.
.
Unnatural skies reflected gray in shining white upturned eyes. Swirling and bubbling clouds seemed to pour out their fury in the ominously silent form of pure and pristine white sheets of tossing and turning snow that seemed to weave through the storm, snaking in sinuous white designs before disappearing into the wall of grays and whites that the building blizzard was manufacturing. As time passed, bolts of lightning slashed from heaven to earth, ringing out with their thunderous battlecry and sending chills that both pleasure and comfort, but also an odd sense of anxious unease. Goosebumps crawled up his pale white arms, sending his muscles into spasms that shook crystalline clumps of accumulated snowflakes from his shoulders and equally white hair. He was a ghost, fading into and out of existence, his white adornments and the pallor of his features were shimmers in an ever-shifting wind, being drawn to life and then erased by the icy curtains that were in a constant state of cyclical pattern, manifesting then dying upon those same bitter gales that carved it into existence before being dispersed across the ground to become a thread of the majestic white carpet that flowed across the increasingly jagged and rocky terrain, smoothing it over with a pillowtop of powder, marred only in its perfection by the persevering footsteps that ended with the lost Santaru.
The journey seemed endless, every footfall that brought ease and progress also brought new obstacles in the young man's path. Shirokouu fully understood that he must have fallen away from the trail at some point along the road. It had been a long and harsh journey from the frozen remains of Kirigakure where Shirokouu had lost track of the time that had passed in what must have been years of meditation. I need to find a way back... But it's been so long and it's hard to distinguish anything in this snowstorm. The young man moved a gloved hand to his forehead, wiping away melted snow and sweat that threatened to freeze right onto the shinobi's frost-reddened skin. As he pulled his hand away, he solemnly took note of the glowing white reflection that glimmered upon his wet glove. Still glowing... Why won't it stop? The constant state of illumination that his eyes were in left him feeling drained constantly, not to mention the frustration of not understanding its cause, and he was beginning to realize that he couldn't travel as long as he previously thought. I need to find somewhere to take shelter.
The young Santaru scanned the hilly and rocky surroundings for a place sheltered from the biting winds and piling snow of the blizzard. As he looked behind him he saw the forest from which he had just emerged. For just a moment, he thought of seeking protection from the storm within the branches of the trees. The thought in and of itself reminded him of the lush forests of Konoha. The feeling of remembering that village he grew up in gave him a warm, but bittersweet feeling inside. Taking heart in the brief moment of nostalgia, Shirokouu decided to move on. Just as he had decided to go that way a thunderous crackling sounded out among the forest. Trees, their sap brought down to the point of freezing from the sub-zero temperatures that the snow and wind of the storm brought, snapped, exploding into splinters and sending a cracking shriek from the forest that echoed off of the cliffs that it faced as two logs cross the path in an X of uprooted frozen trees. No. I don't think I'll be going that way. He said, coming to a conclusion in his mind as he turned around and scanned what to him was uncharted ground. As his eyes moved across the cliffs before him, he searched for a cave or some other form of protection from the storm. Shiro's glowing eyes widened as a section of darker gray blurred into vision before him. Fortunately for the adolescent Santaru, the cliff had a section that hung over the ground, almost as if a smooth, shallow bowl had been carved into the cliff's face. As he approached, two great trees, what appeared to be the final two silent guardians of the faded forest, materialized in his vision. They stood, grand and thick, their clumped plumage bound by pounds of piled powder that they had shielded the lower portion of the embankment from. Truly, they provided a natural wall, making the overhang even more ideal shelter.The thought crossed Shiro's mind that they might explode in the same fashion as the trees from the forest, but greatness of size and thickness of branches and foliage sheltered the innards of the tree from the biting winds and any direct contact with the ever-pouring snow. </I>Well... I guess this is the spot... Shiro silently noted, then immediately began to make camp, setting up his things and securing the site before sleep and exhaustion overcame the biting cold and he succumbed into slumber.
