The rain pours in through the slits of the sliding door, creating tributaries of water that dribble down the wall and into small puddles on the floor.
It often rains here, in the middle of nowhere, but not like this. You can’t stop it for raining like this; it just happens. You haven’t seen rain of this magnitude, for years; where instead of falling, it is thrown down to the ground striking the forest floor, so harshly, you wander if it could break a mans skull.
Every thing has a bluish haze about it and you don’t just get wet; you are soaked through to the core. Having only seen this certain type of rain before, you associate it with only one thing. Fear.
Not just any fear. Oh no. This kind of fear has happened only once in your life time, and you hope it never happens again; or at least ’till you finish him off.
It is the fear that comes from deep down in the pit of your stomach; aching its way up into your chest, snatching the harsh breath from your lungs, as you think, listlessly, over what you have done; The kind that echoes inside of you for the rest of your life; eating away at you.
This type of rain gives you memories - bad ones - that you were stupid enough to create. Why didn’t you listen; stopped while you had the chance?
The little puddles have become a stagnant swamp; churned up by unthinkable thoughts, almost reaching your toes that stick awkwardly out form you sandals while you wait.
He might not show up today; he was clever enough to sense a trap. You tighten the grip on the weapon that hangs silently at your side. The weapon that you will use to vent some of the anger and…fear that is been held with in you; that you have always felt there, rotting inside that proud chest of yours.
But it can only be freed when fighting. You know this is bad, but it must be done. Only fools fall victim to their emotions; the weak.
The rain seems to get heavier and the forest, stiller. Like the calm after the storm, except there wasn’t one…not yet.
Water begins to drip down the ends of raven hair. Quieter. The door opens.
A black silk hood steps in. You grip your weapon tightly, the handle digging in, ready for the fight. Scared?
“ He has not come” and vaguely amused voice mutters from beneath the hood. The twilight shines dully on the side of his hood; he doesn’t turn to face you, but you know he is under there. You give an inward sigh.
Not today, not today. You sheath the sword that you had not realized was out. It slides reluctantly back with a slow metal chink.
The rain has stopped and it only spits down now. The forest outside the hut is silent for a moment. Perhaps - you wander - it knows what will happen. It can sense the tension, for it did that day. You know it may never happen soon but…..it will rain that day too. For sure.
AN: This is a 'story' of sasuke's attempt to kill itachi. Kabuto is the one under the hood, who thinks its funny that itachi never came, in his weird insane kinda way.
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