•I do not own the Naruto franchise, credit goes to Masashi Kishimoto
Proper notes and vents will be situated at the end of this story.
"What was my mother like?"
Tsunade paused, the sink running freely with waters trickling down the tower of china plates, and soiled silverware. She quickly turned the faucet off to preserve her tap liquid, smoothing the thin layer of water soaking her palms in order for it to dry. She cleared her throat, albeit a bit too roughly, so she rasped when her words were directed to the adolescent pinkette.
The Senju turned to face her, her syrupy brown orbs staring intently, witnessing the undying curiosity in gleaming jade. A breathy sigh escaped her throat.
"She was...a fine witch. She did every task given dutifully, and performed our rituals beautifully-"
"No," blossom locks swished as the rosette shook her head slightly.
"Aside from being a witch, what was my mother...really like?"
Blonde brows rose up; she had definitely not expected such a question to pop out of the young girl's mouth--it had caught her off guard. And she especially didn't expect to indirectly be asked to reminisce to her time of youth. Those days were long gone: faint memories that crawled behind her; slim creasing wrinkles around the edges of her eyes and thick, supple white strands of hair growing along with her tufts of gold proved that fact to be true.
“Haruno Mebuki was a kind witch. She had an out-going personality, and a ferocious temper. Sometimes, in order to control it, she would direct it towards her work, so she would get it done with much fervour. You remind me of her, you know,” she smiled, reaching out to gently tuck a loose pink strand behind the girl’s ear. Her lips pulled tightly as she struggled to maintain that small grin.
“Your eyes carry that same intensity as hers. Both a luscious shade of green and always filled with determination. You may have also inherited that fiery personality of hers,” she slyly slid in, raising her note of voice a few octaves higher as each syllable cracked out. She witnessed lotus brows elevate.
“Mm.” she said, planting her hands firmly into Sakura’s shoulders. She gave the young lady a hard look of resilience.
“Don’t waste what you mother left you. Make her proud, okay? That doesn’t mean being perfect either; she never was, and she doesn’t expect you to. Just carry on her name, but be you when that happens. They will know Haruno by your mother, but they will know you as Sakura. You are her legacy.” She gave her a light pat on the centre of her scalp.
“Run along now, I’m sure the Yamanaka’s are expecting you soon, right?”
She skidded away, her slim back bouncing with joy in Tsunade’s vision. She knew the child had taken in the information she had received fully and pensively; she just needed to take a breath first before she could take action with it.
Sun rays cast brooding beacons of light through the translucent curtains, kissing the pale skin of a slumbering pinkette. Her room, brought forth through with darkness, barely received any of the warming glow from the day, but the Haruno nowadays often forgot to shut her veiling material properly due to undenying fatigue. Her figure rested peacefully amongst sheets of cream covers, tangled and twisted between her long legs, and cushioned pillows that had her rose locks sprawled across, her head weight supported carefully as she slept.
She slowly started to stir, her consciousness beginning to thrum through her waking head once more, her eyes fluttering open after a minute or so. She paused to feel the warm glow splashing the space between her shoulder blades, and squinted when flipped around to witness the pure daylight beams. She sighed, both delighting and dreading the feeling of morning on her skin. The covers shielding her body from the chest down suddenly grew hot, and she carefully peeled them off her in order to stand. She bathed in the heat of the sun, stretching her tensed limbs, relieving them from their slumber, then let her feet prod her downstairs.
Her ears contracted the noise of a quiet thud resonating through the landing as she padded down her stairs, each foot lightly tapping on the panels of wood staged to support her short journey. It was when she approached the kitchen, did she find the source of the sound.
Tsunade’s back was turned to her, but she could seemingly make out that the woman was gently dicing vegetables from the smell of fresh crops and the knife’s handle that appeared with the swift motions of her right elbow. She watched for a while; unable to notice the fact that she had been gaping for quite some time.
“You know what I’m like about staring, Sakura.”
She jumped slightly, blinking thrice before realising that the voice had come from the said Senju. She tugged at the hem of her nightgown abashedly, her cheeks warming up with clots of flush. Crimson scattered just below her eyes, she looked down in embarrassment.
She heard a low hum replying to her apology, as the pinkette walked up towards the oak counter to assist in the morning chore, but as she stood by the woman’s side, the latter paused, shaking her head.
“This is lunch. I will prepare; you’ve just awoken, make yourself something to eat, since today I fear there will be a lot in store for you. If you want, you can occupy the seats in the patio when you’re finished making the meal, and Ino can come over too.”