Shiro's mind awoke to a scene painted in black. Slowly, several slivers of shining light awakened into existence like tiny slices in a pitch black lampshade. As they opened, the identity of these strange luminous objects became obvious. Eyes! In an instant slivers became nearly circular, all radiating the same pure white light that broke through the darkness to guide the way. Shirokouu's feet moved unconsciously forward, stepping lightly and without sound on what seemed to be a hard surface of pure air. He felt that he could almost see the white of his clothes, the pallor of his skin in the light shed by the silent watchers' ever glowing eyes. Without a thought for action, his legs persisted, continuing Shiro upon his path into the darkness, towards the set of eyes furthest away from him. All of the eyes around him glowed a pure white light and almost seemed to be forming a path before him. At the end of the forward procession, a set of eyes stood out amongst the others. It was strange. They shed a light that was almost gray, rather than white, but they shone brighter than any others. As the young Santaru approached, those eyes that he was drawn to seemed to light up corresponding to his proximity, glowing a brighter and brighter gray, almost unnaturally shaded by their own illumination. Closer and closer still grew Shiro as he continued, the optics before him became more and more radiant until eventually those closed grays and the stoic light they displayed gave way to a brilliant and shining gold that seemed to break through the milky gray before them. He continued forward, mere paces away from the figure, his eyes set in perfect reflection to the ones they were focused upon. Finally reaching the end of the path, the sight that Shiro saw was mystifying. Shiro's eyes shone with unanticipated fervor, widened by the surprise of what he saw. His eyes, now glowing gold, lit the figure's face, giving away the identity of his observer. A grayed man, his face wizened by battle, loss, and constant analysis, stood before him. His visage portrayed an air of power. Power that was under complete control and guided by the solemn, stoic, and calculated anticipations of the mind beneath them was evident in his eyes.
Shiro stifled back a choke that was oddly silent. "Dad..." The voice of his conscience echoed audibly and his glowing gold eyes sent melting refracted light through the tears that were subconsciously flowing from them. "Son, you know not where you go, but the will I have left with you, the will of fire, burns in your blood." With that, the young man's father pointed upwards, to a set of eyes that shone more brightly than any of the others could even be compared to. "You find yourself at the God of Lightning's door. But fear not. Surely we both know that the gods are the merely the consciousnesses that each of us reverberate. Follow your legacy, my son." Without a further word, an echoing voice halted his father's conversation. "Our eyes shine with the light of the storm. The rain, the snow, the hail, the winds. They shift according to our will. Unleash the fury of the soul that burns behind those eyes. Make them your tools. Be one with the storm. The Rain. The Snow. The Hail. The Winds. You are the sky's swordsman, the Lightning your blade. Wield it well, for you are the heir of a great legacy." The thought was all it took for the audible honoring to be heard. "The God of Lightning..." Shirokouu did not understand what he saw, nor who he saw, but his mind was not set upon that, but rather his father. Shiro's face donned an expression of confusion, he quirked an eyebrow, a telling mannerism of his heredity, and questioned his father's words. "What do you mean, father? I'm going back to our home... To see what's left of it... To do something about it... I've stuck in this blizzard since Kirigakure. It follows me and I don't know where I am." His mind wandered for a moment, his focus slipping to survival. "I'll find the trail back tomorrow.</B><i></i> With a single cohesive thought, the blackness covered over all that was to be seen. Tomorrow? Blizzard? Where am I again? Why.... Why does this feel so familiar..? Must be déjà vu~ The thoughts materialized in his mind and escaped from his memory in mere seconds. Shining eyes awakened upon a black world for the second time.
