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Somewhere a Clock Is Ticking [Asuma, Ibiki, Kakashi, Ginta] [Dec. 9th, 2011|02:02 am]
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[User Picture]From: [info]fallen_ibiki
2011-12-08 08:32 am (UTC)

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Their contact in town turned out to be more useful than Ibiki had expected, which was helpful. Also helpful was the fact that Asuma seemed to get over his tantrum and get on with things, once there were things to do. Plied with a fresh map showing the location of a recent trail washout, a hot bowl of soup, advice about the weather (the cold rain that had started falling moments after they set foot on shore was undoubtedly a late-season snowstorm in the mountains), and the name of a medic in the Himawara Pass hamlet of Yukihana, they started the long, steep climb.

Tousaki had been headed for Yukihana; search teams had found no evidence he’d ever reached it. It made sense for Hatake and Sakamoto to go there, for the same reasons it had made sense for the real search and rescue teams to go there. As long as Sakamoto and Hatake were logical about their search, there was every reason to hope they’d come stumbling into the little village and right into Asuma and Ibiki, waiting to escort them home.

At least Asuma didn’t argue with the plan.

The trail was easy at first, but quickly deteriorated into a muddy, rocky series of switchbacks barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. There were no other travelers on the road — no doubt the icy rain and stiff wind kept wiser souls away. Ibiki kept his masked face down, and his communication with Asuma to a minimum, until they reached the destroyed section of trail they’d been warned about. Mud-filled meltwater raced across the path, carving a fresh gully between one switchback and the next.

“Shall we cut across here?” he asked, pointing to a dubiously-safe looking angle.

“That looks like a barrel of laughs,” Asuma said dryly.

“Do you see something better?” Ibiki didn’t expect a yes to that. It looked like it was a slippery chakra-walk up a forty-degree incline or fly, and as far as he knew that wasn’t a skill even the Hokage himself had, much less his prodigal son.

Asuma set his shoulders like he wanted to argue — or perhaps he was suddenly constipated — but he just shook his head. “Nope. Let’s get at it.” He eyed the path, gaze lingering on a bit of scrub that jutted out from the sodden soil. Its roots were partly exposed.

Ibiki nodded. “I see it.” He shunted chakra to his feet and started up, avoiding the hazard. The earth was as saturated as it was possible to be without liquifying: if this rain kept up, the village below was in for a mudslide.