She nodded obediently, starting back up the stairs. She scrubbed her face clean with the help of buckets of purified water and a lousy yet sustainable flannel. She wrung out all the water and ebbed all the dirt and grime last night had unleashed unto her skin. When she was done she brushed her teeth and lathered her body in a slim coat of cream, then combed her hair well with a bristle brush. It pained her every time, but the results were flawless.
She gazed into the rectangular glass shard that was portrayed as her mirror, and saw her lotus tufts: they had long surpassed her neck and were sprawled across the tips of her shoulders and their blades. It didn’t vex her as much as she thought it would--most girls in the coven her age had even longer hair stretching to the small of their backs, exert one being the Yamanaka Ino.
Under her makeshift mirror was a wooden cabinet, stored with a myriad of random objects, some she had not even come in contact with; they had been stacked before her years, neatly might I say, and Sakura intended to not disturb the order. She found a slim white string, long enough to encapsulate the bunch her hair made when tied like a bouquet of flowers. She worked quickly, tidily knotting it, her hair becoming wrapped in a loose ponytail. She nodded to herself once before setting to dress.
She donned a simple outfit--one a peasant would wear. But she didn’t care: she was an ever-working sorceress, not a royal courtess. Her bodice slid nicely though her developing curves, fitting her slim form into a nice support for the day. Her pleated skirt lacquered in a lustrous red had flown just right below her knees, finished with a clean apron that only masked the front of her outfit from the waist down. Her top, however, had somewhat vanquished any trace of simplicity her bottom had yet to offer. It was a sable coloured, sewn from the handiwork of strung out cotton, and had a smooth neckline that exposed the brims of her creamy shoulders and collarbone. She would wear a small shawl when the weather would begin to drift to a colder degree.
She made her bed, fluffed the pillows and opened the curtains wide open this time, and thereafter betook herself to the farms and ricefields, cornfields and where all the food was to be kept lest anyone paid heed to it for their own sakes.
She went to the hen’s nest, and under the small shelter she took refuge in for a search, she grabbed four eggs hatched recently for eating. She carefully stowed them in a small basket weaved through seams of worn out bamboo, but still made strong and firm in its use. She already had bread in her possession, for Tsunade had brought some home with her just yesterday, so it wouldn’t be molding until the day after tomorrow, unless it would be preserved with the Senju’s unwavering force. She also recalled the fruitcake leftovers a good neighbour had delivered to them, sitting in the cooler, ready to be consumed. She hoped her mentor would allow such things, she did say she enjoyed the delicacy quite a bit.
Fruits in general were a great way to start the day; hence the pinkette went to grab some. She pondered whether orange juice squeezed freshly out of its segments was a nice addition when suddenly a glimpse of pale golden hair glistening in the sun caught her emerald eye.
“It’s strange to see you here this early in the morning, Pig,”
The woman looked up from the bush she was inspecting, and gave a sly grin when locks of pink caught her eye. She straightened up, tucking away straying strands from her face along with wiping the perspiration that glittered her tanning forehead. She walked closer so that her voice wouldn’t have to be raised.
“And it’s refreshing seeing you here just the same. Tell me, Forehead: what brings you here? And what’s with the eggs? Haven’t you had breakfast yet?”
“I was hoping you hadn’t either…” The Haruno gave a silly pout.
The Yamanaka chuckled, bending down once more to scrutinise the branch of a developing clementine. She opened her mouth, and without looking up from her position, she tilted her head with a statement.
“Honestly I’ve been feeding myself scarcely with these fruits. Would you mind picking me a decent sized orange from your end?”
Sakura gently placed her basket on the soiled ground and began searching. She found a round orange ball with protruding evergreen leaves that smelled just right, and tugged it just hard enough so that the top would rip. She seized the fruit immediately after its liberation, and called out to Ino.
“Here,” she tossed it softly, and the orange landed safely with an echoing splat on the girl’s widespread palm. She unraveled it like a present, until the peel were stacked onto an uneven pile, and the raw inside was ready to devour. She tore a segment from the fruit and plopped it in her mouth without a fuss. The rosette witnessed her chew for a few seconds, before swallowing, and didn’t fail to miss the slight twitch in her left eye--the only eye that she could see.
“Not exactly,” the girl rasped, clearing her throat for a more lucid stream of voice, “more like...acidic. I’ve never had an orange for breakfast before.”