Shiro's body ached, a feeling that was not displayed just moments before, but lack of memory leaves nothing to be missed. He streched his arms, turning his head to crack his neck, before bringing his hands together to ring out his knuckles. Looking around, nothing could be seen of the outside world. Surely I didn't sleep so long that it's night time again? He thought to himself, confused by his own lack of vision. And I can't imagine I've not slept through the night. The situation perplexed Shiro, but as he walked forward, to the place where the exit to his personal shelter used to be, the answer was revealed. The storm had raged through the night and the exit that had just been there was instead covered completely with snow, leaving not even a single hole that gave way to the light of the world. It was fortunate that he was blessed with the eyes that he was, at close range he wouldn't even need the light of the sun, moon, or stars to guide his way. Won't do me much good if all I can see is a foot in front of my face though... He thought bitterly, frustrated at his thoughtless lack of planning, despite what consolation could be given from the rough circumstances. <I>Well, I'll just have to dig. Giving himself over to the menial labor that it would
Hours passed as packed snow was scraped away by numb fingers that were bleeding at the tips from overuse. Why can't I get through this ice!? The tone of his thoughts reflected his frustrated anger. It was anger that was short-lived, however, and in an instant the young Santaru's face regained the calm sense of composure that it generally held. "You are the sky's swordsman..." The proud, regal voice echoed in the confines of his constantly churning mind. "The lightning is your blade..." His subconscious reverberated, the thought finally cycling back to his conscious mind. "I know what I must do." The words escaped his lips, softly floating upon the air before being devoured by the cold nothingness of the snowy walls that formed the child's icy prison. With before unseen intensity, Shirokouu emptied himself into the lightning. It arced from his hands, his shoulders, his whole body, cutting jagged and wildly winding lines in the icy prison that encircled him. The snow gave way, falling all around him, but being cut and burnt to mere droplets of water before even reaching his skin. He did not relent, the arcs of lightning, at first chaotic and random, began to take on a sense of control, as if guided by the sword-arm of a samurai. Finally, after expending a good share of his energy, Shiro saw what his eyes had longed for: The light of day, shining through a final layer of snow. It illuminated the makeshift dwelling that Shiro had hastily prepared and gave the young Santaru a second wind. With a quirk of his mouth, a wry and cocky smile crept across Shirokouu's place. Time to finish this and get out of this prison! With a final level of focus, Shiro sent out several bolts of lightning, each hitting the spot he designated without error, and cutting a large enough hole in the weakened portion of the snowy embankment that he could finally crawl out.
As he emerged into the open air, the sun shone down upon him, his skin raised with goosebumps, almost as if his very pores reached for the light and warmth of the forgiving sun. As he scaled the cliff, his only exit, what his eyes finally laid upon left him breathless. A beautiful city, reduced to overgrown ruins, stretched out before the young Santaru. The ghost town had evidence of the massive, unnatural storm that had just taken place, but the serenity of the snow-topped shelters, capped with white and adorned with meter-long icicles that descended in ridges until coming to a sharp, dripping point, shining in the sun and refracting its light as though through a prism, gave solace to Shiro's tempestuous soul. He was so overawed by the sight and caught up in the deeply inspiring display of the ancient past that he didn't even curse himself for not scaling the cliff before night set. He walked the village, looking around for something to point him in the direction that he needed to go. Wandering into and out of random buildings, observing the sights that he saw, the young man probably appeared to be a careless traveler letting his feet take him wherever they willed.
Finally, the Santaru's eyes came upon a towering statue, split in two. The sight was a phenomenon that was familiar to him. Snaky lines made from intense heat and pressure lined the broken innards of the stone figure. He walked closer, feeling strangely drawn to the statue as if it was connected to him somehow. It reminded him of Konoha, of training endlessly, lashing out with lightning at the training stones that he often fed his frustrations to as a child. Konoha... I need to get back on the road. I'm sure I'm not too far off from where I was supposed to go. He thought, still staring up at the statue before readying himself to depart from the lost city, until he was distracted by a voice he'd never heard before. "That guy used to own this town ya' know?" Spinning around in an instant, the figure of a ragged, middle-aged man came into his vision. "That is... 'Til 'ole Raiden struck him and tore this whole town down." Shiro took a step back, not fully trusting this unknown and haggard old man. The name he just mentioned reverberated in his mind, he dwelled on it for a moment, but couldn't remember where he heard it before. Perhaps an old friend? No, Shiro didn't have overly many friends back in Leaf. Maybe someone his mother had talked about? No, he knew all her usual cohorts. His mind escaped him for a moment, but he went back to regarding the drunken oldtimer. "Who are you?" He asked, his suspicion evident in his voice. "Whoa there young man. No need to get hasty. I'm just an old traveler that chose the road to be his home. And this here is my travellin' companion." He said, raising his jug before taking a swig of alcohol that was strong enough to hit Shiro's olfactory even with the distance between the two of them, an eye open that seemed to study the young man with a mischievous glance that Shiro didn't even take note of.
