The world was trying to deafen her. For a moment it was all noise with no meaning, slapping cold wet--water--trickling into the cuts on her neck--pain--and the smell of agony--Asuma.

Tsume writhed to get free of him, breath shuddering in her lungs as her body fought off the shock of icy liquid. Most of it had hit Asuma, covering him--and the bloody marks on his back--with salt. Shots of fiery pain twitched over her body, lodging anywhere she'd had a cut--and painting agony at her neck.

Asuma hadn't had much more than torn skin. "Breathe," she ordered, shoving at his shoulders. "Breathe! Lean back! Wolf's teeth, how much muscle does one person need, anyway?" Each of her small abrasions was a hell in itself. She couldn't imagine how much worse it had to be for Asuma.

Who had taken most of the water, anyway, sheltering her under his bulk from any attack.

At her shoving, he leaned back until he hit the metal. It wasn't much--it wasn't enough--but at least the chill of the walls ought to ease the agony away faster.

A drop rolled into one of the slices on Tsume's neck, and she hissed and slapped at it. It didn't help, but at least it distracted. Under her other hand, Asuma's muscles knotted, trembling. His ribcage heaved.

"It'll pass. It'll pass. Keep breathing," she murmured.

A draft twisted its way down from above, sliding along her flesh. She shivered and looked up. No more ninja. No more sailors. Something far more insidious: a light breeze on bare, chilled, wet skin.

She shivered again.