“Speaking of breakfast,” the carrier was back in Sakura’s hands once more, the handle hung onto her forearm as she held it up playfully,
“Mind joining me? Your parents wouldn’t mind, would they?” she friskily swayed the basket in a mesmerising rhythm, in an attempt to almost tempt the blonde. But temptation wasn’t needed, and they both headed for the place of the pinkette’s dwelling.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll prepare the food.”
Sakura pulled out an iron chair, hammered and heated until perfectly shaped into place. There were two, sitting adjacent from each other, and masking their seats was a matching table, not wide, but big enough to fit a sufficient amount of plates.
She then took her leave inside her house, her feet slowly taking her to the kitchen. She bestowed her basket onto her wooden carved counter, grabbing her mini charcoal stained cauldron and filling it with a substantial amount of water She set it alongside her eggs and worked her way across the room to the furthest wall. There, curving in and through the wall, was a fireplace, with freshly chopped wood she had sworn had not been sitting blatantly there beforehand. She smiled; Tsunade must have done the small task before setting off. She absentmindedly thanked the woman mentally, before creating some friction to ignite a yellow flame. It steadily burned, eating away at the tree chops, steadily growing in size, it’s ashy, sulfurous scent emitting from it all, gallivanting around the room in long stripes of smoke. It wasn’t too hazardous, as Sakura had been taught how to control it, so she waited just a bit before grabbing a hook stand and placing the small caudron on it, ready to cook.
As the water inside began to undulate and ripple with bursting bubbles of boiling temperature, she decided to pop two eggs inside. The bounced with a pop as they fell into the pot, and merely floated atop a set of spuming heat. Leaving those to poach, she took the liberty of taking out a loaf of wheat bread and slicing two thick parts, just enough to not struggle to bite. She placed them on unpainted clay plates. She also squared two clean cuts of fruitcake, and set them beside the bread. She looked out towards the patio, where Ino was, surprisingly, patiently waiting.
“Would you like water or juice, Pig?” she lowly called from her place. When she heard a tiny ‘water’ from outside, she nodded to herself and poured two cups. When about five minute had passed, she put out the fire, and taking by the handle she set the cauldron down on a heat proof surface. She cautiously ladled out the eggs into a separate bowl, and from them drenched the protein in cold water until they were mildly warm. She proceeded to peel them, careful not to break their whites. She put one on each plate, and now that breakfast was fully prepared she took it all outside.
“Ah, I swear you’ve been at it for almost an hour. I was starting to think you were gonna burn something,”
Sakura served the blonde her plate full of delicacies.
“Funny, Pig. No wonder you’re such a hog.”
She made herself comfortable in the chair opposite the Yamanaka, whilst the gentle breeze sang chilly whispers in the dewy early morning, two friends delightfully dug in for breakfast.
“I still can’t believe you’re going to be sixteen next month. I heard from papa that you were thinking of travelling the moment your ritual is done,” the pinkette watched as Ino tore a small piece of her bread, and with her boiled egg ripped open, it’s runny, gooey yolk scattered across the side of her plate, she smoothed her piece along the thick canary liquid, picking up the contents then placing it carefully onto her tongue.
She didn’t know how to respond to her friend’s statement; well, she predominantly didn’t have too--it was merely a statement after all. A declarative at most. But she was drawn to the way there was a small lilt in her voice, almost as if she were mourning the absence of her own presence already. She smiled sadly, fiddling with her finger in her lap. They both knew she wanted to go--to explore what lay further than the sea of evergreen trees that was the forest of Konoha. To watch clearly the horizon bring forth the sun, and lift up the pale moon. She wanted to see faces other than those of the Konoha Coven, new faces that she may encounter for a brief period of time, or perhaps a thousand lifetimes.
She wanted to go, and it was time. She was adamant in her decision, and Tsunade had in no manner said anything to defy that wish, and so, silently and secretly, it was granted. At dawn on the twenty-eighth day in March, Haruno Sakura would be assumed to step foot out of the Konoha Forest, with maybe the possibility of no expected return.
“Y-Yeah…” she meekly replied, twisting the hem of her skirt between her fingers.
“Make sure to be careful out there, okay? Eat and drink well, keep a good sleeping schedule, and-” the rosette heard a small swallow, and she knew it wasn’t from the food.
“Don’t get attached to the humans.”
Sakura had been told one too many times a story about such beings when she was at a more tender age. They were said to be ruthless and persistently daunting on a sorceress such as herself, but kind and caring to their own kind. She found it quite inequitable now, but she was never fully told the reason for the friction between the two, and why they loathe each other greatly. It had been said though that some witches and warlocks astoundingly live amongst such creatures in a guise, masked in a facade that everyone around them would think them to be human. Some had survived living in such perilous conditions (perilous due to the fact that they could be revealed at any moment).
