| [May. 31st, 2009|07:22 pm] |
Natsumi raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen a mirror lately, have you?" She reached back, awkwardly left-handed, to slip the soggy belt-pouch off her right hip. "The explosive tags are probably useless, but there's some wire, and plenty of shuriken and kunai. I can set up a concealing genjutsu, too, when you get back."
Maintaining it would be another issue altogether, but they didn't have many other options. Neither of them was in any condition to fight yet. False chakra and a two mile run had warmed them up a little, but their clothes were still sodden, Asuma's side was still bleeding, and night was falling fast.
"Five minutes," she said. "Then I'm coming after you." She pressed the pouch of weapons into his free hand, hesitated a moment, and then ducked to scramble inside the shelter.
Inside, she spared a moment she really didn't have to set her hands together and offer a silent prayer to the kami who had offered them shelter. The tree-cave was smaller than it looked from the outside; a thread of chakra improved her night-vision enough to make out the long, soft shadows of branches arching over her, brushing in close. Asuma would be pleased, at least. There was barely room enough for one tall man to stretch out, and he'd be lucky to sit up without hitting his head on branches.
But it was warmer out of the wind, and the carpet of pine needles was soft and prickly underneath. Natsumi fumbled her arm-guards off, stripped her left glove away, and eased the right glove off as carefully as she could. When she tried to peel the wet fabric away from her swollen, crooked fingers, her vision greyed out again; she lost another few moments in teeth-clenching terror. If she fainted now...
It passed. She cut the rest of the glove away with a kunai, fought her way out of her muddy chestplate, and stacked everything neatly, as far out of the way as she could get it. Shivering in her thin, sleeveless shirt and clinging-wet pants, she hunted through her belt pouch for the scrolls with blankets and clean clothes sealed inside. The scrolls were as wet as everything else, but the treated, water-proof paper had held up well. Her bedroll wasn't even damp; her spare uniform was still stacked as neat and dry as the day she'd packed it.
At this point, though, dry wasn't going to help much with warm. What idiot had decided to design a uniform without sleeves? And why hadn't she had the forethought to pack anything better?
Next time, she decided, she'd have a sweater. And a kerosene stove. And maybe, while she was at it, an inflatable boat... |
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