Harvest thine spirit, Rolling rice fields

Inhaling the intermingled scents of fresh sweat, turned soil, and standing water, Yasahiro looked out at the unending terraces of rice waiting to be harvested. Cut into the earth like steps for giants and woven together with inhuman precision, each terrace grew enough rice to feed thousands upon thousands of people both within the borders of Tanbogakure and well beyond. Even now, in such uncertain times, the people of Rice Country took pride in serving as the rice bowl of the world for so many, and it showed with so many farmers, merchants, and shinobi alike having worked atop the terraces since well before dawn—they were on the clock with winter fast approaching.  

Sharing his people's same urgency, the Komekage's day—as it so often did—started long before sunrise with the ringing of a wayward alarm clock that somehow found its way to the ground before being silenced.  Unlike every other day, however, neither a gauntlet of meetings nor the latest crisis awaited the former exile. Instead of donning his typically shadowy attire, the man outfitted himself in what amounted to a mess of earth tone rags, the garb of a farmer. In Tanbogakure no one was above manual labor when it came to harvest time, even the Komekage or, perhaps, especially the Komekage.

All that mattered was the harvest.

Four hours had long since passed since the alarm clock mishap, and judging by the progress in each terrace, many more hours still remained. The former exile couldn't waste any more time smelling the proverbial roses, or dirt as the case may be; there was work to be done. Weaving his way along one of the many footpaths that connected the terraces, he returned to the plot he'd offered to help Granny Kei harvest. The elderly woman didn't quite have the youthful back to be stooping over all day with scythe in hand and sun overhead. It was the least he could do for the village's oldest kunoichi while she stood, or rather sat, guard at the village gates

Retrieving his scythe from the edge of the terrace and pulling his black shock of hair back from his face, the samurai cast a glance to the level below. Five people, some of the local construction workers judging by their physiques, stood in a uniform row swinging their scythes in a muted silence save for the odd swear that would slip out of their mouths when their asynchronous swings came too close to a leg or arm for comfort. There was a certain beauty in the coordination required to be working in such close quarters that one couldn't help but appreciate.

The clumsy showing of the construction workers, however, fell from the fore, as a lone figure wandering down the valley's main arterial road came into focus. Had Zukumiki—the warlord to the south—sent a scout? Perhaps just a straggling farmer behind on the day? Or maybe something else entirely? Squinting, the samurai couldn't be sure, but he couldn't take the risk that Zukumiki would take the initiative during the village's most vulnerable time with its forces up to their knees in water and hard at work.

"Hello, stranger!" the Komekage called out to the stranger as they approached the five moonlighting construction workers. "Why don't you join me up here? They have that plot well in hand."

If the sweatband-wearing, barefoot man made his way up to the samurai's terrace, he would be greeted with a half nod over to a few spare tools resting on the median between the two terraces about five meters from where Yasahiro stood. A scythe, a basket, and a couple of aged hoes; all were weapons in the right hands—the Komekage never once turned his back to the newcomer.

"Grab a set of tools and join me. I'll show you the ropes," the bearded man's next words took on a veiled edge. "I don't think I've seen you around these parts before. What brings you out all this way?"

As he spoke, the Yagami scion shifted his weight in an effortless way that seemed almost normal, a matter of course in any conversation. Keen eyes, however, would surely catch the unconscious widening of his stance and whitening of his knuckles on the scythe's wooden handle. The stance acted as both a warning and an invitation with a clear message: make a wrong move or say the wrong thing and the next crop will be sown with blood.

Somewhere in the distance, a songbird sang a cheerful tune.

Garuda hadn't finished speaking to the male he'd posed his question to before another voice had chimed in. It came from behind him, the same direction that would put the voice directly in line of the sun and an high ground position as well that more so bothered him. What was even more intriguing was that the males he had spoken to still hadn't even turned around from their tasks. In fact they were now pushing into him as they stepped backwards in tandem with each other pushing him to the side effortlessly forcing him to move to the edge of the field, almost tripping and putting him on his rear. Turning to face the voice only at the waist he placed his right hand slightly above his brow letting it rest palm down over his eyes to block the sun. Garuda waved with his left in a violent motion back and forth over his head in the mans direction.

Good morning, Sir!


He bellowed back to the stranger, from his current view he still couldn't make out the exact dimensions or height of the person interacting with him. The sun did a very good job of hiding him and only providing a silhouette of what could be seen as tattered hair bounded and a decent physique. They were also offering Garuda a chance to help him with his portion of the work somewhere else. Perhaps it was to get him out of the hair of the others working so he was no longer blocking their progress or maybe because he wasn't known here they simply wanted to see who he was under the guise of getting him to perform labor as well.


