Welcome to the first chapter of 'Spider Thread.' This is an OC insert fic, but not a self-insert. It will quickly diverge from canon, as I have every intention of seeing how much I can mess with the story. I will assume you've read up to volumes 64-65 and/or are aware of the events that unfold in them. I am personally up to date with the manga, but those who haven't read that far should proceed with caution, as there might be major spoilers.

I do not own Naruto, nor am I making a profit off of my writing. This is a fan-made work.

Now that we've gotten the boring stuff out of the way, on we go!

I was never afraid of dying. In my line of work, if death scared you, you wouldn't last very long. Nor was I afraid of what would happen after; I knew, if there was a God (which I believed), that I was going to hell. It didn't matter much to me.

I chose this profession at a fairly young age, mostly because I happened to be good at it. When I was in pre-med, I discovered that I had a knack for poisons and chemicals, for synthetizing them, using them, and curing them. Reading books on various types and how to make them became a sort of 'hobby,' and I got to use the chemistry lab to have fun creating them. My grades in chemistry and biology were at the top, and I graduated early. Medical school wasn't for me, though. I dropped out in my second year.

I can't say for sure how I started doing what I do. I wandered a bit from job to job for a while; mostly pharmaceutical and chemical engineering companies. The pay was decent, and I was able to continue with my 'hobby,' saving up quite a bit, and getting dangerously good at it. I can't remember what my first 'assignment' was. Probably something innocuous . . . maybe it was a favor for a friend whose girlfriend had cheated on him. Yeah, that must be it.

At any rate, it sort of snowballed from there. Before I knew it, I was deep in the underworld and having a blast.

I was, to put it bluntly, an assassin. I got contracts from men and women high in power, who wanted somebody disposed of, incapacitated, or otherwise out of the way, and it was not in their best interest to make it generally known that there had been an attempt on their life. With the right poison and the right dose, I could either give the target a nasty stomachache, or have them dead under a minute, frothing at the mouth. There were so many ways to go about it, via ingestion, by breathing it, by wounds; so many different effects, sleep, laughter, itching, numbness, paralysation, hallucinations, death . . . I preferred poison over the more obvious methods. Gunning someone down was so crude, and using knives too slow; both had limited use. Sure, if you want to kill someone, blowing their brains out was the way to go, but beyond that a gun was about as useful as a brick. Poison was versatile, just as deadly, so discrete, the perfect assassination tool.

Believe me, I was very good at my job. What about the moral side of it, you may ask? Well, I never really cared. I was raised in a Christian household. I believed in God. I knew what I was doing was 'wrong,' but I didn't give a damn. Some of my friends speculated that because I literally didn't have my heart in the right place, my morals were also reversed. I'd been born with Dextrocardia situs inversus ; my heart was on the right side of my chest. Make of that what you will.

I traveled all around the world, working for leaders, gang bosses, businessmen, weapon's dealers; I snuck into secret bases, infiltrated palaces, drank champagne with the wealthiest men, laughed wickedly with the manipulative women that stood on their own in the dark, and ran around gathering the best ingredients I could find to advance my 'hobby.' I studied in all four corners of the world, learning about poisonous plants, snake, frog and salamander venom, the science of synthetizing lethal compounds, how to mix chemicals to create any effect I chose . . .

I made a lot of money and indulged myself as much as I wanted. Moderation wasn't in my vocabulary. I went on shopping sprees, often leaving it all behind when I had to hightail out of the country on short notice and doing it all over again at the next location, ate as much as I wanted, trained my body to make up the difference, and went through my life with a boundless, reckless energy. I was young, less than thirty, and full of the belief that I was at the top of the world.

