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His fingertips had been painted with the crimson girth of blood. The miasma of the night had begun to seep over the heavens, and soon the strength of the flame seemed to grow even more powerful; as did the shadows. His face had grown dark by the reality of his condition. He had grown callous with his age, and by now, he was prepared to revert back to his most basic principles in order to achieve any sort of amnesty from his condition. The night was falling much like the rain, and much like the night, every crack and crumble of the sky would split with the illumination of lightning, and the roar of thunder. This was his home, and these chaotic indications had become soothing to him. His stroking of the beast was uncanny, yes, but given his severance from the village’s common eye, he wasn’t expecting much other than being alone with the beast, the occasional wildlife spying on what he was doing in the cave with their king.

“I am. A Jounin from Cloud, yes,” He would say as he began to peruse the entirety of the boar. “You are mistaken, I do not worship boars, and I don’t live in obscure caves in the mountaintops. I am no savage,” He had a tired tone in his voice, as if he had heard the misconception a number of times. “I am a member of the Hainoki House, of the Akimichi Clan. We tend to have a different appreciation for these mountains than most.”

He took immaculate strides with each casual step. His sharp military tights would hold fast against his muscular legs, accentuating the power in his step. He was a mass of muscle, easily capable of overpowering most men and women- but his touch conveyed his gentle touch. His waltz around the boor would reveal how delicate this process was. He searched it for every blemish, and every mark. He read its lifespan with each inquisitive glance. It’s back been massive, and its legs were profound. It had lived a life of prestige amongst his less fortunate counterparts. The layers of genetics, which curled over his immaculacies, were astounding. He was a god among ants in these mountains. The scars that curved around his face showed a history of battle, and the scrapes in his massive tusks showed an ability to win. Moroku’s hands were the same. While they lacked scars, they bled battle, and ability. The darkened, inked skin hid the majority of their detail, but if she looked closely, she would see the steadiness in his hands. He glanced at her once more with his final words, their cautious rapport having obviously degraded with the amount of words they had been exchanging. He took a few steps towards her and seemed immediately closer. The presence of his body all of a sudden would appear much more real. He towered over her, and the light of the flame made him appear much darker- much more enigmatic.

“Akofena are the swords of war. This beast is a symbol of a time of peril, and a time of despair. It embodies the courage to overcome that despair,” He appeared to get lost in his own words for a moment before continuing. “If you are searching for Winged Rock, you still a while to go. I have plenty to eat, so if you would like to wait for the weather to improve, feel free to stay.” He would say, his eyes moving passed her to the exterior of the cave.

The ground had grown darker with the rain, and the trees swayed in the might of the wind. The clouds had begun to gather, and they would soon block out any beauty that the stars might inspire. Instead, they would have to be given entertainment by the light of the bolts that struck their home, which gleamed in the distance. The light of life could be seen, even from here.

Her silhouette flickered in the dim glow of the cave. Her shadow danced against his own to form something much more dark; much more sinister. He could tell she was bad news. Her words, her actions, her mannerisms, and most importantly her entrance all led to one thing. She was a trickster. He didn’t mind it, however. Most ninja were tricksters, he included. He lowered his hands, and his muscles relaxed as he stood up straight, increasing the difference in their height. His hand flung to his hair as he ran his massive, tattooed hands through it. His eyes remained as cold as ice, and the frigid temperament that he had adapted these days seemed to cool the air. She carried the guise of a wandering traveler, but the story didn’t add up to him. She appeared to be of a decent age- not too much younger than Moroku. She had an air of confidence that was explosively prevalent. He could see it in her eyes that she thought she had control of the situation. For all he knew, she did, but it was in her eyes that she knew. He could pick that up from her. While he could read tips from her personality, what made him the most curious about her was that she was asking for directions in a place that would otherwise be unknown to ‘wandering travelers.’ If one were to search for one of the six villages, they’d have to actually search. There was no haphazard way to stumble upon a village hidden in clouds. However, if by some dubious miracle she had happened to find the village by chance- would she ask directions from a stranger? He doubted it. Moreover, if she knew the location of the village, and had simply come to find said rock, and then she would not have presented herself in such an aggressive manner. There’s nothing that upsets a bear more than coming into his home, claws bare. Nevertheless, he would play with her rouse. He could care less where she wanted to go, as long as he got his answers.

