Chapter 10 – Closed Doors

Though he had hoped to see a scroll in the morning, there was nothing for him when he brought up the water. He would just have to wait. So Katsuro slowly returned down the winding stairwell with an armload of fruit…and no answers. 

He knew this would end and they would have to leave. Then why did he feel so bad about it? 

Not paying attention, his heel rolled off a crumbling step. Katsuro flailed for a moment, trying to catch himself and not drop all the food. But one piece of fruit dislodged itself, and he could do nothing but watch the orange bounce down the stairs and out of sight around the curve of the wall.

He was already frustrated, but loosing an orange on the way down — a noticeable piece of food which could be traced, which he’d have to find, which could be anywhere in the entire temple by now — further sunk his mood. 

Crossing the main hall of their floor, he thought about his next obstacle: the kunoichi. She would probably want to spar, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

What he really wanted to do was sit down and sharpen every weapon he’d ever owned. The end result always made him feel better: gleaming kunai and shurikens, plus the sense that nothing could touch him. But he remembered he’d already done that back at camp. 

He balanced the rest of the food precariously in his folded elbows and was just toeing the door back, when it burst open, knocking his arm and sending the fruit tumbling into the little room.

“Oh! Sorry!” the med-nin said brightly and began to pick up the rolling fruit.

He said nothing, only corralled the oranges and apples by kicking them to the corner haphazardly.

“So, do you want to—” she began, but he stopped her.

“I don’t really feel like it today,” he said quietly.

She stood up, still holding an errant orange, looking at his back. 

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Is everything alright?”

Katsuro ignored her personal question.

“Are we out of water?” he asked, answering himself with a single glance to the empty bucket. “I’ll go get some more.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said with forced lightness, and followed him out.

He just shrugged, and they walked silently down through the floors. 

Sakura said nothing the whole way, but watched his back warily. Either he felt bad or something had happened. Or both. She had seen his temper flare before, and it had been in response to the men in his camp. 

Perhaps something had happened upstairs to set him off. Then again, she told herself, maybe it was nothing.

They sat down, backs against the stone well, knees propped up, and took turns sipping water from the bucket between them as they had done nearly every day for a week now. 

But Sakura could tell something was different. He was so quiet, she might as well have been there by herself.

So the kunoichi filled in the silence with idle chatter, describing a land she’d visited on a mission once, a country on the edge of a vast ocean. She asked where he had been, hoping the neutral topic would pull him out of his taciturn mood, but he still said nothing. She continued on, realizing too late she’d hardly traveled anywhere in the world. Sakura was nearly out of things to talk about when he finally broke his silence.

“I’ve never been to the same place twice,” he said quietly, looking out through the tall arches. She turned to study his face. There was no trace of his characteristic happiness.

“Not the camps, but other towns, villages. We stay for a while, come and go. But when we leave, we never come back,” he said. Sakura noted there was a finality to his words she hadn’t heard before.

“And really, who would want to. It is much more interesting to see new places,” he finished, lips in a thin line.

“Wouldn’t you want to go back to someplace where people knew you?” she said. She noticed that he was speaking, but never looking at her. Sakura bit her lip. Something was definitely wrong.

“No. I’ve never thought about it. It’s never mattered to me,” he said. “I suppose when you’ve lived within walls your whole life, it’s hard being free.” 

Sakura would have thought it was a joke if she had not caught the cut of his eyes, the mean smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

“Running all the time doesn’t seem free to me,” she said indignantly, but immediately regretted it. Whatever was troubling him, it wouldn’t do any good to anger him more. Maybe if she stuck to topics he’d found interesting before, then he would open up. “I would miss my friends, my favorite places….”

“Yes, I’ve heard all about them,” he quipped. “And they sound nice, but there are lots of nice places in the world.” He swept his arm toward the arches. 

Her gaze followed his motion. It was lovely, she thought, but being held prisoner here made all the difference in their points of view.

Sakura cleared her throat, feeling the need to explain herself.  “I mean, I would miss my village and my parents—”

“Well that’s where we are different,” he cut her off, his tone turning icy.