I used to have something that fascinated me almost as much as poisons. I discovered it when I was doing a job in Japan. There was a particular television show, what they called 'anime,' that caught my interest and held it. 'Naruto,' was the name. I caught an episode on the TV at my apartment, and ordered the entire series out of curiosity. I marathoned it all the way through, nearly forgetting about the politician I was supposed to send to the hospital, and when I was done, I read the manga. I took a quick break to do the job, but was so hyped up I missed the critical dosage and ended up killing the guy. My client was not happy. Needless to say, I skipped out of there pretty fast. Once I got the chance, I read up on everything I could get my hands on. I was hooked.

Not that it lasted long. I quickly moved onto something else. As one of my temporary passions, I only mention it because it seems to be relevant.

To return to my earlier statement, I was not afraid of dying. I wanted to live fast, have a blast, enjoy myself, and go out laughing whenever God struck me down. I knew I was going to hell. Heck, I thought it might be fun. I could take over. I was drunk on power, and made no excuses for it.

I expected to die young. However, I did not expect this shit.

I was getting out of the shower, in a hotel suite (my lodgings weren't quite ready yet), when the door was blasted in. I heard the roar of gunfire, felt the tearing pain of hot pieces of metal in my body, and before I knew it, it was over. I lay, naked, bleeding, dying, and smiling. My long black hair spread out around me like bloody spider threads, my body trembled slightly in a mix of pain and excitement. This was the end. This was how I expected to go out, no, wanted to go out. In a lavish hotel, on expensive carpet, surrounded by nothing but beautiful clothes and piles of empty baubles, staring outside at the incredibly beautiful city lights; young, fit, at the top of the world.

I let out a weak laugh. "This is what it comes down to. Yeah, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Here we go . . ."

My vision blurred, my smile widened into a grin, and I closed my eyes. My body got very cold, and the pain faded away. I slipped into darkness.

I did not expect what happened next.

The sensations changed. Warmth, with the feeling of being squeezed in all directions, followed by deep cold, all over me. I was slippery wet, I squirmed, I felt like I was drowning and took a deep breath, sending burning pain into my chest. Huge hands wrapped around me. I tried to move, but my body wouldn't obey me. I felt small, clumsy, weak. I opened my eyes and screamed as I saw the giants that were holding me, their figures outlined in the harsh light. I thrashed, but I was so tired, so weak, I couldn't even hold my head up. I was passed, washed, wrapped in a blanket, and handed off to a woman. She rocked me from side to side, and despite my bewilderment, I felt sleep come over me. I tried to fight it. This was no time to be snoozing. Come on, girl, you can do it! Just stay awake! Come on!

Yeah, I failed.

For a while, things stopped making a lot of sense. There was a clear cycle. I slept most of the time, and during the short periods I was awake, would fight vainly to move. My muscles were just so weak, I couldn't even control my normal bodily functions, and had to be changed. God, this was so embarrassing. The giants did everything for me-fed me, cleaned me, put me to sleep. There were two of them, as far as I could tell, both women.

At first, I was sleeping too much to be able to think very well. Slowly, the intervals of time in which I was conscious increased, and I was able to rotate my mind back to figuring out what the hell was going on. This wasn't hell, or if it was, the devil had seriously let himself go. I was never in any pain. This was definitely odd . . . When I realized my situation, I gave a loud wail that made the women rush into the room. One of them picked me up, trying to calm me down, looking rather worried. I fussed and yelled, and I had damn good reason to.

I was a kid. A baby. What the hell kind of sick joke was this?

I know I hadn't exactly been the height of morality when I was alive, but this was just too much. God was a goddamn jerk.

After I calmed down, and was put back in my crib, I observed my surroundings. The room was small, painted white, with a dresser in the corner, but otherwise bare. The woman, who stared down at me fondly, her hands cupping her face as she leaned over, must be my mother. Her eyes were light blue, sparkling, so happy as she looked over me. She talked a bit in a language I didn't understand. At first, I chalked it up to my brain being underdeveloped, but then I suddenly recognized it.

Why was she speaking Japanese?

I only knew a couple of scattered fragments, from that one job in Japan, so I understood a little bit. That didn't help me much.