“I’ve heard of it,” He would say stoically, turning back towards his boar. “If you wanted me to be calm, then you shouldn’t have come here with a knife drawn,” He made his way closer to the carcass, and pressed his hand against the thigh of the beast’s hind leg. “This boar is a symbol of the Akofena. It represents courage, and valor. It is a symbol of my village, and a sacred animal. I am preparing it for treatment,” His head swiveled over to her. “Who wants to know?”

He inquired with a stale glance. His eyes flickered with the flames before him, his hair once more falling in front of his face as he knelt down to begin feeling the muscles of the beast. He had placed his gear close behind him in a slump formed around his flak jacket. If the girl looked at it, she would notice three different metals flickering in the light of the embers. A sliver of metal exposed from a sheathed bowie knife that he kept on his chest; the pin of a chaff grenade, of which he had several; and the curved etchings of Kumogakure carved onto the front of the man’s hitai-ate. He did not typically wear it on his forehead, and opted to tie it around his arm, but given that he was in the wilderness, he found no purpose for it.

The smell of the boar was strong. It smelled like the earth. He had yet to start the decaying process, which Moroku always hated. The boar was larger than her, even laying on its side, and its thick, rough fur stretched out to an amount not seen by other species of boar. The darkness had begun to crowd behind her, as the sound of rain could be heard in the distance. The warmth of the cave was evident. The clustered aroma of wood, ash, earth and stone all seemed so unique; so real. He liked moments like these- as did his wife. Despite being of a more diplomatic house, she enjoyed their mountain excursions together. He taught her much about the land, and there was a genuine interest. He couldn’t detect the same interest in this woman- not yet. Then again, there was much to be discovered in her case.

Although famished wouldn’t be the word, Moroku had an insatiable hunger- or at least that’s what it felt like. His fingers longed to wrap themselves around the succulent spectacle of meat that he planned to serve to himself. First thing was first, however. He had killed the beast with an easy enough method. It was a monstrous animal that stood at least five feet over him while on all four legs. Its muscles were immaculate, and its strength could easily overpower the average man. Its method of killing was simple, and a custom to all boars. It would lower his head, thrust his weight forward, gaining momentum and use its mass and tusks to impale and crush its enemy. This was the method used against Moroku, and this was what led to the animal’s demise. It had to be timed perfectly, or the mistake could be fatal. Spreading his legs, cocking his fist backwards, and thrusting it forward in a linear, but snapped manner- Moroku’s fist would crack the skull of the boar, it’s temple falling into its brain to kill it instantly. The feeling of destroyed matter at the ends of his knuckles was refreshing. It was the sound of the hemorrhaging that made him a bit uncomfortable. The pig fell to its knees, and began to flail in a number of directions, Moroku’s eyes fluttering as he moved out of the beast’s path. The lamentation was horrible to hear. Cries, and gasps of air filled the beasts lungs as blood began to overflow, and it fell into a small seizure. It died moments afterwards. As Moroku stood at the foot of the reflection pool, he looked down into the foggy trove of water, and saw his own reflection. He had aged significantly since Aisuru’s alleged death. His luminescent eyes shone brightly against the pale state of his surroundings. His image was clear, and his somber face showed nothing more than sadness. It was depressing to even think about. The image of her ardency was that of a flame. They were one in the same that way. The overcast made it evident that a storm was coming. He wouldn’t be able to do much with his game if there was no fire to cook it. Lifting his makeshift spear over his shoulder, he would slowly sludge his way towards the cavern’s entrance. He had been here a few times before- he remembered the fire pit in the cavern’s entrance as well. He would have to construct his own pit, however. The weight of the beast was significant, and a massive path had been formed against the compressed dirt of the mountaintop as well as the blood that followed from the boar’s mouth. Vacant eyes stared into oblivion, and Moroku made sure not to focus on them. He hated seeing things suffer.

Thrusting the beast into the shadow of the cavern, he set his spear beside it, and moved to the mouth of the cave. His arms crossed, and his shoulder supported him against the wooden banister that formed the cavern’s threshold. It was almost as if he was looking for something, staring out at what he could from these heights. There was a decent view of the forest from his mountain, and the lush greenery of the land was not few and far between. It was so similar to what he knew as a boy, training on the outskirts of the nation with his uncle. His pectorals expanded and contracted as he took in three deep breaths.

Whatever can be done can be undone.

He thought to himself, the images of his wife’s long, dark hair flashing into his frontal lobe. It draped across her naked back, and tossed back and forth with her sporadic movement. She was such a good dancer. His eyes lowered, as did his spirits. He turned back towards his prey, their eyes met; he couldn’t turn away.