| [Jun. 3rd, 2009|10:43 pm] |
There was something to be said for extreme long-distance running; after you hit the thirtieth hour and beyond, the whole process became beautifully trance-like. Your feet moved, your muscles burned, your lungs inhaled, and miles vanished without any thought whatsoever. Meditation in its purest form. It hurt, but in the distant, dream-echo way that real dissociation brought.
And, like real dissociation, the whole thing fell apart the moment the senses noticed something that the brain really needed to pay attention to.
Kakashi stumbled, felt rich agony bite through his legs, and caught himself. In the distance, a second burst of chakra scorched through the world, snapping him around like a hunting hound. He lifted his head and caught a glimmer of dusky orange brightening far away treetops, offsetting the gathering twilight.
A dog's howl split the air.
Ginta.
Ice water washed down his spine. He'd been wrong. Fatally wrong. They'd skipped him entirely and cut straight for the bigger target. Even if Ginta was closer to the safehouse, he wouldn't be there yet.
A second howl rose on the wind, then cut off into echoing silence.
Hoshika. Panic crushed like a fist into Kakashi's ribcage. He braced his shoulders against the tree, dug into his hip pouch, and yanked out the steel container holding his remaining soldier pills. There were twelve left--enough to keep a body running for a full week, if the average body didn't tend to burn up and collapse halfway through.
No fucking suicide missions.
Kakashi palmed two, crushed them between his teeth, and unsheathed the tanto strapped crosswise across his lower back. His katana was still back in the factory's smoking hulk, dropped by a vanishing clone, but all he needed was a blade. Any blade. Raw energy blistered through his pathways.
Mission was to get you home. Alive, for preference. That's what I'm doing.
He was keeping that promise.
Ice-steady fingers locked around the hilt. He twisted three seals, grabbed onto the glowing bonds linking him to two canine hearts, and translocated in a cyclone of leaves.
When he reappeared, metal burned white between his hands. |
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