I kept staring at her while she talked, unwavering. I was not happy. I unconsciously started to fuss, and she reached down and ran her hand over my head. She smiled, and my heart skipped a beat. Christ, she really loved me, didn't she? I went back to sleep before I could think any more.

Over time, I continued to observe her, mostly for lack of anything else to do. She was rather pretty. Her long hair was an obnoxious shade of fire-engine red. That was not usual for a Japanese person, which she must be, going by the language and by the green kimono she wore. She came into the room to take care of me, and would spend several hours each day speaking to me and cuddling me. I started to pick up some more of the language, helped by my faint recollection of the classes I had taken in order to complete my assignment. I was familiar with the basic grammatical structure, at least.

The woman, who called herself Okaa-san, had a helper, the second woman. That one came only when Okaa-san couldn't, and I didn't like her very much. She was a fat gray haired nurse in a plain kimono. Her brown eyes were very dismissive, and she handled me the least amount possible. I always stared at her with unwavering eyes, making her uncomfortable, because that was realistically the only thing I could do. Seriously, how humiliating was this? I, an assassin, a professional of infiltration, the greatest poison and chemical expert money could buy, was stuck taking shit from an ugly broad with callused hands. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even bite, because I didn't have any teeth yet. God, I hope the teeth come quickly.

No, wait, I didn't mean it. Teething hurt.

I was able to move around some more now. I could crawl, though not very far. I wasn't let out of my crib at all. I moved as much as possible, rolling, stretching, flapping, testing my new body, and finding it to be just awful. I had been very fit in my precious life, and I'd gotten used to a certain degree of freedom. Now, not only had I no strength to speak of, but I got tired extremely quickly. My knowledge of the language was growing, exceedingly slowly, but I could catch more words, though I had yet to utter my first one. I still didn't know what name had been given to me, and it annoyed me somewhat. Apart from Okaa-san and the nurse, nobody else came.

One day, while I was trying to hoist myself up over the edge of my crib and make a break for it, Okaa-san came into the room, dressed in a brown kimono with a heavy cloak covering her. She picked me up and wrapped me in a thick blanket, holding me close to her chest as she rushed out of the room. I caught a glimpse of a dirty hallway, lined with a lot more doors, before Okaa-san sped downstairs and into the lobby, where the fat nurse was waiting. She led Okaa-san out the door, where a cart was waiting. She climbed into the back, whispering soothing words to me, smoothing my short hair back. The nurse came out, carrying several packages, which she hoisted onto the cart next to us. She mumbled something to Okaa-san, who turned a bit pale and nodded. I understood what they said next.

"Thank you, Yui-san. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Tomoko-sama. Please be careful."

She dipped her head to us as the cart took off. Okaa-san wrapped us both in the folds of her cloak, warding off the night chill. I looked up at her pale face, and saw tears in her eyes. She stroked my head slowly, and whispered something. I watched the town as we sped away. Wait, where were we going? What the heck was going on? Oy, Okaa-san, tell me! Okay, so I can't understand you, but could you at least mention something about it? Even a word would be more helpful than this.

It was no good. I eventually fell asleep, rocked by the motion of the cart and by the soft lullaby Okaa-san crooned into my ear.

I was half awake when the cart stopped. The town we arrived in was much bigger, and I sleepily caught sight of a one story house with a front gate and a stone pathway leading up to the sliding door. Overall, rather rundown and drab. The man driving the cart came down and unloaded the packages. Okaa-san put me down on a folded blanket, and I slipped back into sleep before I knew it.

We started living in that house, Tomoko and I. It was small, with one bedroom, a kitchen and living/dining room all in one, and a little bathroom. While not the height of extravagance I was used to, she kept it clean and smelling fresh. We slept in the same futon, and for the first time, I was allowed to roam as I wanted. The feeling was odd, after many months of rolling around the square meter of space allotted to me.

