This shot is purely for practicing purpose as I was severely dissatisfied with the way I write. They say a picture says more than a thousand words, so I thought "Hey, why not use 1000 words to build one picture?" And there you have it: taking the author's note and disclaimer away, 1000 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Snow. Everywhere he went, it crunched loudly underneath his feet; not a single patch of green, not even a dying tree; not a single sign of life managed to break through the white blanket. Everywhere he looked, thirty centimeter of snow covered the earth, blinding him.
Only in the far distance, he could make out the shapes of mountains, and he knew that where he had come from was a coniferous forest, branches heavy with thick snow, making them bend and break.
The sky was a clear blue and there wasn't a single cloud to be seen, yet the air was cold, making his throat and lungs ache when he breathed and his skin sting. Drops of ice the size of dust particles whirled about, roused by the sharp wind. They looked like glitter, glistening in more colors than his mind could possibly name.
Even though his cloak was thick, the wind went right through it, biting at his skin mercilessly. He had goose bumps all over his pale skin, and he was sure that if he were to look at it, it'd be either red or blue from the cold.
He knew that his cheeks were bright red from the cold, his lips possibly blue, and envied his partner for his mask and headgear. He, of course, was only dressed in his usual attire – blue pants and white cloth concealing the top of his ninja sandals, no shirt, black cloak with red clouds. The scythe on his back felt unusually heavy at that very moment, making him think that maybe it made him sink down deeper into the fluffy white snow. Maybe it was trying to eat him.
His feet were numb. He didn't know if he was still walking or not because he simply could not feel his body anymore. His eyes hurt from being surrounding by all this blinding, blinding snow.
When had his hand reached out? He hadn't told it to, hadn't felt it move at all until he saw his fingers curl into the dark material of his partner's cloak.
He didn't even know what kind of face he was making; his face was numb. Perhaps he looked surprised about reaching out for his partner without realizing it, or maybe confused for the same reason. Maybe his lips trembled slightly from the cold; maybe he just looked really pathetic.
Whatever the reason was, his partner looked at him, and he knew what he was thinking. They hadn't even spent much time together, but they could read each other almost perfectly. Even though his partner wore a mask, the former citizen of Yugakure knew that his mouth would be in a neutral line; it was the way his eyes were not narrowed and his eyebrows were neither raised nor drawn together that let the silver-haired man know that his partner was – for once – not angry.
Another sharp gust of wind tugged on their clothes, and he figured that his hair was probably a mess, but he didn't particularly care.
The material of his partner's cloak felt neither warm nor cold underneath his fingers; slightly rough, but he was grateful for the slight scratchy feeling it inflicted on his skin. It was better than the numbness.
He wondered when it would snow again, making their footprints disappear. It would be as if they had never been there; the only sign of their passing through this area would be gone. All it would take was another snowstorm and the imprints he left would be erased – just like any other sign of life in this snow desert.
Would it erase their existences as well?
His partner was still looking at him, but it wasn't expectantly. If anything, it was still that unnerving emotionless gaze from before that left him wondering what he wanted to say to him.
"I'm tired, I don't want to walk anymore."
"Are we there yet?"
"How much longer do we have to walk?"
Many questions filled his mind, but he did not know which to ask. It would take a long time before they finally left Snow Country, he knew, and he also knew that in an icy desert like this, they could not take a break. No matter how cold, hungry and tired he was he had to continue walking. Furthermore, he knew that his partner was tired, hungry and cold, too, and his partner knew the same about him.
So what was he supposed to say?
He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him – the howling of the wind yanking at their clothes, the blood dripping from his scythe, leaving a trail of crimson along with their footsteps, his partner's nearly emotionless gaze on him, the biting cold – and felt small and insignificant in this never-ending world of ice and snow around him.
White, white, everywhere white, some crimson dots, and two men clad in black.
His grip on his partner's cloak loosened, slowly trailing down to his sleeve before entwining his fingers with the brunette's.
His hand was warm.
It amazed the silver-haired man that his partner did not protest or mock him, but he guessed that the other man was tired as well. Whatever the reason, the taller man did not let go of the Jashinist's hand and turned around, starting to walk on.
The sky turned a dull grey, laden with clouds, as it started snowing again.
He followed his partner, knowing that their footsteps would soon disappear, and hoped to his God that the blood on his scythe would not freeze. The trail of blood behind them comforted him somewhat, almost making him believe that he was not lost as long as he could see it.
Then again, he had his partner, and when he felt the warmth of the taller man's hand spreading onto his own, he suddenly did not mind the cold, the wind, the snow and the white, empty vastness. He did not care about being hungry and tired. He felt safe.