dirt and hunger and fear.

But that never came to be.

Near the coast of the Land of Lightning, her team ran into a band of shinobi from Kirigakure, and Sumire was taken aside as the others fought.

"Who are those people?" she asked.

Yasui was the one she had stabbed before they had managed to get her weapons from her. He didn't seem to hold a grudge, had merely laughed and said that her form was atrocious but she was a fast and vicious little bugger.

True to form, even now Yasui grinned without care and ruffled her hair. "Maa, don't you worry. The others will take care of the bad men and then we can go home."

Sumire narrowed her eyes. Yasui rather got on her nerves, though she didn't quite understand why. He was friendly and liked to pamper her, even though he seemed to value his money more than his life.

Perhaps the irritation was because he didn't see her at all. Sumire was not an innocent child and this fact hadn't seemed to register even after all these weeks.

"You said people in Kiri don't like bloodlines," Sumire said. "Why are they attacking us?"

Yasui scratched at his chin. "Maa, politics. It's a coveted bloodline you got there, squirt. They're thinking we got you from Konoha and are afraid of them retaliating, I'll bet. Suffered a lot in the last war, Kiri did, and they don't want a repeat."

Sumire stared, and her heart sunk. "I see."

She snuggled to the side of Yasui, shaking in false fear. When he chuckled and went to hug her, she managed to wrap her fingers around one of his kunai.

"I'm really sorry," Sumire said. Yasui blinked in confusion.

Sumire had lost count of all the times she had done this. Stab the eye, then stop the heart. She had never managed grace, but most people didn't expect a little kid to be much of a threat. Yasui was no different.

Then, she stole his purse and his bingo book and took off.

She had been looking forward to Kumo, these last weeks, but she had no desire to be pushed in the spotlight of cutthroat ninja politics.

The coastline of the Land of Lightning was beautiful. There were impressive rocky formations and the ocean was clear lovely blue-green. Sumire wandered aimlessly, falling back into her old habits.

Every night she slept hidden, blade in hand and ready to wake up for the slightest hint of a threat.

She'd forgotten how cold it was, to live alone. For a while, she missed the Kumo shinobi terribly, the chatter and laughter and the tales.

But Sumire was a child of tundra, and capable of weathering most things.

Little by little she headed south. For a while, she didn't think much of it. Her reasons were an iceberg, most of them swam under the surface. They had a lot to do with Yasui's words.

Sumire wanted to live. She wasn't sure she would be able to bear the loss of freedom at this point, the instinct to run had been difficult to suppress. And there was so much of the world she had yet to see.

But she would be caught at some point. On her own, she could never grow strong enough to match ninja. She'd realised as much in the company of Yasui and the others.

If someone else caught her, Konoha would react. She'd be a centrepiece in a glorified tug-of-war. Treasured, too, probably. The only Hyuuga in some other village. They'd treat her okay, to get her loyalty.

And they would watch her. To protect and to keep her from running. A gilded cage, she thought, and frowned.

If she went to Konoha… well, she wasn't sure. She'd be one Hyuuga amongst others. A bastard, someone to ignore and look down on. Someone whose very existence was shameful.

But no longer special.

Sumire sighed and sat down. She'd always lived in the present. There was not much point in making long-term plans when you had to be ready to run any moment.

What would it be like, to live without having to think that everyone around you was an enemy, at all times? She had forgotten.

There was a weariness that went bone-deep. She wanted to rest. She didn't want to wear fear like a cloak, didn't want to have to keep a kunai under her pillow, didn't want to scrounge food from trashcans. She didn't want to feel cold down to her bones.

Having lived without those things for a few short weeks had made her realise how much paranoia and fear ruled her life. A black thread woven through white tapestry, staining everything with its colour.

Sumire made a decision and stood up. She continued south, this time with a sense of purpose.

There was spring in this land and violets bloomed in its forests. Sumire missed snow.

Sumire was five when she found her kin, in a small village in the Land of Hot Springs.

She stared at the man who was paying coin to a yakisoba vendor, heart beating a fast staccato against her ribs. He wore a Konoha headband and a green vest, but neither of those things was of much importance.

His eyes were white.

Sumire had known she had blood kin overseas, but the only white eyes she had seen had been her own. Quick glimpses on the side of metal, or the reflective surface of still water.

She had always thought she had eyes of winter, cold and white like snow. This man's eyes were the clouds of the springtime sky.

She fidgeted and fumbled with her tattered hoodie. It was relatively new. Her clothes had been meant for winter and this constant spring had forced her to look for new garments, but she was still a homeless kid and looked the part.

He was strong and healthy and not scrawny like her, and his hair was glossy and pretty unlike her tangled mane.

She couldn't make herself move.