I learned how to speak a couple of mangled words, as my vocal cords weren't used to working, and the language was unfamiliar; my first word was, rather predictably, a massacred rendition of 'Okaa-san;' it made her ecstatic. I finally started to walk, though not well, and fell frequently, flat on my face. When that happened, Tomoko would rush over to pick me up and set me back on my feet, dusting me off and checking me for injuries. I never cried. Who did she think I was? If I was going to cry, it would be out of frustration. I wanted this body to grow up faster. Well, she stopped worrying so much after a while. She was a new mom, so I guess it couldn't be helped if she was a little fussy at first.

So I practiced walking and talking, though I could only stumble around like a drunken person and babble half-coherent sentences. I estimated I had been about a year old when we'd moved.

Finally, Tomoko spoke my name. It was like she had avoided it when we were back at the old place, with the fat nurse. Back then, come to think of it, the atmosphere had been a bit . . . odd. Very little noise, and the two sure got anxious whenever I fussed (which wasn't very often-I had my pride).

"Tomoe." said Tomoko, lifting me up onto her lap and smoothing my hair back, a gesture she loved to do. "That's you. Tomoe. Can you say that?"

"To-mo-e." I mumbled, enunciating each syllable as clearly as I could. Her face lit up.

"Yes, that's right. You're a good girl, Tomoe."

Tomoko took care of me all by herself, often reading to me from picture books or playing games with me, such as silly dexterity games using small bean filled bags. She could juggle, which I had to admit was impressive. I lacked the coordination to do much but toss and catch them. She showed me how to do origami, and sew, and overall made sure I had plenty to do despite rarely leaving the house. She went shopping once a week, never taking very long; our diet was very simple, tofu, vegetables, sometimes fish. We weren't rich, and she wasn't working, so I guess this was all she could afford. This was evident in our clothing, too. She always wore the same kimono, and I only had one yukata over a white under kimono. It was dark blue with a pattern of lighter commas on the bottom, with a brown sash, and was rather too big for me. But that was the point. Judging by the very light meals we had in the months following, this was quite a splurge.

Tomoko tried hard, I had to give her that. Especially since my father was nowhere in sight, and she seemed very reluctant to mingle with the other townspeople. She could have asked a neighbor to babysit, and take more time to shop, or maybe get a job, but she never did. She took care of everything herself. I thought she did very well, given the circumstances.

I was never let out farther than the front yard. Mostly I ran around, trying to get used to my body, playing with a bouncy rubber ball. The street was usually empty, the houses around us boarded up despite the signs of life. I once saw a boy about my age in the yard across the road, and waved, but his mother quickly pulled him back inside.

Life was radically different than my previous one. Whatever world I had fallen into, it was desperately behind the times. Very little technology, certainly no internet, mercifully electric lighting and indoor plumbing. No junk food. No shopping malls. No luxury goods. None, nothing, all the indulgences of my life as a high in demand assassin were gone. This was worse than hell. Or so I thought for the first several months after I became aware of my situation, giving rise to some childish temper tantrums. Then, I started getting used to it, and tolerated it, though with some discomfort. To go from my decadent living conditions to this, on top of being stuck in the body of a kid, riled me up to no end. I wanted to move, dammit, I wanted to run and jump, and swim, and not get so damn tired.

We had no mirrors, but I managed to catch my reflection in a puddle one day. I eagerly examined my new features. I was dismayed to see that I had inherited my mother's hair. Obnoxious fire-engine red, it was awful. It was down to my shoulders now . . . maybe I could dye it? My face was passable in the looks department, more cute than beautiful, with dimpled cheeks and large black eyes. Another thing to annoy me. I was not cute. While I hadn't been strikingly beautiful, I'd still cleaned up nice. I had to remind myself that I wasn't even three yet, that these things had time to evolve, and to bear with it.