The young man seemed a bit lost in his thoughts for a moment before recollecting himself and making a decision. Well, I guess there's no one else around here to ask... With his thoughts only on home, he asked the man, "Do you know the way from here to the village gates?" The man's mouth curved in a crooked smile as he replied in a jolly tone. "Ahh, the village gates, you ask?" He seemed to be wrapping his mind around the question, or rather it was his mind that was unraveling the inquiry. Either way, he answered honestly. A lie's not a lie if the questioner doesn't ask the right question. "Eh, well, I suppose I'll point ya down the right path." He said, attempting to show some semblance of distrust and reluctance. The directions couldn't have poured out quicker, however, and they were as numerous as complicated. I never knew how tough Konohagakure was to find. I must've traveled further off the trail than I thought. He noted mentally. If only Shirokouu realized just how very close he was to the answer that had been escaping him. With a nod and a brief, "Thanks," Shiro was on his way, his footfalls hitting earth and sounding out perseverance as he was finally on his way home. Or so he thought~.<i></i>
Shirokouu's memory may have had error on the venture to this point, but he followed the old drunk's instructions thoroughly, taking note of every tree, every bend in the trail, every rocky face that he had to pass over, and every precipice he had to summit. His will and determination to find his way back to Konoha and his weariness after being on the road alone for as long as he had engulfed him and he focused intently on the path before him. His mind was not dulled, but rather was unable to understand that the man's instructions had led him not to the towering gates, seen through the forests of Konohagakure that Shiro had come to love, admire, respect, and feel a part of, but rather the Dragon Gates of the Village Hidden in the Clouds. As soon as those great gates and the artificial mountain paths that sheltered them came into view, the mistake was set in Shiro's mind. Looking behind him, down miles of treacherous paths of jagged rocks and mountainous precipices, he knew that he could not go back. "Follow your legacy, my son." His father's words echoed in the confines of his troubled mind and eased his fears. Suddenly everything was coming into perspective. "Raiden... That's where I'd heard that before..." The old drunk seemed less and less incoherent and more and more like he was guiding him right here, to stand before the gates of the Kumogakure, the Village Hidden in the Clouds.</COLOR><B><COLOR color="white">
.
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Unnatural skies reflected gray in shining white upturned eyes. Swirling and bubbling clouds seemed to pour out their fury in the ominously silent form of pure and pristine white sheets of tossing and turning snow that seemed to weave through the storm, snaking in sinuous white designs before disappearing into the wall of grays and whites that the building blizzard was manufacturing. As time passed, bolts of lightning slashed from heaven to earth, ringing out with their thunderous battlecry and sending chills that both pleasure and comfort, but also an odd sense of anxious unease. Goosebumps crawled up his pale white arms, sending his muscles into spasms that shook crystalline clumps of accumulated snowflakes from his shoulders and equally white hair. He was a ghost, fading into and out of existence, his white adornments and the pallor of his features were shimmers in an ever-shifting wind, being drawn to life and then erased by the icy curtains that were in a constant state of cyclical pattern, manifesting then dying upon those same bitter gales that carved it into existence before being dispersed across the ground to become a thread of the majestic white carpet that flowed across the increasingly jagged and rocky terrain, smoothing it over with a pillowtop of powder, marred only in its perfection by the persevering footsteps that ended with the lost Santaru.
The journey seemed endless, every footfall that brought ease and progress also brought new obstacles in the young man's path. Shirokouu fully understood that he must have fallen away from the trail at some point along the road. It had been a long and harsh journey from the frozen remains of Kirigakure where Shirokouu had lost track of the time that had passed in what must have been years of meditation. I need to find a way back... But it's been so long and it's hard to distinguish anything in this snowstorm. The young man moved a gloved hand to his forehead, wiping away melted snow and sweat that threatened to freeze right onto the shinobi's frost-reddened skin. As he pulled his hand away, he solemnly took note of the glowing white reflection that glimmered upon his wet glove. Still glowing... Why won't it stop? The constant state of illumination that his eyes were in left him feeling drained constantly, not to mention the frustration of not understanding its cause, and he was beginning to realize that he couldn't travel as long as he previously thought. I need to find somewhere to take shelter.