Katsuro stood swiftly and snapped up the bucket, sloshing its contents over the edges.

He took a step over a large crack in the floor, then stopped. Sakura just watched his back and waited. The tap-tapping of water from the bottom of the bucket echoed around the stone room.

“I never look back. Ever,” he said, his voice low and angry. “You seem to never look ahead, do you. Or around, for that matter. Even now, still looking back. See anyone back there? No, they’re not coming for you.” He turned his head toward her, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t have a high opinion of your village. They have thrown you away. You shouldn’t look back either.” 

Hoisting up the bucket, Katsuro took to the stairs and was gone. The gravelly footsteps and pattering water faded into silence.

Unable to say a word, Sakura simply watched him leave, eyes watering. Each one of his cruel remarks was like a slap in the face. 

She hugged her knees to her chest and squeezed her eyes tight against this awful world she had been dropped into. What was she thinking. He was an enemy, she was a prisoner. He wasn’t her friend. 

Dropping her forehead to her knees, she didn’t try to stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks, wetting her kneecaps. She ran through every scenario in her head, but none ended with a positive outcome. She was alone in this.

Sakura sat at the base of the well, clutching her legs, head buried from the world, until she was stiff. When she finally looked up, a few startled birds flew from their perches. They had mistaken her for part of the scenery.

Blinking at the light, she wished she were one of those birds. They could just fly out of this room and away from it all.

Sakura gingerly stood and followed their path to the window, looking out at the green escarpment. Resting her hand on a moss-covered windowsill, it was easy to think that she could just hop over those rocks down the mountain. But she knew it was a cliff face underneath, and that the soft moss was as slippery as ice. It was a prison with no walls.

She wondered just how far she could get before the mountain dropped away. Rocking onto the balls of her feet, she leaned out over the ledge. The view was dizzying. She didn’t know how the temple stayed on the mountainside. 

Sakura tipped back inside the window, grabbed a nearby stone off the floor and tossed it down the crag. Lifting a foot and balancing a hand on the flat ledge, she bent her hips to lean even farther out and track its progress. It bounced down the boulders, once, twice, then disappeared over the edge. If that had been a body — her body — then her fate would have been grim. 

A small shuffling noise at the doorway drew her attention. Returning both feet to the ground, Sakura turned cautiously.

It was Katsuro. She wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, but his mood appeared even stormier than before. He just watched her, frowning, a scroll clutched tightly in his hand.

Sakura didn’t know what to make of any of his behavior today, so she just waited for him. 

“Our time is up,” he said darkly. “We leave in the morning.” 

He turned on his heel and climbed back up the steps, not even waiting for the information to sink in.  

Sakura was left blinking at the empty doorway. She slowly turned back, unseeing, to the window. A knot of dread twisting her insides.

What she had feared most was upon her.

Sakura stood, unmoving, unable to decide what to do. Throw herself out the window? Or try to escape on the way down? Should she go now or should she wait? Why, why didn’t anyone from Konoha come? 

Fear and doubt glued her to the ground. Which death would she choose?

From the arched window, Sakura watched the world fall away from her. The sun sank lower, despair closed in. But no amount of tears could stop time from slipping by. 

Birds took to wing, glistening black in the golden afternoon light, flitting and darting and skimming insects out of the breeze. Still, she did not stir from that spot.

The sun burned orange in the sky before it guttered out completely, and finally in the blue-grey of early evening, exhaustion began to chip away at her immobilizing fear. Sakura found she no longer want to stare out of the wretched window. In fact she never wanted to see it again. She just wanted to lie down and forget this had ever happened. More than anything, she just wanted to give up.

Sakura scuffed numbly back up the steps. Crossing the main hall in darkness, she aimed herself for the dimly lit doorway on the other side. She pushed the old door open. Grey light permeated the little room, pooling darkly in the corners, but the room was empty. 

Wherever Katsuro had disappeared to, he had not been back in a long time. There was no fire, but his pack was propped against the wall ready for travel, a blanket was rolled tightly at the bottom of it.