It had been dangerous, travelling this continent. But this was near the homeland of her clan. She had considered asking for help, once or twice. Perhaps a civilian could have contacted Konoha for her and asked them to come collect her.

Paranoia and old habits had disagreed. Too many years of sleeping with weapons at hand and one eye open. Metaphorically.

And now, now she had finally found someone of her own kin, and she felt as though she had grown roots on the spot.

She took a deep breath and gathered her courage.

This was what she wanted, what she had decided, and though she reminded herself over and over, it was still so very difficult to give up her freedom.

Sumire thought of winter and snow, but her homeland was far away and violets bloomed in the forests of this land, too.

Then, she stepped forward.

"You're a Hyuuga?" said a small, reserved voice. Hyuuga Iroha glanced down and did a double-take. Familiar white eyes stared back at him from a tiny, serious face.

It took him several seconds to process the information, before chakra flowed to his eyes and he saw everything there was. And against his hopes, there was no illusion. Merely a tiny, filthy girl with the eyes of his family and a bare forehead.

Iroha had the presence of mind to keep his curses inside his head. He saw the future, and the vision involved endless stacks of paperwork.

This is the hidden village, Konoha. Look. See the buildings, clustered together and sprawling over each other. See the trees around the village and growing within, here and there like patches of green clouds. See the ninja, ambling around or leaping so fast you can only see a blur. See the civilians, going about their daily business.

Though Sumire had travelled this continent for the better part of a year, this was a new world.

This was, in a way, 'home'. The realisation was a shock of cold water. She wouldn't have to travel anymore. She wouldn't be able to travel anymore.

She was safe, she was stuck, and she had to force down her instincts to flee.

This was her choice.

"That's the Hokage tower," said cousin Iroha, pointing at a large red building. He had proven amiable enough, if clearly unused to children in general and Sumire in particular. She could hardly blame him for it. She would be very surprised if there were any other children like her.

"I have to go there to hand in my mission report. And contact Hiashi-sama. I'm not looking forward to that, but he's the clan head. I can't be making decisions about you now that we're back home."

Sumire gave him a solemn nod. It was a little funny how her serious manner made stiff-faced cousin Iroha uncomfortable, but Sumire wasn't quite able to laugh. It had been a long time she'd felt safe enough to do so.

As Hiashi looked at the bastard foundling, sitting slumped in a chair in front of equally prone Yamanaka Inoichi, he very carefully did not let his face betray his irritation.

She was tiny, as to be expected, and a little scruffy. Iroha had apparently tried to tidy her up, which seemed to have translated into a bath, new clothes one size too big and a rough haircut with a kunai. As a result, her black hair fell down around her face in uneven strands. Her face looked about three decades older than it should and there was something weary about her posture even as she lay unconscious. All of it spoke of a harsh life.

But Hiashi was embarrassed, and that made him irritable. One of his clan had strayed and compromised the entire bloodline. Sorting the situation out would be a nightmare.

The two stirred, coming back to the waking world. The girl looked as she always did, rubbing at her forehead. Inoichi seemed a little disturbed.

"Sumire-kun…" Inoichi said hesitantly. "I only skimmed your memories, to make sure you aren't an infiltrator. You're clear. But there's one thing... You arrived to this continent with a team of Kumogakure ninja, did you not? You seemed to like them. Why did you kill that man? Why escape?"

Hiashi froze. So did everyone else in the room. It wasn't difficult to imagine that living alone with a prestigious blood limit was dangerous enough to make her do ugly things. It was considerably harder to imagine her actually committing murder.

Sumire cocked her head and regarded the question. "I didn't want to be in a spotlight," she finally said. "I would have become some sort of prize. I wanted to get rid of that kind of life."

The adults shifted uncomfortably. Somehow, talking to Sumire seemed to involve having to scrub parts of your soul you didn't particularly want to look at.

Hiashi regarded his long-lost little relative. The Hokage had given him permission to take her home, but there were things that had to be explained and he didn't want to risk her acting up in public.

"If your father is dead, you will be the ward of the clan," he said bluntly. He felt a little bad for being so harsh, but he wasn't about to tolerate insubordination. The girl had not been taught how to behave properly, he was sure. "In any case, you will be given the seal of the Caged Bird. You will obey me without question and serve the main family in whatever way I see fit."

"I know. Cousin Iroha already explained that," she said levelly. "I won't make trouble for you. I decided that I would rather be a stray mutt than pedigree dog, because nobody cares about mutts. Although I suppose cattle is a better comparison, since cows get branded too."

For the first time in his life, Hiashi found himself unable to meet the eyes of a five year old girl.

"I… I wouldn't call it…" he tried, and gave up. Our blood must be protected at all cost, was what he wanted to say. Our bloodline is vital for this village. Our eyes are blessed. This is the way we have always done things.