The young Santaru scanned the hilly and rocky surroundings for a place sheltered from the biting winds and piling snow of the blizzard. As he looked behind him he saw the forest from which he had just emerged. For just a moment, he thought of seeking protection from the storm within the branches of the trees. The thought in and of itself reminded him of the lush forests of Konoha. The feeling of remembering that village he grew up in gave him a warm, but bittersweet feeling inside. Taking heart in the brief moment of nostalgia, Shirokouu decided to move on. Just as he had decided to go that way a thunderous crackling sounded out among the forest. Trees, their sap brought down to the point of freezing from the sub-zero temperatures that the snow and wind of the storm brought, snapped, exploding into splinters and sending a cracking shriek from the forest that echoed off of the cliffs that it faced as two logs cross the path in an X of uprooted frozen trees. No. I don't think I'll be going that way. He said, coming to a conclusion in his mind as he turned around and scanned what to him was uncharted ground. As his eyes moved across the cliffs before him, he searched for a cave or some other form of protection from the storm. Shiro's glowing eyes widened as a section of darker gray blurred into vision before him. Fortunately for the adolescent Santaru, the cliff had a section that hung over the ground, almost as if a smooth, shallow bowl had been carved into the cliff's face. As he approached, two great trees, what appeared to be the final two silent guardians of the faded forest, materialized in his vision. They stood, grand and thick, their clumped plumage bound by pounds of piled powder that they had shielded the lower portion of the embankment from. Truly, they provided a natural wall, making the overhang even more ideal shelter.The thought crossed Shiro's mind that they might explode in the same fashion as the trees from the forest, but greatness of size and thickness of branches and foliage sheltered the innards of the tree from the biting winds and any direct contact with the ever-pouring snow. </I>Well... I guess this is the spot... Shiro silently noted, then immediately began to make camp, setting up his things and securing the site before sleep and exhaustion overcame the biting cold and he succumbed into slumber.
Shiro's mind awoke to a scene painted in black. Slowly, several slivers of shining light awakened into existence like tiny slices in a pitch black lampshade. As they opened, the identity of these strange luminous objects became obvious. Eyes! In an instant slivers became nearly circular, all radiating the same pure white light that broke through the darkness to guide the way. Shirokouu's feet moved unconsciously forward, stepping lightly and without sound on what seemed to be a hard surface of pure air. He felt that he could almost see the white of his clothes, the pallor of his skin in the light shed by the silent watchers' ever glowing eyes. Without a thought for action, his legs persisted, continuing Shiro upon his path into the darkness, towards the set of eyes furthest away from him. All of the eyes around him glowed a pure white light and almost seemed to be forming a path before him. At the end of the forward procession, a set of eyes stood out amongst the others. It was strange. They shed a light that was almost gray, rather than white, but they shone brighter than any others. As the young Santaru approached, those eyes that he was drawn to seemed to light up corresponding to his proximity, glowing a brighter and brighter gray, almost unnaturally shaded by their own illumination. Closer and closer still grew Shiro as he continued, the optics before him became more and more radiant until eventually those closed grays and the stoic light they displayed gave way to a brilliant and shining gold that seemed to break through the milky gray before them. He continued forward, mere paces away from the figure, his eyes set in perfect reflection to the ones they were focused upon. Finally reaching the end of the path, the sight that Shiro saw was mystifying. Shiro's eyes shone with unanticipated fervor, widened by the surprise of what he saw. His eyes, now glowing gold, lit the figure's face, giving away the identity of his observer. A grayed man, his face wizened by battle, loss, and constant analysis, stood before him. His visage portrayed an air of power. Power that was under complete control and guided by the solemn, stoic, and calculated anticipations of the mind beneath them was evident in his eyes.
