Birds of a feather flock together,
A file sitting innocently on a desk. Sheltered within its plain, manila envelope- not hurting anybody. Not yet that is. But at the moment it simply waits, in that unassuming nonchalant way inanimate objects tend to adopt. One pale, almost petit, hand fingers its wax seal as a guttural voice drones on in the background, like so much static. Kaze- The symbol of the Wind. An indent made by the force of a stamp into molten wax- amazing how one factor such as that, makes this particular, unassuming file so important. Top secret.
Wasting time is all this really is. Vaguely, the owner of a pair of petit hands muses on the fact that his 'debriefing' wasn't all that 'brief' this time around. After all, he'd heard it before. Again and again; the people changed, the setting changed, but the circumstance was always the same. As was the directive. "Kill."
Though he wasn't complaining, not at all. This, from the mission right down to these little grooves on a blood red seal, was all his country. All for his country. So despite the monotony, he would march on, like the good little soldier he was. Even if he felt as though he had no choice but to march, he did. And this led him to this room, with Suna's most powerful shinobi towering above him, snapping orders with a most sadistic look in his eyes. His marching led him to stand before this man, to bow, and to pluck the inconspicuous yet all important manila envelope from its place on the desk, and to bow again. With that, he left the room.
And so will pigs and swine;
"These accursed winters," He murmurs, yet does nothing to shake the chill from his body. It is his pride that disallows him to raise his trembling fingers to his lips, where he may blow life onto him. It even halts any thoughts of escaping to the trees, where he might find some comfort in no longer bringing his sandal clad feet through the snow. He is being watched, with all the likeness of a wild cat, a Nekomata* even, another is matching his every movement. But the male does not confront this unwanted guest, and after not long, perhaps a mile of silent walking, the stranger leaves him in favor of remaining within the village's borders. And he continues marching, the incident put out of his mind.
In privacy now, he allows himself to shrug away his stiff outward show and swipes those trembling fingers through bloody locks. "At Ease," is a muttered command that leaves numb lips, and he obeys himself, his hand falling back to his side where it remains for some time. He stands unmoving, unblinking, until he lets out a defeated sigh and crosses his arms in front himself and tucks each hand against his side. Sea-foam green eyes rise to the heavens.
Rats and mice will have their choice,
While being greatly obscured by the thick branches of the surrounding ever greens, one object shines brightly though with ease. Her light sickens him, but he watches her until his neck hurts and his eyes grow sore in their dryness. He jerks his head down then, only raising his eyes to stare straight ahead.
A ware house. Dilapidated and imposing, it lies directly at the end of his forest path, and the manila envelope tucked beneath his sash burns with meaning at the sight. A sickly grin splits his face, and he stumbles forward.
Now not just the bitter-bite of Sir Fuyu*'s winds, but Lady Tsukuyomi's mocking gaze press him onward. And he marches.
And so will I have mine.
* 'Nekomata':a two-tailed demon cat whom devours it's owner and wears the skin.
*'Sir Fuyu': Fuyu meaning Winter in Japanese.