I now understood most of what Tomoko was saying . . . not that I could say much in return. My sentences were still only a handful of words long, but my mastery grew every day. Since I picked it up pretty fast, and because I insisted, Tomoko began to teach me how to read. It was simple at first (I knew most of the Hiragana alphabet already), but got more complicated when she introduced kanji. For starters, she wrote my name on the piece of chalkboard (we couldn't afford paper).

"This is 'Tomoe.' It means a large comma." She tapped the symbol, 巴.

"This?" I picked at my yukata.

"Yes. That's it. Can you try writing it?"

I licked my lip and carefully traced the symbol. It came out quite nice, if I may say so myself. I nodded in satisfaction. Tomoko took the chalk from me and drew two more, which I didn't recognize. 火 and 村.

"These are the kanji for 'fire' and 'village.' That's our last name, Himura. Remember, alright? Your name is Himura Tomoe. No matter who tries to take it away from you, that will always be who you are." Her arms tightened around me, and her hand threaded through my hair, softly combing. "Himura, Tomoe . . ."

She sounded wistful as she drifted into silence. I stared down at the board, and committed the symbols to memory. That would be my name from now on, and I had no intention of letting it go.

And the lessons went on. I advanced quickly, and it helped with my knowledge of the language. When I was around three and a half years old, I could speak in coherent sentences, had been potty trained for a while (as fast as I could; I suffered that humiliation for the shortest amount of time possible), could walk and run in a generally coordinated fashion, was strong enough not to need naps, and was reading hiragana and a couple of kanji. Tomoko seemed impressed, but not surprised, with my quick progress. She nodded approvingly when I learned to do a cartwheel, applauded when I demonstrated a handstand, and laughed when I learned how to juggle; light shone in her eyes when she watched me. She loved me dearly, I could tell.

You know, maybe this kind of life wasn't so bad. That's what I started thinking. It was like a break from the fast-paced lifestyle I had led, a new life where everything went by slowly. A peaceful, monotonous daily life. I felt I could keep doing this, and not be too bothered by it.

One day, around the time I turned four, everything changed. I was woken up in the middle of the night by a loud explosion. I sat up, bleary eyed, and twisted around. The futon was empty.

"Okaa-san?" My voice sounded high and weak. I rubbed my eyes. The sound of more explosions came, followed by the hollow ring of steel on steel, cries, yells, and the trampling of feet on the ground. The house rumbled, the windows shook.

The door slammed open, and Tomoko stood in the entrance, out of breath. The light behind her shone in my eyes. When the glare faded, they widened. She wasn't wearing her kimono anymore, but gray pants taped around the ankles, a tight fitted shirt over long-sleeved fishnet, and open-toed boots. She had a pouch strapped to her thigh and a knife in a holster at the small of her back; her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It seemed to me that I had seen that look before.

I stumbled to my feet as she rushed in. "Okaa-san? What?" I mumbled. I was still sleepy.

"Tomoe, put this on." She pulled my arms into the straps of a backpack, fastened a cloak around my shoulders and knelt to slide my feet into sandals. "Hurry, come." Her voice was breathless, her eyes panicked. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. The sound of explosions drew nearer, and the cries intensified. We ran through the house, through that place that had been our home, and burst out into the street. The houses were burning, people running in panic, the heat and smoke making me cough and tear up. Tomoko tugged on my hand and led me through the street, as quick as she could.

"Okaa-san?"

She glanced down at me and smiled kindly. She always smiled like that. "It'll be alright, Tomoe. Everything will be alright."

No sooner had she spoken that a huge roar split the air. The earth grumbled and rose, forming a huge wave that towered over us. I stood in the shadow, horrified. In a flash Tomoko scooped me up and jumped. The tidal wave of earth crashed beneath us, eradicating half the village in one fell swoop. What the hell? What was that?

Tomoko landed and put me down. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a strange knife that looked familiar . . .

She pushed me behind her and raised it. From the earth in front of us, a man emerged. Grinning cockily, he wore a red outfit with one sleeve and a brown military jacket. I let out a weak cry when I saw what was around his forehead.