Shiro stifled back a choke that was oddly silent. "Dad..." The voice of his conscience echoed audibly and his glowing gold eyes sent melting refracted light through the tears that were subconsciously flowing from them. "Son, you know not where you go, but the will I have left with you, the will of fire, burns in your blood." With that, the young man's father pointed upwards, to a set of eyes that shone more brightly than any of the others could even be compared to. "You find yourself at the God of Lightning's door. But fear not. Surely we both know that the gods are the merely the consciousnesses that each of us reverberate. Follow your legacy, my son." Without a further word, an echoing voice halted his father's conversation. "Our eyes shine with the light of the storm. The rain, the snow, the hail, the winds. They shift according to our will. Unleash the fury of the soul that burns behind those eyes. Make them your tools. Be one with the storm. The Rain. The Snow. The Hail. The Winds. You are the sky's swordsman, the Lightning your blade. Wield it well, for you are the heir of a great legacy." The thought was all it took for the audible honoring to be heard. "The God of Lightning..." Shirokouu did not understand what he saw, nor who he saw, but his mind was not set upon that, but rather his father. Shiro's face donned an expression of confusion, he quirked an eyebrow, a telling mannerism of his heredity, and questioned his father's words. "What do you mean, father? I'm going back to our home... To see what's left of it... To do something about it... I've stuck in this blizzard since Kirigakure. It follows me and I don't know where I am." His mind wandered for a moment, his focus slipping to survival. "I'll find the trail back tomorrow.</B><i></i> With a single cohesive thought, the blackness covered over all that was to be seen. Tomorrow? Blizzard? Where am I again? Why.... Why does this feel so familiar..? Must be déjà vu~ The thoughts materialized in his mind and escaped from his memory in mere seconds. Shining eyes awakened upon a black world for the second time.
Shiro's body ached, a feeling that was not displayed just moments before, but lack of memory leaves nothing to be missed. He streched his arms, turning his head to crack his neck, before bringing his hands together to ring out his knuckles. Looking around, nothing could be seen of the outside world. Surely I didn't sleep so long that it's night time again? He thought to himself, confused by his own lack of vision. And I can't imagine I've not slept through the night. The situation perplexed Shiro, but as he walked forward, to the place where the exit to his personal shelter used to be, the answer was revealed. The storm had raged through the night and the exit that had just been there was instead covered completely with snow, leaving not even a single hole that gave way to the light of the world. It was fortunate that he was blessed with the eyes that he was, at close range he wouldn't even need the light of the sun, moon, or stars to guide his way. Won't do me much good if all I can see is a foot in front of my face though... He thought bitterly, frustrated at his thoughtless lack of planning, despite what consolation could be given from the rough circumstances. <I>Well, I'll just have to dig. Giving himself over to the menial labor that it would
Hours passed as packed snow was scraped away by numb fingers that were bleeding at the tips from overuse. Why can't I get through this ice!? The tone of his thoughts reflected his frustrated anger. It was anger that was short-lived, however, and in an instant the young Santaru's face regained the calm sense of composure that it generally held. "You are the sky's swordsman..." The proud, regal voice echoed in the confines of his constantly churning mind. "The lightning is your blade..." His subconscious reverberated, the thought finally cycling back to his conscious mind. "I know what I must do." The words escaped his lips, softly floating upon the air before being devoured by the cold nothingness of the snowy walls that formed the child's icy prison. With before unseen intensity, Shirokouu emptied himself into the lightning. It arced from his hands, his shoulders, his whole body, cutting jagged and wildly winding lines in the icy prison that encircled him. The snow gave way, falling all around him, but being cut and burnt to mere droplets of water before even reaching his skin. He did not relent, the arcs of lightning, at first chaotic and random, began to take on a sense of control, as if guided by the sword-arm of a samurai. Finally, after expending a good share of his energy, Shiro saw what his eyes had longed for: The light of day, shining through a final layer of snow. It illuminated the makeshift dwelling that Shiro had hastily prepared and gave the young Santaru a second wind. With a quirk of his mouth, a wry and cocky smile crept across Shirokouu's place. Time to finish this and get out of this prison! With a final level of focus, Shiro sent out several bolts of lightning, each hitting the spot he designated without error, and cutting a large enough hole in the weakened portion of the snowy embankment that he could finally crawl out.
As he emerged into the open air, the sun shone down upon him, his skin raised with goosebumps, almost as if his very pores reached for the light and warmth of the forgiving sun. As he scaled the cliff, his only exit, what his eyes finally laid upon left him breathless. A beautiful city, reduced to overgrown ruins, stretched out before the young Santaru. The ghost town had evidence of the massive, unnatural storm that had just taken place, but the serenity of the snow-topped shelters, capped with white and adorned with meter-long icicles that descended in ridges until coming to a sharp, dripping point, shining in the sun and refracting its light as though through a prism, gave solace to Shiro's tempestuous soul. He was so overawed by the sight and caught up in the deeply inspiring display of the ancient past that he didn't even curse himself for not scaling the cliff before night set. He walked the village, looking around for something to point him in the direction that he needed to go. Wandering into and out of random buildings, observing the sights that he saw, the young man probably appeared to be a careless traveler letting his feet take him wherever they willed.