Her own blanket lay untouched below the window, in the same spot she had woken up from. The morning, with all its sunlit possibility, seemed so far away from now. She exhaled raggedly, pulled the cover back, slid beneath and pulled it over her head, feeling utterly defeated. 

A few floors up, Katsuro shifted his feet on the silty tiles. He had long ago stopped caring about the dirty floor, and laid flat on his back with his knees propped up. He was sure his hair was full of dust. In the darkness it wouldn’t matter though. Nothing would.

He had been tossing an orange over his chest, from one hand to the other, but it was getting harder and harder to see it in the evening light. 

After he left the well room, Katsuro occupied himself by packing and repacking his things. A midday trip upstairs yielded the scroll that had set him on pins and needles since the evening before. 

He searched through some areas where he thought he would find her, realizing belatedly that she must not have come up from the well room. He had stormed off and left her there, not considering what she would do next. He descended the stairs slowly, ignoring the pangs of guilt.

But all his uneasy feelings burst into a ridiculous anger when he saw her, leaning out over the window ledge. Looking for something. Or someone.

‘Was she watching for them, even now,’ he raged inwardly. 

He wanted to yell at her, shake the scroll in her face, prove her wrong. Tell her this is what her village does to people and demand to know why couldn’t she see it. But he didn’t.

Instead he delivered his message, then left her there.

Tasking himself with finding the stray orange, Katsuro set about scouring the temple, rummaging through nearly every forsaken place off the edge of the stairwell. About halfway through the floors he finally found it, wedged just out of sight between a broken door and its frame.

Pushing the door open, Katsuro hoped to find something new to distract him, but there was only dust and grey walls. However, the forgotten silence of this abandoned room soothed his wretched mood.

Katsuro heaved a sigh and flopped down on the floor. Rolling his head to the side, he let his gaze travel over the dirt and rocks, past the broken branches and lost feathers, to where he knew the floor shattered and fell away.

He closed his eyes on the picture made by the broken wall, the gently swaying tree limbs and blue sky. They were complicit in the lies he’d told himself: That this could go on forever. That he didn’t have to leave and turn her over to Itachi. That it wasn’t his fault.

Feeling around beside him, he grabbed up the orange and threw it back and forth over his chest. Gently chucking it from hand to hand, his mind ran through futile arguments as the hours ticked away.

Afternoon finally burned itself out, yet Katsuro still couldn’t shake the hollow feeling from the night before. In fact it had grown. And now, what he realized must be regret gnawed at him. It made him want impossible things. 

He wished she had never left her village walls. Then he’d have never seen her, and she’d be safe. 

He wished her team had come for her. Then he’d be free from these awful feelings. 

Unbidden, memories of the past few days flashed through his mind. Would he really give those up, then? Selfishly, he knew the answer was no.

But it left him stranded. Trapped between his obligations to his group and some mother-hen feelings for a girl too stubborn to stay out of trouble. 

That village had caught him again. All because of her. 

Katsuro tossed the orange back to his other hand, but this time in the darkness he missed. It hit the stones and rolled to the edge of the floor where the wall had broken away. He turned on his side to watch it roll off into oblivion, no longer caring what happened to it, but the orange stopped just shy of the edge. Dusting a hand and propping it up under his temple, Katsuro looked out across the blue-black mountainside.

He tried to summon the successes of the past few days. Her easy smiles and triumphant expressions. The feeling that he’d made a difference. He knew it had warmed him to his core then. 

But those shining moments were out of reach for him now. Probably for her too. Somewhere, right now, she was in the building feeling…well, he didn’t know how she would be feeling. But after his angry outburst then delivering their marching orders, she certainly had not sought him out. And that was hours and hours ago. He didn’t expect her to, but he still couldn’t quell the half-hope that fluttered up when he heard the occasional noise. 

Even that made him mad. That he’d become so accustomed to her presence that he listened for her soft footfalls. 

How was he supposed to just hand her over to Itachi and walk away now?

‘Dammit,’ he growled, standing. Katsuro went to the window opening beside the stairwell. Reaching an arm outside, he blindly grasped along the wall beyond the window. When his fingers curled around a woody vine, he gave a hard tug. He was rewarded with a satisfying snap. 