This couldn't be happening.

"Tomoe, get down!" Tomoko yelled. She threw the knife, the man dodged; she brought her hands together in a flurry of signs and slammed her palm on the ground. "Fire style, Earth Rip Jutsu!"

She twisted around, grabbed me, and jumped in the air. The ground cracked open, and fire burst out. I watched in awe as the flames spread over the surface, burning everything. My stomach lurched when Tomoko landed on one of the remaining streets, and looked me over. She was seriously out of breath.

"Are you alright?" she asked, wiping a bit of soot off my cheek. "Come on, let's hurry . . ." Her voice was cut short, her face twisted. She looked over her shoulder.

It was the man from before. His knife dug into her back. Red bloomed on her shirt.

"Okaa-san!" I screamed. No, no, this couldn't be happening. What the hell? Jutsu? Ninja from Iwagakure? It was like I was in . . .

Tomoko shoved me away. I hit the ground, barely saw her turning fully around, her hands weaving more signs, one brought up to her mouth, and . . .

"Fire style, Fireball Jutsu!"

The man was engulfed point blank in a stream of fire. Tomoko fell to one knee, breathing hard. Once the smoke cleared, all that was left was a charred log.

"Substitution . . . uhn!" She grunted in pain, and turned to me with a shaky rendition of her usual smile. "He'll be back . . . come on, Tomoe, we have to run now . . ." She pulled herself to her feet.

"I don't think so." The man emerged from the ground, unharmed.

"Tch . . ." Tomoko rushed towards me, scooped me up, and ran. She soared into the huge trees, leaping from branch to branch. I couldn't see anything more than a blur, and squeezed my hands into her clothing, hanging on for dear life.

We were being pursued. He wasn't as fast, but I was slowing her down. She landed in a clearing, put me down between some huge roots, and instructed me to be very quiet . . . like a game of hide and seek. I nodded, and burrowed down further inside the tangle of roots, out of sight.

She drew a kunai (I remembered the name now) and faced the clearing. The man jumped out of hiding.

"We weren't told there would be shinobi in the village." he remarked, drawing his sword. "I'm afraid I can't let you report back."

"And I didn't know Iwa had advanced so far. I take it this is your first attempt to directly invade the land of fire?" She spun her kunai over her finger.

"Perhaps." His mouth twisted. His foot twisted in the dirt, and he charged. "Now die!"

Tomoko blocked with her kunai and sprang back, throwing a handful of shuriken. He avoided them and swung again. She dodged and swept her leg over the ground, forcing him to jump. So fast I couldn't see she threw two kunai. He deflected them, too late. Tomoko dashed away, taking cover beneath a thick root. I saw a flash of light. Two explosions tore through the clearing.

Paper bombs?

Tomoko jumped back out, kunai at the ready. The man was injured, but not dead. He glared at her. She took a stance, returning the look. I stared, saw a glint of metal, the sudden, almost imperceptible smile on the ninja's face.

"Okaa-san!" I yelled. "Behind!"

She dodged the sword just in time. It cut through her waist, the new ninja carried past her by his momentum. She kneed him in the gut and jammed her kunai into his back. He disappeared in a puff of smoke. Clone?

Tomoko twisted to dodge the first man's assault, flowing into a stance and grabbing another kunai. They traded blows, but I could see it was useless. Blood flowed from her back, waist, and a new cut on her arm; she was out of breath, exhausted, injured. She didn't stand a chance anymore. A heavy feeling grew in the pit of my stomach as I realized where this was going. I felt sick. I couldn't move; my limbs trembled, in dread, fear, horror. Tomoko was going to die.

I caught her gaze through the tangle of roots, and she gave a sweet smile, her body seeming to hover in the air. I reached out my hand. Her mouth moved, tracing words, and returned to a smile. Her eyes turned away from me, hardened with determination, and a snarl came upon her lips.