What had seemed to make sense in his head all but fell apart under her wintery eyes. He tried again.

"I admit, it's... not fair. It's not an ideal system. But you've seen how it is outside Konoha, what it is like for someone of our blood."

Sumire nodded, eyes wide with dull surprise. "You don't have to justify yourself to me, Hiashi-sama. I'm a bastard. I know my place in this world."

Hiashi cringed. He had wanted obedience, and now that he had it, he felt shame. There may be no judgement in her eyes, but somehow that just made things worse. An impression of 'I am not disappointed, because I never expected anything from you in the first place.'

She didn't judge him. She didn't have to. Her eyes were a mirror, and made him judge himself.

And, as tends to happen when one realises they have not lived up to their own standards, Hiashi wanted to do something to prove he was better. He did not want to think of himself as a cruel man.

He reached down and picked her up.

Hiashi couldn't force his clan treat her well. One could forbid actions and words, but never thoughts. However, there was one thing everyone in Konoha appreciated, and as much was true for the Hyuuga. Sumire had talent. She could be powerful.

"I'll see to it that you can join the academy. It's a chance for you to become something else than your origins."

Sumire cocked her head and smiled. It was a joyless expression. Hiashi wondered if a five-year old really could have the necessary perspective to understand.

Still, she had been born to the darkness of the ninja world. The filthy, depraved depths in the hearts of men would have been her reality. Perhaps that was why.

Hiashi pulled her closer and felt the first sparks of a desire to protect her. Her skin is cold, he thought, but she isn't shivering.

"I was born for winter," Sumire said, once more proving her uncanny ability to seemingly read his mind, and patted Hiashi's jaw. It was the first childish thing he had seen her do. "You're really warm. Like the spring."

"This is the Land of Fire," Hiashi said gravely. "It seems that all your life you have travelled towards the sun. Welcome home."

Sumire laughed. The sound was brief and abrupt, as unexpected as it was welcome.

Hiashi smiled.

The Hokage tower was always busy busy during daytime hours. But there were still corners where people didn't linger, private by a chance in design, little slivers of darkness outside the spotlight.

It was in one of these spaces that Shimura Danzo approached Hiashi.

Sumire turned to see and Hiashi felt her body petrify. He could almost smell her fear, a sour and sharp tang. Bemused, he held her tighter. Don't worry, I'm here.

He looked at Danzo. Though the man was as expressive as a blank canvas, there was ill-defined hunger in his visible eye.

"So, this is the bastard," Danzo said, his voice coarse and raspy like sand. "How unfortunate. Once her existence becomes public knowledge, it will reflect poorly on your clan. It would be a good idea to consider other options for her future."

"I doubt the village has so little regard for the Hyuuga that one child will be much of a stain," Hiashi said, with a carefully measured tone that suggested he was talking of weather.

Danzo inclined his head. "I do not wish to insinuate. I merely consider what would be best for the village. Though young, she has undoubtedly been exposed to outside influence. Special ANBU training would ensure her complete loyalty."

Sumire's fingers dug into Hiashi's shoulders. She was trembling, now, and Hiashi felt a spark of anger.

"My clan has never been in the habit of handing our blood around," he said calmly, "and I do not intend to break the mould. Thank you for your concern, elder Shimura, but this situation is an internal matter of the Hyuuga."

Danzo didn't say anything, but appeared to recognise defeat. Hiashi gave him a terse, barely polite nod and swept past.

Once they were in the sun, Sumire's trembling abated.

"I know better than to give you to him, even if I wished to sweep this issue under the rug," Hiashi said quietly. "He may speak slick words of doing what is best for the village, but he has his own agenda and cannot be trusted. You don't have to be afraid."

"I can't help it. I know men like him," Sumire said bitterly. "I recognise the shape of his mind. He's so convinced he's in the right that there is no depravity he cannot commit."

Hiashi stroked through her wispy hair. "He knows better than to try anything. He doesn't want you enough to resort to anything that would implicate himself."

Sumire gave him a considering look. "Then, he's that kind of spider? Doesn't take risks?"

"I wouldn't claim to know how exactly his mind works. But he understands that I would make your disappearance an incident. There would be an investigation. The threat of that will keep him at bay."

(They had reached the Hyuuga compound before he realised he had been discussing in-depth ninja politics with a five-year old.)

Sumire wandered the halls of her new home. Though most rooms seemed as bare as her usual lodgings, this was the sparse of intent rather than a lack of resources.

It was almost homey, the vague sense of cold that wasn't in the ambient temperature but in the hearts of people. When she sat in the dining hall, she was all but invisible. She was given her food, but any hesitant attempt to talk was snuffed out like the flame of a candle. Eventually she stopped trying.