Pulling a segment of broken vine through the window, he returned to his place in the center of the room. Sitting down again, Katsuro set about fishing the orange back from the edge, glad to have some activity. 

After Itachi rescued him, Katsuro promised himself he’d never be hurt again. Never give an opening, never leave a weak spot. But now just thinking about her made him feel exposed and vulnerable. He hated it.

Katsuro swiped the vine closer, inadvertently brushing up against the fruit. The orange rocked away a turn then stopped again. He had to take care or he would knock it over the edge.

Sighing, Katsuro laid out on his belly to get safely closer, stretching his arm for another careful swish of the vine. 

This had to stop, he told himself. 

Attachments can get you killed, he told himself. 

They were both on missions, both knew the consequences. Both just playing their parts when their paths crossed. 

So really, none of this was his fault, he told himself. 

He needed to stop worrying about things that were out of his control. He had a task to focus on. And the concern he felt for her was just a distraction, a natural byproduct of a fleeting attachment. The thought clicked into place like a missing puzzle piece. 

One last swipe, and this time the vine hooked the orange. He reeled in the branch steadily toward him to retrieve his prize.

Uncovering the source of his discontent made him feel better than he had all day. He had simply gotten too close to her, and it made him feel like he’d left an opening.

Flipping the fruit in the air, Katsuro began to strategize what he would need to do to get them both through the next two days. This was just like any other mission, he thought with a nod, and she was nothing more to him than a person to transport. There was no weak spot here.

He stood swiftly, flung the branch out of the gaping hole and headed for the stairs.

He thought this mission, the first one he was in charge of, would be a breeze. It was anything but.

Reaching their level, Katsuro was surprised it was completely dark. As he crossed the floor he decided she’d probably lit a little fire in the closed room—

But when he creaked open the heavy door to the room, panic set in. It was cold and very dark. He scanned the seemingly empty room, alarm rising that she might have actually tried to escape—

When his eyes finally found her quiet form, Katsuro was hit with a memory so sharp he stopped in the doorway to suck in a breath.

Across the room, her mostly flat blanket was where it had been all week, save for the body curled up at the top of her bedding, taking up as little room as possible in the world.

How many times had he done that? Wished that everything would go on without him?

He knew what she felt, he had been there. Abandoned at Konoha’s hands. How many nights had he spent at the orphanage, just like that? Balled up, trying to take up as little space at all, wishing the world would just sweep over and forget you were there. That the crushing truth wasn’t going to destroy you in the morning. And if not tomorrow, then certainly the next day.

He had lived through that. Survived. Escaped his prison without walls in the orphanage, where he was shunned, where he found out he was a monster, where he waited for the day when they dragged him off to a permanent jail cell, or to his death. 

But Itachi pulled him from that misery, gave him a life and hope. Told him to never fear his power. That he was special. And that Konoha was wrong.

And now? Well, now he was someone else’s jailor. Delivering the same punishment meted out to him in that village. The irony was too cruel.

He didn’t want to think about his reasons anymore, telling himself that making amends to her was good strategy. He didn’t want to be the one making her feel alone in the world. 

Katsuro padded across the room, tossing the orange toward his rucksack, and patted the dust from his hands on his pants as he walked. Squatting down beside her, Katsuro pulled the edge of her blanket back, found her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. She turned and looked back at him blinking. He could barely make out her face in the darkness.

He had moved so intently he had forgotten to prepare words. He cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to tell you that…I’m sorry,” he said, exhaling. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized to anyone. He’d spent the first half of his life apologizing to everyone, just for being there, just for breathing. He swore he’d never be sorry for anything again. 

She turned her head away to look back at the wall. “You don’t have to be. I’m your prisoner. None of this matters anyway.”

He frowned and sat down on the stones beside her, his knee leaning onto her blanket.

“I know it’s easier to have a compliant prisoner than a hostile one,” she said simply, shrugging one shoulder.

He looked up out of the window into the starred darkness. No, she wasn’t a child in an orphanage. She was a kunoichi. She knew what her fate was. 

