The figure who approached Sunagakure's gates hardly bore a resemblance to the boy that had left its grounds a year and a half earlier. Rather than some shoddy disguise he now wore a pale violet kimono, his tanto sheathed at the small of his back. The knife had looked more like a shortsword when he'd departed. Over the kimono he wore an old grey cloak, thick to protect from the sun and stained from the sand-bearing wind. A wide-brimmed hat cloaked his face in shade.
There was a rush of emotion within Domen Nobu's heart as he looked back up at the gates of his birthland. It was a comforting sight; he had changed a lot, but the village still looked the same. Upon nearing the exact moment of passage, he took out both his passports. The crystal was extinguished, having lost its lingering chakra signature some five or six months ago. The paper passport remained intact, luckily.
The returning son of the sands hummed under his breath, an old tune he'd learned many years before. It always had always reminded him of home and hearth, but doubly so when he had been hundreds of miles from the borders of the Land of Wind.
There was a rush of emotion within Domen Nobu's heart as he looked back up at the gates of his birthland. It was a comforting sight; he had changed a lot, but the village still looked the same. Upon nearing the exact moment of passage, he took out both his passports. The crystal was extinguished, having lost its lingering chakra signature some five or six months ago. The paper passport remained intact, luckily.
The returning son of the sands hummed under his breath, an old tune he'd learned many years before. It always had always reminded him of home and hearth, but doubly so when he had been hundreds of miles from the borders of the Land of Wind.