Unfortunately, Hiashi-sama was busy and didn't have time for her. She missed him terribly, because he at least always tried. He had even gone through the clan records himself and seemed sorry when he told her that her father had died two years ago. Killed in action, honourable burial.

Sumire didn't care. She had never thought fondly of her father. It was Hiashi who had promised to protect her, who noticed she existed those rare times they ran into each other, who even made sure she could go to school.

But that would have to wait for one more year. Meanwhile, she was left idle and bored. She was used to a sense of fear that slowly rubbed your skin raw; learning kanji and going through kata simply couldn't occupy that space in her mind.

It was in one of the well-maintained training fields where she first met cousin Neji.

She already knew of him, of course, because that sort of news always gets around. She assumed she was sorry for him, but the feeling was mostly a habit of her mind. Five years had not been long enough to erase all of her empathy.

Neji scowled at her, disgust twisting his features into a horrible mask. Sumire blinked and edged away. He radiated contempt like red-hot iron.

He didn't say anything, and as he walked past her, he bumped into her with enough force to bruise her.

Sumire had always been pale. The bruises were ugly and black against her skin.

Two weeks later, they fought.

Neji didn't hate her, not really, but he was angry and grieving and Sumire was the girl who had willingly given her freedom away to serve, whereas no one had ever asked what he wanted.

And so, he bullied her. But the way her skin bruised and the way she avoided him were not enough. He wanted to cause pain inside, close to heart, where he also suffered.

It didn't really work. No matter what words he threw at her, Sumire kept looking at him with cold, serene eyes. It was difficult to meet them. He always started to ask himself if he should be doing what he did.

And then, one day, the pent up tension flared.

"You have never been hungry," she said, and her voice was flat and cut like the finest blade. "You have never felt the cold of winter. You can take a bath every day. You –"

And Neji couldn't take it anymore.

He was faster and stronger, more skilled and disciplined. But Sumire had the will to kill and had defended herself against stronger opponents for her entire life.

Sumire ended up with a broken arm. Neji ended up in the hospital.

When he woke up, his instructor in taijutsu was lecturing Sumire, who sat listlessly on the next bed. There was ugly contempt on Heisui's face and, as Neji listened, his questions died in his throat.

He had never known Heisui to have such a poisonous tongue. It was impossible for a child to understand the nuances, but he could tell Heisui wasn't there to enforce discipline. He was there to hurt Sumire, who just sat there and didn't even try to defend herself.

It was a look he had seen before. Shame churned in Neji's stomach, scalding and sour.

"I started it," he said, forcing the words out. "I attacked her first. It was my fault."

He expected Heisui to turn to him and tell him off instead. That was not what happened.

"It is noble of you to try to defend her, Neji-kun, but I know better. You wouldn't stoop to the level of one such as this... this unnecessary child," he said, and his lip curled in contempt. "You are talented, you will go far. I would advise you not to associate with her any further."

Neji's jaw dropped. He glanced to Sumire, who shrugged.

When Heisui left, Neji dragged himself upright. The place where Sumire had hit still felt cold and stiff, but he was too confused to linger on that.

"Why'd he say that? I did start the fight. It was my fault."

"But I am the bastard," Sumire said, and her tone suggested she was explaining fundamental, obvious rules of the world. "Mother wasn't even a Hyuuga. It doesn't matter how good or how bad I am, because I shouldn't have been born in the first place. This is a fate I cannot escape."

Neji stared, unsure why he wanted to refute her words when they were exactly what he believed as well.

Surprisingly, more good than bad came out of Sumire's accidental attempt to kill her cousin.

Hiashi-sama took the time to scold both of them. It wasn't fun, of course, but he was far more fair in his judgement and that alone was balm to Sumire's soul.

Heisui was the first one to make a connection with Neji's shivering and Sumire's attack. The side-effect turned out to be because of some underlying property of her chakra. She did not have ice release, but there was a significant difference in baseline temperature – enough to cause additional internal damage. Heisui was interested enough in trying out possible applications for Jyuuken that he almost forgot to sneer at Sumire.

Neji, for whatever reason, seemed to have decided that Sumire was now his responsibility. She was more than a little mystified at the change in attitude, but it was an improvement and she saw no need to complain. Neji was almost a friend. She couldn't afford to be picky.

For years, very little changed.

Author's notes:

Ahaha, sorry for the cop-out ending. I lost inspiration and just wanted to wrap this up somehow. Sumire's story was never meant to be of the 'change canon' type in the first place. I was mainly interested in seeing her journey to Konoha. You can probably tell where my attention starts to flag.

I'm also currently ill and bored, hence I just want to post something. This is a concept that has been in the back of my head for quite a while. I and Silver Queen once spoke of other self-insert type ideas that never really took off as full-fledged stories, this being my personal favourite.

If I ever manage to get my head out of my ass, I'll write another chapter. But for now, this is 'completed'.