But he didn’t want her to feel alone. He understood how she felt, yet couldn’t comprehend why she didn’t rail against them.

He wanted to tell her she should be angry at her village. Instead, he told her why he was angry at them.

“My village—“ his throat closed suddenly. He swallowed and started again. “My village abandoned me. I had a power which was useful for them, but when they didn’t need it anymore, I was thrown away like trash.” He was glad for the darkness.

She rolled over to face him. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “Is that how you came to be with Itachi?” she asked tentatively. She could see him nodding in the darkness.

“They were going to kill me. Itachi found me before they could.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. It was a big secret. Huge, actually. It was foolish to even tell her, and he knew Itachi would call him out for doing it. Endangering yourself, he would say, revealing too much. But he wasn’t revealing any details. 

However when he was finished, he found he couldn’t say anything else. Just stringing the words together was painful. And thankfully she didn’t push for more. 

“If your village doesn’t think your good enough, then it’s their loss,” he said quietly. “You never have to look back, either. Okay?” 

He just wanted her to know, more than anything, that she wasn’t alone. So much for breaking off his attachment, he thought wryly.

Something brushed his kneecap. He thought, but couldn’t be sure, that she might have touched his knee in the darkness. There was a slight pressure there, but when he glanced down, he saw nothing but his own leg. 

So he sat silently, not able to say anything else, but not wanting to leave her side either. That day, the majority spent in anger, was the longest he’d been away from her since he’d crashed into her life. He felt like that was long enough. He couldn’t speak anymore, but he liked being physically close to her. Perhaps she felt the same.

After sitting for what felt like hours, emotions and reasoning unwinding, he repeated to her softly, “I’m sorry for what I said.” The loss of anger left only exhaustion in its wake, and he was truly sorry.

“It’s okay,” was her tired reply. There it was again, he thought, the slight pressure at his leg where it fell over her blanket. This time he saw it. She reached her fingertips out to graze his bent knee, a little touch of reassurance. 

Katsuro’s breath caught in his throat.

A whole afternoon of frustration, of guilt and doubt, was wiped away with a single touch. What he agonized over, showing concern, opening himself up even a fraction to another person, she gave to him freely. 

She silently, effortlessly let him know that he was not adrift. That the things that troubled him, mattered to her too. He had wanted her to feel better and know she was not alone in this mess. Amazingly, her soft touch made him feel like he wasn’t alone either. 

Katsuro told himself he didn’t need her, that she was just part of a mission. But he was lying to himself.

The truth was clear now. This situation was neither of their faults, and he promised himself he wouldn’t let it come between them again. Whatever connection he’d made to her, he knew now he didn’t want to lose it. 

He made a quick decision.

Moving silently across the room, Katsuro ran his hand along the wall till he found his pack. Fingers sunk in the folds of his blanket, he retraced his steps and unrolled it beside her. In the darkness, he felt the need to sleep next to her, so that he could reach out and tell her she wasn’t alone. If she needed to hear it, he told himself. And maybe, just in case he needed to know she was there too.

---

The world was disarmingly quiet the next morning. A thick, wet mist cloaked the mountaintop, washing all the color from the room, and drenching the shadows a shade darker.

Katsuro lay on his side, watching the the soft rise and fall of her blanket, and wondered if she was awake yet. He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

The kunoichi flipped on her back, sighed deeply, blinked a few times, then bit her lip while her bright eyes darted unseeing over the old boards on the ceiling. He didn’t need to ask — he knew she was thinking about what this day had in store for her.

“You okay?” Katsuro asked tentatively.

She must not have realized he was so close. The kunoichi turned suddenly at his voice, but her face broke into a wide smile, green eyes taking him in.

“You’re a mess,” she said with a laugh. He lifted a hand up to inspect it. She was right. He was filthy. A layer of brown dust coated his hand, he could only imagine what his face looked like. And his hair.

Smiling now too, he raked his fingers through his hair. Sure enough, a little cloud of dust shook out.

She laughed again, then quietly sat up to look out the window, pulling her knees up under the blanket. When she turned back to him again, her expression was quite different.

