We're all Equal in the eyes of Death

Mission Specs:

The desert may be unforgiving, but life was much more so. It brought you ideals and illusions, sensations so intense they appeared to be real and feelings so strong they appeared to have meaning. Death, on the other hand, made only one promise, and kept it: none come out of this adventure alive. While with a small nomadic group, one of theirs keeled over and died. A small wave of panic furled among the travellers, quickly crashed, washing over the group, and returned to their ocean of stoicness. They moved around the body, wondering if they would be able to save their friend, to no avail. Hayami herself was no medic, and was helpless to help them.

With the tan cloak over her shoulders and hood covering her dark hair, she moved with the group when they went out to look for rocks. Each person brought a rock with themselves, the heavier and sturdier the better. Hayami managed to find an elliptical one, rough around the edges but heavy and appeared resilient. They made back to the camp, and once there, began digging a grave. Hayami was caught by surprise; the didn't think the nomads would dig a grave straight where they were camping. "Body dies here, soul stays here. We take body away, soul will chase it. We leave it so it can rest."

Digging in peak sun hours was no easy task; as a matter of fact, it might be as dangerous as a task can get. But for the nomads, respecting their dead was a way of ensuring they would be respected in death. "Should just burn the corpse", she though; after all, it was a much more practical solution. "I hope when I die I just fade away, ashes in the wind. She helped the men nonetheless, taking a turn in shovelling sand and dirt away from the ground in order to accommodate the traveller.

A last moment to say goodbye to their fallen friend. While the men had carried rocks and dug the grave, the women stayed behind and wrapped the body in gauze; Hayami had not been invited to do this with the rest due to the ritualistic nature behind it whose ways she was not welcome to learn. They placed the body in a makeshift bed, the person's belongings spread around him; clothes folded neatly around his legs, an old knife and beaten sword by the sides, a necklace with three rings resting upon his chest. Evey person in the circle thought of something personal to say about the man in their midst, thinking back to a moment shared. Hayami herself hadn't shared a whole lot with him, but commented on how sympathetic the man was in his interactions with her, to the nodding approval of the nomads. They lifted his body, and carefully laid it down upon the grave. One by one, they said a final goodbye, grabbed a fistful of sand from the close-by pile, and threw it upon the body. A couple of hours later and it came down to good ol' shoveling, covering the body head to toe, and marking the grave with carefully stacked rocks they had found. Hayami was told it was a great honor to have their rock used as the base or part of the base for the stack. She thanked them without knowing why she was thanking them. She studied the entire process with careful eyes, and stayed behind contemplating what had just happened. They would stay the night, for it was too late to raise camp, but on the morrow, they would move out.

In the morning, preparations were made for the road ahead, and after a brief breakfast taken in silence they began to disassemble the camp. A yelp of despair came out from the gravesite, as one of the women insisted something was wrong with the stack of rocks; however, no one else thought anything was wrong with it. Maybe the wind moved it, or some small tremor caused it to tumble. Maybe an animal came by, curious at the formation, and disturbed it with its investigation. She pointed at Hayami, accusatorily. Hayami pouted an upset and worried pout, defending her innocence. Why, she had stayed the whole night in the tent with the rest of them, they knew it wasn't her. The woman became erratic, and was pulled away to be calmed down. Hayami feigned distress, and with the most amount of fake tear she could muster (barely wet eyes, thanks to the desert's temperature), she grabbed her cloak and canteen, covered herself, and made way away from the tribe, sobbing to herself.

In her chest, she clutched a necklace with three rings dangled between her fingers, somehow still abrasive to the touch due to all the sand between links and even around the rings themselves. But hey, she might make some coins out of it, and she would probably need it more than the dead...

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WC: 830
Mission Rewards: 500 Ryo + 1AP
Claiming 2 Chakra
Claiming 830 Words towards Sharingan (1 Tomoe)