While others were not as fortunate.
She’d read about it a myriad of times, some being scripted accounts from witnesses stroked through parched pages in thick ebony ink, others written in accordance to those who paid heed to the observers. Each sent thrilling chills down her spine. From varying to being hanged to burning at the stake whilst being put in front of crowds as an addition of public humiliation, Sakura hadn’t found too many strange punishments. What she did know is that all of them had cost her kind their demise, and it was never a peaceful one.
Her stomach suddenly pooled, as if it had been bubbling with molten lava. She daintily picked a nimble of her fruitcake, trying to gulp down the hardened lump forming at the base of her oesophagus. She was torn from her string of thoughts when she heard Ino call her name once more.
“You spaced out,” she chomped nonchalantly, shrugging. She understood what was going through the Haruno’s mind--she knew it well, but she didn’t have the right words to encourage her to not be terrified of the unfathomable. She herself had never had the thought of departing from the Konoha Coven, yet she paid no heed in dragging the pinkette’s mind to hers. They were friends, simply with different goals.
“I wonder, how did Tsunade-sama take it? When you wanted to leave?”
Sakura munched pensively on the remnants of her slice, thickened with oozing embryo. She sprawled her memories onto a blank page, searching for the right one to pick up. Then, it came.
A cold, bitter night with yellow flames tossing in their wicks as the two women were eating dinner. She remembered her past self feeling nervous, and when she was nervous she would become fidgety. Her hands curled slightly at the thought of having to suppress being all twitchy, her bottom lip grazed with her two front teeth, bearing blood at the tip; she remembered biting it hard.
It was without warning when she said it. Tsunade was ladling herself some creamy soup--it had been mixed with a chopped hare and some meagre veggies, she couldn’t remember precisely, and when she further announced that she wanted to leave, she remembered the loud clang from the utensil being dropped that resonated through the newly present silence.
“She was...shocked, to say the least. It kinda wound her up for a minute or two, I had to calm her down,” she breathed, placing her head in her small palm.”
It was true. The said Senju wasn’t exactly angry, which, thinking now, was quite pleasant, but she was shocked. Her hazel eyes dilated with surprise and incoherent sounds tumbled out of her gaping lip, not knowing what to say. The rest of the conversation was a blur, but the woman eventually calmed down, and accepted her inquest.
“Ah, it’s no fair, having Tsunade-sama as a parental figure,” Ino leaned back, holding the back of her head with her folded arms. Sakura quirked a pink brow. She heard a sigh from the Yamanaka, and she rolled her eyes.
“My parents wouldn’t even let me go further than the strawberry fields, who’s to say they would even let me out of the woods?”
They both took that as an opportunity to laugh, clearing the tense air that had swayed forth from the start of the conversation.
The Haruno watched golden locks flow further away from her as the girl walked away from the precipice, going to tend to her chores once more.
She made herself useful once more, setting off to where her mentor would be situated.
Sakura entered one of the brewing rooms, and she held in her sneeze. It smelt dusty, almost dirty as a small bubbling sound filled the air. She watched as Tsunade, who had not looked up since, drew forth her staff, which she had shrunken for good measure, and dipped its ever glowing amber through the glimmering mix, and slowly stirred.
The pinkette could not decide whether the liquid held in the large cauldron was hot or cold, as both could sometimes emit such thick blows of steam. And there it was, clouding about a mix of green. The room itself was dark, painted with grave washes of black, and the windows were stained and frosted; no one could see inside or out. The walls were surrounded by desks adorned in herbs and small mixtures, and bookshelves, stacked to the brim with accounts of hypotheses, or recipe books. Some threatened to slide off and fall.
“I have just finished with Ino, Shishou. What shall I do today?” she bowed reverently. She knew not to heavily disturb the Senju’s presence at the current time, for she needed her attention undivided onto her pot, lest an explosion occurred if she made a wrong move. It took her approximately a minute to respond. She took her rod out, examined its gemstone like a fine tooth comb, not daring to touch it, but placing her nose just a few inches away from the empowered object. She spun it downwards once more, and gently placed it onto an old worn out cloth.
“You may attend the library to study, then once noon approaches, see Shizune for some scrolls to work on. You’ll be needing some work on your pronunciation, you will need it crisp and precise by the night fall of the eve of your birthday.”
