Sorry, don't expect another chapter for a while, I've kind of hit a writer's block. And until I've made a decent plan of this story and to where it's going to go, then I'm not going to write much more. Once the plan's done, however, then we'll all be good.

Without further ado, here's a chapter because I love you ^_^

I like this chapter. (You don't have to, but…) It goes into the psyche of Hayabusa a little, and explores Hayate and Hayabusa's friendship and Hayate's values. Now… what will he choose?

*

She was staring out of the window when he returned, in the same position he had left her. He decided to ignore that, going into the next room and checking on Hayate.

"How's the wound?"

Hayate made a face. "Sore. But what do you expect? She was a good little fighter,"

He mentally flinched upon hearing the sad tone in his friend's voice. I'm sorry, Hayate. But it's better this way. For you and for her. Then you can both continue living without worrying about each other. Unfortunately, now you will both just live with guilt, wondering what could have been.

"Do you need anything to dull the pain?"

Hayate glanced across at him with golden brown orbs. "Something would be nice. Are there any decent herbs around here?"

He nodded. "I have a supply of them. I'll go and get some for you,"    

"Thankyou," Hayate lay back down, even on the table, he seemed comfortable.

He seems alright. I hope so.

Going out to the back garden, he collected some herbs and brought them inside, still wet from the rain, mixing them into a paste before bringing it to his friend.

"Where's the wound?"

Hayate lifted the somewhat bloodstained garment covering his chest, revealing a small, neat hole just on the hip. "It's small, but she certainly has a good aim,"

He nodded. "We shall have to wait and see what happens with it,"

As gently as he could, he applied the paste onto the wound. "Why did you banish her?" he asked finally, putting a neat dressing over the paste.

"Ayane? Didn't I tell you?"

"You did. But I don't understand why,"

Hayate sat up, despite the obvious discomfort it caused. "She is a danger to the clan with her rashness. Not to mention her impure blood goes against what the clan is trying to promote,"

"She is a better friend then enemy to you and your clan, Hayate. And regardless of blood, she is your sister. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"My half sister," Golden brown suddenly grew sad. "If I can be responsible for the death of my sister, what difference does the demise of my half sister make?"

"Save her while you still have the chance!" he could not believe his friend's stubbornness. "Does blood make or break a person, make them worse?"

"In her case," Hayate shook his head. "I thought you'd understand my decision. Your clan was just as strict about half-bloods as ours, if not more so,"

"Not always," his voice was as quiet and mystical as the kiss of a distant dream. Time for a confession. "There was a young boy, in our clan. He was born illegitimately, his mother being sexually assaulted and the father disappearing soon afterwards. However, aside from one small difference, there wasn't much to tell that the boy was different from the rest of the children, so he was allowed to live a normal life. The woman's husband was distraught at the news that the child wasn't his, and the additional news that the abuse his wife had suffered was serious enough for her to risk her life if she mothered a child again. So the husband agreed to raise the child as his own, not letting anybody else know,"

"How do you know all this?" Golden brown eyes were staring at him inquisitively. "Continue,"

"One day, one of the sensei found out. The sensei didn't like the child anyway, and so threatened him unless he verbalised the facts surrounding his birth to the entire clan. He did so after a deal of…" slight pause, "…persuasion. But surprisingly enough, not many people cared. Generally, the young boy lived a happy life, still raised in the clan even though his blood wasn't pure,"

"Seems unusual that a sensei would be so harsh to a child," Hayate sat up slightly, leaning on his elbows, carefully as to not aggravate the wound. "Would I know this person?"

"You might. He knows you. But I don't know if you know him,"

A flicker of realisation crossed between green and gold. "It was you, wasn't it,"

He nodded slowly.

"Why didn't you mention it? I knew there was a reason that you were so against me banishing Ayane. What was the one small difference you mentioned?"

"Everyone in the clan except for me has brown eyes. Or, had,"

Hayate chuckled mirthlessly. "I thought that was odd when I first met you. It seemed odd that a member of a pure-blooded shinobi clan would have such a western feature,"

He shook his head. "According to my mother, my father was Japanese as well. I don't know a lot about him, though,"

"So. It explains a lot. And, assuming that Ayane knows, you've made me look like a complete fool," Hayate didn't sound happy. In fact, there was a trace of stubbornness that he had been mentally praying not to hear.

"You deserved it," his own voice was soft.

"Now what?" his friend threw up his hands in frustration. "I've banished her because of her blood and turned to you, and by the sound of things, you're in exactly the same situation as Ayane except you didn't get as much trouble because of it as her,"

"Something like that," he refused to let his own stubbornness be his downfall, simply responding shortly but amicably. "If blood purity is what you use to choose between your friends and enemies, then I'm sorry for doing this, but it does have to be done,"

He pulled out his sword and, with lightning speed, flipped it so that the point of the sword was mere centimetres away from Hayate's face. "Say the word, Hayate, and our friendship will be severed from here onwards,"

He then flipped the sword again, balancing it on his palm, so that the hilt was facing his friend. "Or let it continue on as it were. Your decision,"

There was silence. Nothing could be heard, not even the birds.

Finally, Hayate picked up the sword.

"Then, it is so," his voice was strained. "Let it be so,"

*