“This is it, then,” she asked soberly, pinning him with wide eyes.

He wanted to lie, tell her everything was going to be alright, but he couldn’t do that to her. 

“Yeah, this is it,” he muttered. “We better get going.” 

Both of them were quiet after that, making their own preparations for the journey. He brought her oranges, but she shied them away with a hand. The other hand clutched her stomach.

“It’s a long way down, you’ll need your strength,” he said, hoping to convince her, knowing she didn’t eat last night either.

“I just can’t” she said quietly. 

“I’ll carry them then, until you can,” he said, with a frown. He understood, her stomach was in a knot.

“Okay,” she said dispassionately, her tone as colorless as the world around them.

Katsuro quickly gathered everything up and dispersed the ashes from the fire. Sakura just waited, numb. The activity suited him, whereas she seemed unable to move. But both felt the same.

They slowly climbed the winding staircase. Katsuro pulled doors closed on each platform.

When they reached the floor with the beautiful painting he stopped her.

“We need to close it back up, I don’t want anything to happen to these,” he said, gesturing to the paneled walls. When she didn’t follow, he looked back at her reflexively. She stood outside the doorway, one arm folded over her stomach, a hand gently covering the fresh pink scar inside her elbow. The gray light streamed around her. She only looked up the stairwell, not making any effort to move.

“Just wait there,” he said dully.

Katsuro swiftly closed up the shutters, locking them tight. Though he couldn’t bring himself to look at the pictures, he knew they were there. 

He could imagine the light fading over the scenes. The playing children, their smiling, upturned faces. He was stealing their sunlight. 

The beautiful cherry tree and the spiraling river. There would be no more shafts of light to sparkle over the scene.

It was her favorite picture, and now his too. But their time in the forgotten temple had drawn to a close, the arching tree could no longer protect them. His chest felt hollow at the thought. 

Though time may not pass in those paintings, it would not wait for them.

Katsuro finished as quickly as he could, desperate to be out of the room. Knowing that he was on the opposite side again, what she had brought to life he was plunging back into darkness.

At the door she waited in that unyielding grey light. 

Though he tried to ignore the feeling as he crossed the darkened room, it bothered him that she wouldn’t even spare a last look at the painting. Wasn’t it special to her too?

He stepped out and pulled the red door closed, locking the rustic handle to ensure it would be safe until…. Until what, he thought. They wouldn’t be back, not this year, at least. And he’d never return here with her. His shoulders dropped with a sad sigh.

Turning around, he sought out her face, but she instinctively looked away. She couldn’t hide the glistening tracks of tears on her cheeks, though. Those caught the light when nothing else did. 

“Stop,” was all he could say. It hurt him to see her upset, and he brought his hand up to brush the tears away from her face but stopped himself. Instead he cupped his warm palm over her shoulder. 

“We’ve got a long way to go today, and you need to be alert,” he said firmly, angry with himself now. The concern he felt for her still made him feel vulnerable. And their journey was only going to get harder.

She didn’t look at him, but nodded once that she understood. They began again. By the time they got to the top all traces of sadness were gone, and her green eyes were scanning over everything like a seasoned shinobi. 

Outside, the sun was already beginning to burn through the mist that enveloped the temple.

Standing at the door of the great hall, Sakura could hear the grumbling and scuffing sounds from the tiled patio outside before she could actually see the throng of men she knew were gathered there. 

It was the first time she had been around any of them in more than a week, since the incident on the top floor. 

When she stepped out onto the patio, the idle chatter stopped. A few looked at her, then looked away. Several didn’t even acknowledge her. 

Katsuro lingered just inside the doorway, and it gave Sakura time to check out the group. She noticed right away that a few were sporting bandages they’d not had on the trip up. Especially Raiden. He had what appeared to be a few broken bones, and a broken nose. Sakura frowned lightly. Possibly even a fractured jaw. Was this what he meant about healing them, she wondered.

The men had taken a keen interest in her as she looked them over. And her interest in their wounds only stoked their anger. One thug stepped forward and spit at her feet. This brought a few of the others to look her over challengingly

Sakura squared her shoulders, not letting them stare her down, no matter what. Because of their intense training, she felt the self confidence that had always eluded her. She knew she could take them. There was not a doubt in her mind.

