Ginta was already crawling out of the tent. It was all he could do not to kick Pakkun on the way past. “What were you even thinking?” he snarled, shivering in the dawn air. “The one thing we don’t have is time to fuck around.”

Pakkun’s expressive brows knit and his mouth started to open.

“Don’t even— There’s nothing you can say. Save it,” Ginta snapped. He lurched out to the firepit, stumbling and cursing with every aching step, and started scooping cooled stones and ash into a pile. An earth jutsu took care of burying the debris, and a quick and careful sweep of wind leveled the muddy earth. He picked up a handful of pebbles and scattered them over the freshly cleared area, leaving behind no evidence that a camp fire had ever existed.

The rain had passed, leaving a hoary bloom of frost clinging to every dried blade of grass. Ice glazed the puddles that had gathered in low spots. Ginta shivered and drew his cloak tighter around himself. He gulped a hasty mouthful of water from his canteen before he slapped his ANBU mask on his face and turned to find Kakashi had stowed the tent and was shooting venomous looks in his direction.

“Your leg,” Kakashi said grimly.

“Chakra.” Ginta tipped his mask up and dry-chewed a soldier pill, shuddering at the taste and already sending his energy spiraling into his sore leg. The black powder burst of chemically-enhanced energy chased after it, burning like acid where it hit abused flesh. Ginta danced from one foot to the other, trying to force limberness and warmth.

While Kakashi continued to glare doubt, Ginta gave their campsite a sharp look. They’d left no visible trace. Had Ryouma done the same? Had he ever even camped here at all?

“Is there any chance of a scent to pick up, or did the rain destroy it?” he asked, and knew as the words left his mouth it was a stupid question. Three weeks of rain and snow, frost and sun, had stripped any scent of Ryouma that might have once been here more cleanly than a mudslide denuding a forest hill.

Kakashi inhaled deeply, spreading his arms wide in what was almost a tai-chi pose, then straightened and shook his head. “It’s gone.” His voice was rough.

For a wild moment, Ginta had hope. “You caught his scent here last night?”

Kakashi turned a blank, bleak face towards Ginta. “No.”

Hope died.

Ginta couldn’t meet Kakashi’s eyes.

Kakashi turned away, too, unfurling a scroll. In moments a huge bull mastiff stood next to his master, dwarfing Pakkun and making even Kakashi and Ginta seem small.

“Ride. You’re not walking, let alone running,” Kakashi said, still sounding one tightly-controlled step away from something terrifying.

“Fine.” Ginta didn’t argue. There was no point to it and... At least Kakashi wasn’t proposing leaving him behind. “Baiji, right?” he asked. The mastiff’s head lifted, alert with recognition. Ginta limped over, pressed his palms into coarse fur, and vaulted onto the dog’s back. “We should keep heading northeast.”