Clouds showering an empty street counts as relaxation for some. For others; the song of birds and rivers amidst a quiet forest. Sota? The sound of metal lodging itself into thick wood. The muted thud that gauges the strength of your throw. The heavier it is, the less echo follows. The boy isn't aware of the way his nerves melt to the sounds, but he's got about five kunai pinned against an unfortunate tree. Large maple, posing as his training wall for the evening. Reason he doesn't notice is this:
He isn't training. In fact, he's less concerned with his aim, more so with his weapons. Seems to be surveying his own blades. Follows his eyes along the rim, towards the pointy half. Rotates it in his hand and glares at the handle.
Then, what little cogs occupy his brain give in and an angry breath escapes his teeth. Sota throws this kunai, too. Adds another to the pile. But he doesn't seem to be done just yet. From the pouch sitting at his hip, he shoves his hand and brings out several more blades. This time; smaller shuriken. Begins inspecting these too, as if he's only now seeing shinobi knives for the first time.
Clearly has something on his mind.
—
wc 208
He isn't training. In fact, he's less concerned with his aim, more so with his weapons. Seems to be surveying his own blades. Follows his eyes along the rim, towards the pointy half. Rotates it in his hand and glares at the handle.
Then, what little cogs occupy his brain give in and an angry breath escapes his teeth. Sota throws this kunai, too. Adds another to the pile. But he doesn't seem to be done just yet. From the pouch sitting at his hip, he shoves his hand and brings out several more blades. This time; smaller shuriken. Begins inspecting these too, as if he's only now seeing shinobi knives for the first time.
Clearly has something on his mind.
—
wc 208