Soromon came upon a land of earth and fire, sun and sky without knowing anyone. Not a man, nor a beast was intended to bear the burden of these wicked elements. The winds cut with sharp gains of sand that abraded his flesh and weighed down pockets that he would have preferred to be burdened with gold. Yet these choices were his to make, the foolish abandonment of his home and the reckless pursuit of 'something more' in Wind Country had its' consequences. The boy was lonesome, fearful and strange. He was learning to fear. To fear pain, being crippled, lost or damaged. Before he feared being alone, left out of the social circle... uncoupled. Other people seemed to make these social connections easier than him, find someone interested in friendship or even love. For him, it was different. They snickered and smiled to his face, but they said things when he walked away, when they thought he could no longer hear. Even their loud compliments were in jest, sarcastic myrrh. Their friend was no more interested in him than there were singles within 2 miles of him that were looking to meet him. Yet he was learning to yearn less for people, for some sense of companionship to end this crushing sense of loneliness and to rather fear people. People were dangerous being present more than their absence. He glanced down at the raw, red scars from where jagged bone had jutted from his flesh. They would serve as a powerful reminder for years to come that there are people so much stronger than he was. People who could crush him without ever intending to. People that he needed to get stronger than if he wanted to live. If he wanted to be less lonesome.
That was what he was doing out here, getting stronger. He was miles from the horizon that bore the nearest civilization, his bare feet pounded against the earth as he ascended a steep dune, his feet slid against gravity and loose grit. As he crested the peak of the dune and he would make his descent. Weighted down by close to his full body weight strapped to his back, mostly water and a means to start a fire once the sun set and the blistering hot vista he knew plunged into a frigid chill. He was not going to make it to civilization by nightfall, but it was not as if anyone was expecting him anyways. The only search parties that would be looking for him would likely want him dead for the crime of being and leaving after knowing. There were not a great deal of secrets known to the body, the location of a hidden village was a shinobi village's worst kept secret. There might as well have been a gift-shop at the gates. The jutsus he knew were elementary, he knew which way to hold a sword and little more. Yet still, his desertion was considered a crime because he was 'theirs,' it was so like people to try to own everything, even other people.
The horizon told him that the chill of night was coming next. The sky was starting to change, the clouds a dark purple-grey and the blue was becoming a mixture of tangerine, flamingo and lemon. A loveliness before the darkness. It was time to make camp, before the wolves came and before the temperature would drop noticeably. With a bit of effort, a fire would be made. He had collected the rare bit of wood he found during his daylight travels, it was not much but it would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. The flames would crackle to light as the curtain fell on yet another day. Still moist from sweat of the day of training, he rested his weary form by the side of the fire. His stomach rumbled, he had not been able to acquire much in terms of meat but he had acquired a morsel. A dead rodent was better than nothing and on the end of a stick in the fire it went.
But the eerie silence of the night would be fractured by something...
That was what he was doing out here, getting stronger. He was miles from the horizon that bore the nearest civilization, his bare feet pounded against the earth as he ascended a steep dune, his feet slid against gravity and loose grit. As he crested the peak of the dune and he would make his descent. Weighted down by close to his full body weight strapped to his back, mostly water and a means to start a fire once the sun set and the blistering hot vista he knew plunged into a frigid chill. He was not going to make it to civilization by nightfall, but it was not as if anyone was expecting him anyways. The only search parties that would be looking for him would likely want him dead for the crime of being and leaving after knowing. There were not a great deal of secrets known to the body, the location of a hidden village was a shinobi village's worst kept secret. There might as well have been a gift-shop at the gates. The jutsus he knew were elementary, he knew which way to hold a sword and little more. Yet still, his desertion was considered a crime because he was 'theirs,' it was so like people to try to own everything, even other people.
The horizon told him that the chill of night was coming next. The sky was starting to change, the clouds a dark purple-grey and the blue was becoming a mixture of tangerine, flamingo and lemon. A loveliness before the darkness. It was time to make camp, before the wolves came and before the temperature would drop noticeably. With a bit of effort, a fire would be made. He had collected the rare bit of wood he found during his daylight travels, it was not much but it would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. The flames would crackle to light as the curtain fell on yet another day. Still moist from sweat of the day of training, he rested his weary form by the side of the fire. His stomach rumbled, he had not been able to acquire much in terms of meat but he had acquired a morsel. A dead rodent was better than nothing and on the end of a stick in the fire it went.
But the eerie silence of the night would be fractured by something...