She set her chin and surveyed them all cooly. They never came after her again, but she could see why he insisted she be able to defend herself. It was clear they’d kill her if they had the chance. The men only continued to glare, none bold enough to make the first move.

Katsuro must have thought it was too quiet out there because suddenly he appeared at her side. Taking a half-step in front of her, he put his hands on his hips and blocked her body with his just slightly. But the point was made.

“Get going,” he commanded. They turned silently and left, filing down the narrow path away from the temple. None of them dared to look at her now. 

Sakura watched them go, waiting for Katsuro. He pulled the door shut and barred it, then turned to her with a sand cloak in his outstretched hand.

The kunoichi took it with a grimace and slung it around her shoulders. As she snapped it into place she looked up to Katsuro who was just finishing. Tucked under the edge of his collar were the ragged face wraps, the ones he’d thrown off the first night. She had to look away, pushing down the sick feeling in her stomach. 

“Come on,” he said, eyeing her overly pale face. “We’re going to stay a safe distance behind them this time.”

And, true to his word, they did. Winding down the meandering path into the daylight, Sakura didn’t know how they survived the journey up there. The side of the temple that hung off the mountain was beyond steep, beyond treacherous. She kept a hand on the wall just to remind herself that she was vertical, and not going to topple over the edge like a falling leaf.

They followed the thin path until it disappeared, then they kept going right along the ridge line, moving farther and farther away from the lonely temple. The landscape changed, the temple blocks receded, and only the natural boulders were left pitted among the huge trees. Sakura was just wondering why they didn’t take this easier route when they turned sharply and began a descent down the other side of the ridge.

Almost immediately the landscape began to change. Big trees still clung to the ridge top, but as they descended through the folds of land, the forest became thinner and thinner. Sakura also noticed the temperature was rising. Not in the sticky, moist way she was used to from summers in Konoha. This heat was hot, dry and blowing, and gaining intensity. 

Hardwoods gave way to bristling pines, then those receded from the heat as well, leaving only sun-loving vegetation to pop up here and there. Bushes with thin, prickling leaves surrounded the non-existant path and Sakura began measuring the journey by shady spots. Every so often they would round a wind-carved boulder or a spiky bush to find a tree growing stubbornly in spite of the terrain, its trunk gnarled and hunched against the hot winds.

They had only been gone a few hours, but the difference was remarkable. A traveler would never know that beyond this arid, rocky landscape was a temple perched in a near rainforest at the top of the sky. It seemed like an oasis to her now.

Sakura watched the brown figure in front of her scale a large boulder then hop over the other side. She climbed it too, but her progress slowed to a halt. Wiping her sweat-slicked brow, she wondered if she could even see a trace of the green mountaintop, or if that too had been swallowed by by this unforgiving desert terrain.

Turning back, Sakura shaded her eyes and scanned the never-ending desolate ridge lines.

Finally she found it, but instead of the impossibly high mountaintop soaring over the earth, it was now just a sliver of green, torn between the rocky brown mountains and the wide blue sky. White clouds billowed past the thin, green line. It looked like you could run right up to the green and touch the cloud. But it was a mirage.

Below her gravel crunched, and she turned sad green eyes back to meet brown ones. Katsuro looked like he was born of the desert. Brown fatigues under a sand-colored cloak, even his dark hair and eyes blended in. Sakura squinted against the mockingly bright skies. She felt like she was going to blow away just looking at him. 

“We can’t stop out here, it’s not safe,” Katsuro called up to her. He looked past her shoulder to see what had caught her attention. When he realized that she was looking back toward the mountaintop, he only offered, “I know.”

It was another sad irony. Yesterday Katsuro was telling her not to look back, now he wished he could go back too. He wished he could take back the things he’d said, he wished he had not wasted their last day in that safe haven.   

Katsuro stepped up and held out his hand for her to leap off. She accepted silently.

“We’ll stop soon, but we have a long way to go still,” he said, and they quietly resumed their downward trek.

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