"Fire style, Great Dragon Flame Jutsu!"

A huge ball of fire coalesced around her, taking the shape of a winding dragon. I braced myself against the sudden hot wind. Tomoko grinned, her wild red hair fanning around her face like flames, the tie broken.

The dragon roared, and charged. The two ninja couldn't escape. In an instant, the fire consumed everything in the clearing. The roots around me burned, sending an acrid smell into my lungs. I covered my head with my arms, shrinking down . . . and in the next moment, it was over.

The air felt warm, the ground nearly hot enough for the heat to pass through my shoes, but I crawled out over the tangle of roots, touching down on ash.

"Okaa-san!" I called. I looked around. The two Iwagakure ninja were dead, so burned they were nearly unrecognizable. I stared, and swallowed hard. That must have been a painful way to die . . .

"Tomoe . . ." I heard Tomoko's voice, and rushed in its direction. I suddenly saw her, slumped against a tree, having been thrown back by the blast. She raised her eyes to mine. I knelt down to her. She was a mess. Burns over forty, no, fifty percent of her body . . . I gulped. In this situation, with no access to medical care, she had at most . . .

"Okaa-san? Why?" I whimpered despite myself. I was still trembling. I didn't want to be left all alone!

"I'm sorry, it was all I could think of on short notice. I was about to run out of chakra. I'm rather out of shape, you see . . ." she coughed. "I haven't fought in years."

"But . . . Okaa-san!" I whimpered. I couldn't even speak coherently anymore. Nothing was making sense.

"Tomoe, you have to get away from here. They'll come. This is war."

"Where? Where am I supposed to go?"

"Ah . . . there should be a refugee camp near here. Head south-east until you hit the forest of dead trees, you'll know it, they're white and hard, like spiders coming from the ground, and there's no green anywhere. There, you should be found by some shinobi. They'll take you to the refugee camp after confirming you aren't a threat. It should be hard, but I know you'll make it. You're my daughter, after all. The Himura clan is strong." After a moment I vigorously shook my head.

"I'm not leaving!" I slammed my palm on the ground. "I'm not!"

"You'll be fine, Tomoe. Oh, now that I think about it, today's your birthday. You're four now. How big you've grown . . . time really does fly. Here, I have something for you. I was saving it for when you were a little older, and I could explain everything to you, but since we've run out of time . . . I guess it can't be helped."

She reached back into her pocket, and took out a rectangular piece of metal. She wordlessly pressed it into my hands. I stared at it, and got confirmation for what had happened to me, when I had died that first time.

It was a steel plate with a stylized leaf carved in the middle. A headband from Konohagakure.

"Okaa-san, this is . . ." I stared blankly back and forth at her and at the metal plate.

"I'm sorry for keeping this from you. This world is much more dangerous than you know, Tomoe. There are people called ninja, hidden villages, and a war is going on now."

That's right. I wouldn't know, because she'd never told me. The village we had lived in must have been close to Kusagakure, which Iwagakure invaded during the Third Shinobi World War in order to gain a foothold to attack the Land of Fire. It suddenly made sense, why she never let me go out, and why the streets had been so deserted.

My fingers closed tightly around the metal. Her hand reached up to stroke my hair.

"Go now, Tomoe. More are coming. I know you'll be just fine. And don't ever forget who you are, okay? Can you say it? Who are you?"

"Himura . . ." I said. "Himura Tomoe."

"That's right, good girl. Now go."

I stood shakily , turned around, and ran. I didn't want to, but I had to. I couldn't do anything more. I was a small, weak little girl, and the only thing I could do was cower and run.

Comments, criticisms, praise, suggestions, reactions? I have little to no plot planned out and intend to make it up as I go along until one forms. Oh, I have bits and pieces here and there, but not much is concrete. We'll have to see how it goes!

Reviews feed starving authors' brains.

Peace out.