Post by Arata Namikaze on Jun 1, 2023 3:50:40 GMT 10
Arata’s mouth twisted, for a brief flash, into a frown. The Uchiha seated across from him was too kind, too patient. That, in and of itself, was not a huge problem. The world was filled with such people, of course, and was oftentimes better off because of them. The challenge here lay in the fact that Kuroda was in a place where kindness and patience made no sense. He and his clan had suffered greatly, and they continued to suffer under the hands of an unjust Daimyo. Kuroda knew this. He knew it, and yet he would not raise arms against that regime. Arata couldn’t understand it.
But he would have to accept it—for now. It was a conversation to perhaps bring up at a later time.
He tore into a strip of roasted boar, and tried to stir up memories of his time traveling with the sand tribes, aware of Shiro’s hopeful gaze. “The tribes are not shinobi—at least, not typically. There are, of course, the various shinobi clans of the Land of Wind. My guess would be that you encountered some of them up north. They’re a crafty bunch of ninja, that’s for sure. I definitely picked up a trick or two learning to avoid them on the road.”
“No, the sand tribes are smaller and, for the most part, much friendlier. They tend to keep to themselves, but I first met them under some…less than ideal circumstances. The desert that we see up on the northwestern front is not quite the same as the desert you find in the heart of the Land of Wind. Out there, it is painfully dry and hot—filled with countless mountains of sand without a single sign of life on their slopes.” He smiled and shook his head, remembering the eerie emptiness of it all. “It is a lonely land—as beautiful as it is deadly—especially for foreigners.”
“Deep in the desert, it’s not uncommon for the wind to pick up whole mountains ranges of sand—building up a cloud taller than even Akagahara—and throw them across the desert. The little grains cut deep into your skin and get into every gap of your gear, and then, over the course of a few minutes, they bury you completely. When I saw my first sandstorm, I thought I was going to die. I was with a merchant group at the time—travelling the world, protecting them from bandits and the like. That storm was unlike anything I’ve ever seen, though. It fell on us before I even had time to react.”
“We were half buried, our carts destroyed and our mounts driven away, when a small tribe found us. I still remember their cloth-wrapped hands pulling me out of the sand. They took us in, treated our wounds, and then, purely out of hospitality, they escorted us across the desert. They introduced us to other tribes, who were more than happy to look at the few wares which had survived the sandstorm, and they taught me quite a bit about how to survive in such an inhospitable land.”
Arata looked at Kuroda, “You would like them, I think, Lord Uchiha. They would not call their way of life the Will of Fire, but it is not far from how you seem to live with your clan here. They value friendship and family above all else. Their community and their traditions have kept them alive even in such a hostile environment for many generations.”
But he would have to accept it—for now. It was a conversation to perhaps bring up at a later time.
He tore into a strip of roasted boar, and tried to stir up memories of his time traveling with the sand tribes, aware of Shiro’s hopeful gaze. “The tribes are not shinobi—at least, not typically. There are, of course, the various shinobi clans of the Land of Wind. My guess would be that you encountered some of them up north. They’re a crafty bunch of ninja, that’s for sure. I definitely picked up a trick or two learning to avoid them on the road.”
“No, the sand tribes are smaller and, for the most part, much friendlier. They tend to keep to themselves, but I first met them under some…less than ideal circumstances. The desert that we see up on the northwestern front is not quite the same as the desert you find in the heart of the Land of Wind. Out there, it is painfully dry and hot—filled with countless mountains of sand without a single sign of life on their slopes.” He smiled and shook his head, remembering the eerie emptiness of it all. “It is a lonely land—as beautiful as it is deadly—especially for foreigners.”
“Deep in the desert, it’s not uncommon for the wind to pick up whole mountains ranges of sand—building up a cloud taller than even Akagahara—and throw them across the desert. The little grains cut deep into your skin and get into every gap of your gear, and then, over the course of a few minutes, they bury you completely. When I saw my first sandstorm, I thought I was going to die. I was with a merchant group at the time—travelling the world, protecting them from bandits and the like. That storm was unlike anything I’ve ever seen, though. It fell on us before I even had time to react.”
“We were half buried, our carts destroyed and our mounts driven away, when a small tribe found us. I still remember their cloth-wrapped hands pulling me out of the sand. They took us in, treated our wounds, and then, purely out of hospitality, they escorted us across the desert. They introduced us to other tribes, who were more than happy to look at the few wares which had survived the sandstorm, and they taught me quite a bit about how to survive in such an inhospitable land.”
Arata looked at Kuroda, “You would like them, I think, Lord Uchiha. They would not call their way of life the Will of Fire, but it is not far from how you seem to live with your clan here. They value friendship and family above all else. Their community and their traditions have kept them alive even in such a hostile environment for many generations.”
Made by Zeref of THQ