Sakura knew that Tsunade cared. Her words pricked like the needle of a spinning wheel, but they were not as grim as what met the eye. Whilst, yes, clearly venom sweetly dripped out of the corners of her mouth, the Senju woman was merely just a professional lady, and preferred to keep her softer, more mellow side behind closed walls. She wasn’t particularly a morning person either, so quick lunches together or dinner in general was a pleasant moment they both had to share everyday.
The pinkette realised their endeavours would have to halt very soon. She took a gulp, and, clearing her throat, twisted her heel and started for the rotting wood door, that would forever smell of damp timber, with a coating of ashy sprays and peppermint.
Studying had gone on longer than she had hoped, and it further brought her to the chambers of Kato, where they stored and preserved, meticulously handcrafted, a selection of scrolls from A to Z. The room where they were all stored was almost like a dining hall, wherein each delicate step the rosette would proceed to take resulted in a clank padding that echoes throughout the hollowed area. She came to encounter the familiar dark haired woman with hair just shorter than a bob, and determined eyes that reminded her of Tsunade herself.
“Shizune-san,” she greeted with a curt bow, her eyes closed; her lids faced the floor. Her blossom strands tickled her chin for the sufficient amount of seconds she was bent over but quickly collected when she stood up once more.
“Ah, Sakura. I’ve been expecting you. Tsunade-sama tells me you’re here to revise? What would you like to read?”
She started off easy. She picked up a scroll on genjutsu, then sitting down on one of the reading tables, an oil lamp lit ablaze for proper sight sitting at her side, she sprawled the yellow, old text across the table. She read the words, not casting any chakra onto it. Frankly, she had never casted chakra on her spell before, because it was suppressed, All chakra-bearing creatures were like that until a certain period of time. Hers just happened to be occurring the following month.
She may have muttered it ever so softly, but the zephyr carried it to the Kato woman’s ears. Sakura had said the incantation exactly how it was spelt.
“You’re forgetting the way the ‘v’ works, dear.”
She mentally cursed herself, slightly wincing at the small lecture. She had let it quickly slip off her mind in the heat of the moment. She tried again.
“Verum muto,” she said, louder than before, but instead pronouncing her ‘v’ as a ‘w’, as her mentor had always instructed her to.
That night, Sakura could only gaze; gape at the winking starlight, the cold, numbing air that surrounded the leaves of Konoha’s forests. And the trees that dwelled. She wanted, more than ever, to look past those trees, and see the world, the meeting of the sea and sky; its horizon, she wanted to witness it all. She saw the clouding streaks of orange and purple merging together to make ethereal scenery. It took her breath away. She pulled her curtains to a close, like she did on all the nights the temptation to seek and find became insatiable. She sighed, and pulled her covers over her once again lulling herself into a drifting, peaceful slumber.
Although poised with elegance and high structure, Sasuke’s cold, lashing demeanour was uncommonly prominent this day. But he decided to spend his monotonous hours cooped up in the room that had belonged to his mother. He did remember her sharing a bed with his father, but this was specifically her chamber, her hidden wing and in his opinion, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t want the cozy, homey aura of his late maternal parent be overshadowed by cold, thick air that tensed through the room, which would heavily remind him of his late paternal parent. He sighed, picking up a small picture framed with a light painting of her. It was one of the very few things he could grasp onto, depend on for the memories they shared.
Her hair was stroked like sable strands of silk, her skin fair, pale and smooth, and her soft onyx eyes glittered with a sense of fervour the artist was willing to catch. She would have notebooks at which she wrote about her daily escapades, and he, in a shocking but relieving sense, came to the revelation that most of the information implanted into those pages with her neatly primmed strokes was moments of him, and his brother.
His grip on the frame instinctively tightened, until he realised it was on the verge of cracking. He laid it down, the backside facing up so that one, he wouldn’t cause any more damage to something so precious, and two,
He could fully ignore the agonising ache that swelled his heart to the brim.
His eyes had softened, being in such a nostalgic room, but the creased lines residing on his forehead inherited from his father were yet to remain.
Hey! So, it’s been a while. I hope you enjoyed this update, and if you would like to know a bit about my update schedule, I’ll be aiming to update once a month, so please bear with me XD.
As for those who have been reading Alphabetical Order, well I’m sorry to break this to you, but I will not be continuing it. I cannot say I have the best reason for it, but I am putting it on an indefinite hiatus. Thanks for understanding. What I will do, though, for the people who really wanna know the plot, is that I will post it on my tags book. So I guess I made a little compromise, huh?
blakekathryn
ellievsbear
snowghoul
dailybridgerton
gracieabrams
romaincrisis
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
theartofmadeline
