A dying wolf and her rider. That was the sad picture which presented itself to Izuna’s eyes, here, in a blackened forest in the dead of night. Tobirama’s pale skin and bright hair were filthy with blood and dirt, his wolf companion faring no better.
That, however, was the least concern. The large beast had fallen on its side, perhaps mid-stride given the position of her legs. Her rider had been thrown and must have hit his head. The two were strewn about like a careless child had dropped them here like toys.
It would have been so easy to kill Tobirama Senju like this. No fight, no argument, nothing at all, just one quick cut would have ended the Second Hokage’s life. Some might consider that option a mercy, after looking over his wounds.
But Izuna had need of Tobirama, and his reasons for responding to the distressed message that the Hokage’s delegation had sent were practical; the Senju and Uchiha continued to work closely together, in order not to let there be a void of power in the village after Hashirama and Madara’s decision to wander the world and leash all of the tailed beasts.
Which meant the Senju had to have a head. Besides, Tobirama wasn’t a terrible Hokage; he was far more predictable than his brother, which Izuna found preferable.
And maybe, just maybe, a small part of him hoped it would eat Tobirama up inside to know he’d been rescued from certain death by an Uchiha of all people.
But spite had no place in the careful way he secured the area and saw to the wounds. First, Tobirama’s, then the wolf’s. Izuna’s own summoning partners couldn’t carry the large beast home, but they could act as splendid sentries while Izuna built a rudimentary camp. It felt familiar, all of this, even the lingering smell of blood and gore.
When he first woke, Tobirama was sure he’d reached the Pure Lands. The canopy above him was filtering the sunlight in a way that reminded him of how Hashirama and he had laid on the forest ground when they were little and his older brother had assured him that all Senju became part of the forest when they died. Tobirama had believed him back then, and given Hashirama’s connection to the forest now, if he didn’t know, then who did?
So he laid there, the warm light not stinging in his eyes for once, staring up at the leaves and branches of what Hashirama had called the Forest of Souls. Did his brother know? Would he feel it, wherever he was, that his little brother’s life had ended somewhere between the countries of Lightning and Fire?
And then the pain came. After a blissful moment of thinking it was all over, it crept through his body, winding like an angry snake that struck wherever it could. With it came realisation that he could not be dead after all. But then how was he alive? Both his and Riko’s wounds had been dire, fatal even. His brain was sluggish at figuring out the reason.
Someone must have saved him.
Tobirama stretched out his hand, trying to feel the ground with his fingertips, but his chakra reserves had barely recovered enough to feel Riko’s presence near. Good. So at least she was still alive, though she might not wish to be after the loss of her brother earlier today.
He tried to open his mouth, tried to say something to her to see if she was awake as well, but out came only a small groan.
And then his embarrassingly tiny range of sensory perception picked up on something else. Another chakra signature, one highly familiar and yet one that had his hackles rise.
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