Finally, the Santaru's eyes came upon a towering statue, split in two. The sight was a phenomenon that was familiar to him. Snaky lines made from intense heat and pressure lined the broken innards of the stone figure. He walked closer, feeling strangely drawn to the statue as if it was connected to him somehow. It reminded him of Konoha, of training endlessly, lashing out with lightning at the training stones that he often fed his frustrations to as a child. Konoha... I need to get back on the road. I'm sure I'm not too far off from where I was supposed to go. He thought, still staring up at the statue before readying himself to depart from the lost city, until he was distracted by a voice he'd never heard before. "That guy used to own this town ya' know?" Spinning around in an instant, the figure of a ragged, middle-aged man came into his vision. "That is... 'Til 'ole Raiden struck him and tore this whole town down." Shiro took a step back, not fully trusting this unknown and haggard old man. The name he just mentioned reverberated in his mind, he dwelled on it for a moment, but couldn't remember where he heard it before. Perhaps an old friend? No, Shiro didn't have overly many friends back in Leaf. Maybe someone his mother had talked about? No, he knew all her usual cohorts. His mind escaped him for a moment, but he went back to regarding the drunken oldtimer. "Who are you?" He asked, his suspicion evident in his voice. "Whoa there young man. No need to get hasty. I'm just an old traveler that chose the road to be his home. And this here is my travellin' companion." He said, raising his jug before taking a swig of alcohol that was strong enough to hit Shiro's olfactory even with the distance between the two of them, an eye open that seemed to study the young man with a mischievous glance that Shiro didn't even take note of.
The young man seemed a bit lost in his thoughts for a moment before recollecting himself and making a decision. Well, I guess there's no one else around here to ask... With his thoughts only on home, he asked the man, "Do you know the way from here to the village gates?" The man's mouth curved in a crooked smile as he replied in a jolly tone. "Ahh, the village gates, you ask?" He seemed to be wrapping his mind around the question, or rather it was his mind that was unraveling the inquiry. Either way, he answered honestly. A lie's not a lie if the questioner doesn't ask the right question. "Eh, well, I suppose I'll point ya down the right path." He said, attempting to show some semblance of distrust and reluctance. The directions couldn't have poured out quicker, however, and they were as numerous as complicated. I never knew how tough Konohagakure was to find. I must've traveled further off the trail than I thought. He noted mentally. If only Shirokouu realized just how very close he was to the answer that had been escaping him. With a nod and a brief, "Thanks," Shiro was on his way, his footfalls hitting earth and sounding out perseverance as he was finally on his way home. Or so he thought~.<i></i>
Shirokouu's memory may have had error on the venture to this point, but he followed the old drunk's instructions thoroughly, taking note of every tree, every bend in the trail, every rocky face that he had to pass over, and every precipice he had to summit. His will and determination to find his way back to Konoha and his weariness after being on the road alone for as long as he had engulfed him and he focused intently on the path before him. His mind was not dulled, but rather was unable to understand that the man's instructions had led him not to the towering gates, seen through the forests of Konohagakure that Shiro had come to love, admire, respect, and feel a part of, but rather the Dragon Gates of the Village Hidden in the Clouds. As soon as those great gates and the artificial mountain paths that sheltered them came into view, the mistake was set in Shiro's mind. Looking behind him, down miles of treacherous paths of jagged rocks and mountainous precipices, he knew that he could not go back. "Follow your legacy, my son." His father's words echoed in the confines of his troubled mind and eased his fears. Suddenly everything was coming into perspective. "Raiden... That's where I'd heard that before..." The old drunk seemed less and less incoherent and more and more like he was guiding him right here, to stand before the gates of the Kumogakure, the Village Hidden in the Clouds.</COLOR><B><COLOR color="white">
.:. Requesting Entry .:.
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