There was probably an insult in there somewhere.

Kakashi flicked a tired glance over the snow-drenched landscape. There were no place markers: just ice and fang-shaped rocks and a wide, white sky. Four points on a compass and two half-dead ninja stuck in the middle.

“Hate to break it to you,” he grated. “But you’re about three-hundred miles too late.”

“Bullshit,” Ginta snapped, eyes sparking bright blue. “Whatever mistakes I’m making, they’re goddamned new ones. Same goes for you.”

He sounded defiant, but Kakashi could smell fear blooming, like acid and regret. Like being caught out stone-cold alone with a teammate on the edge, two dogs not built for snow, and no sign of a trail.

(three weeks)

And here was Kakashi, running yet another rescue mission. Except this time he was doing it without orders, a roadmap, or any idea what he was going to do with Ryouma if he ever got the chance to drag the man home.

If he was making new mistakes, they were damn similar to his old ones.

He hauled himself off his knees, feeling the red burn of stiffening muscles, and staggered into his best approximation of upright. Soldier-pill energy was like a hot punch of chemicals directly to the brain; he could feel his heart rate picking up, his thoughts coming clearer. It wasn’t a second wind, but it might be a ninth one.

He pulled both masks back into place.

“Time to get back on the dog.” Ginta was still on his knees; Kakashi held out a hand to him. “How far to this temple?”