Who, me?..Yea, I'd love to..as they say "The devil makes work for idle hands" ha..ha


His laugh was awkward and forced to a certain extent, turning his body fully to begin the ascent back up and out of the slight pit he was now in. Still waving at the man he took one step forward unfortunately not finding his footing and the soft land beneath him giving way to his weight forcing him to slip slightly back into the water almost completely backwards. Luckily he was able to force his weight forward allowing him to grip the earth with his hands and pull himself out even though he had to crawl on all fours to his dismay. Once Garuda finished summiting the hill he was able to bring himself to stand upright, affording himself some time to brush the front portion of his clothing off that had made contact with the ground but also giving him time to change his facial expression from embarrassment from having to climb out as he did to that of a more friendly tone.


Hey buddy, how are you, I appreciate the offer...I'd love to help if you'd have me! I might not look it but I'm plenty strong with a good back


Garuda began walking towards him and could make out his appearance much more as got closer. Bland, the man was utterly bland, his appearance screamed drab which was a stark contrast from his hair that told a story of a different life. Tilting his head to the side and downwards from the sun Garuda would look towards the tools that had been pointed out to him and move to gather them. Looking at all the tools he could feel the eyes of the other on him even as he lurched over to pick them up. Throwing the bag over his shoulders and carrying everything else in both his hands he'd turn around to face his new acquaintance. He looked very awkward now with all the farm tools jumbled in his arms.


...Ah, hey...you're going to have to guide me to the area...I sorta can't see all that well


It was a half truth, he could see but it was annoying to use his own sense of sight during the daytime when he could rely on someone else. Especially with how the vibe and feel of the male changed as he asked where Garuda was from. His stature dropped ever so slightly to change what looked like a normal man to that of someone who knew exactly what they were doing with each step they took. Garuda's blood boiled for just a moment as the Kaguya in him riled with the chance to try someone who seemed to know what they were doing in a fight. He had almost dropped the tools and shifted into a lung. He came back to his sense and realized he still didn't know where he was or what the topography of this place was. He played his entire motion off as if he had almost slipped and dropped things as he fumbled with his hands to gather all the tools again in a few sweeps with his hands.


Honestly? I'm lost, I stepped out of those tree's over there past this hill into the distance. Just trying to figure out where I am and....Those birds chirping are amazing! Show me your ways Senpai...

Yasahiro's eyes narrowed at the show unfolding before him. The supposedly blind man seemed harmless enough, if a bit of a clutz. However, many things seemed harmless enough in the shinobi world only for them to be quite the opposite. Charlatans, imposters, and veritable wolves in sheep's clothing abounded from the Hobuku Ocean to the wilds of Wind Country. When even the smallest child could be a trained killer it didn't pay to drop one's guard so easily lest it be the last mistake one made. In the end, a little bit of paranoia went a long way—far better to come off as prickly misanthrope than end up a dead fool with a dagger in the gut.

"Just follow my voice, and you should be fine," the samurai's stance softened along with his tone. "You're not the first less-than-sighted man to work these paddies, let alone the only one out here today."

He jabbed the thumb of his free hand over his shoulder.

"Jiro Okuboshi and a couple of other old-timers work a few terraces up," he continued. "I'm not sure they've been able to move about without a cane since before either of us were born, and they do just fine. The work is all about rhythm and less about clarity of vision anyway."

If the stranger did as instructed and followed the samurai's voice he would soon find himself against a green wall of harvest-ready rice. Each plant reached up to about both men's chests and swayed gently in the morning wind. Every once in a while the chirp of some unknown bug sounded from the mass of green only to be echoed by hundreds of bugs across the valley in an age-old game of call and response. And the smell; the smell of sweat fell away under the overpowering scent of what could only be described as earth—if one wasn't careful they might very well lose themselves in the intoxicating beauty of nature that dominated the terrace-laden valley.  

"Mmm, perhaps you may have guessed this, but you've wandered your way into the heart of Rice Country," the white faded from the man's knuckles as he loosened the grip on the scythe. "And, please, call me Yasahiro. What can I call you?"

He took a breath, nodding once at whatever name the impaired man provided.

"Now, let's get started. You'll only need your scythe, feel free to leave the rest of that stuff behind us for now," the samurai waved vaguely over his shoulder as he turned to face the remaining swath of greenery. "All you need to do is find the point where the plant goes from green to brownish near the base: this is where we'll want to cut while holding the top of the plant itself."

Taking a reckless leap of faith, Yasahiro bent his knees slightly and turned his attention away from the stranger for the first time since meeting him. Grasping the plant before him midway down the stem with his free hand, he swept the scythe through the plant in one clean stroke. The top of the plant pulled away from its severed base with ease, leaving behind a stumpy mess of organic matter. Tossing the bundled plant behind him, the Komekage returned his attention to his newest companion and hopefully not to the flash of a dagger.

"See? Nothing to it really," he straightened himself up to his full height. "We'll need to harvest the rest of this field before we can start the threshing process, but this is a good place to start. Give it a shot yourself, the first couple strikes are always a bit rough, but you should pick it up pretty quickly."

The former exile waved his free hand at the plant closest to the stranger before bending over once more and getting to work. From time to time he would glance over at the man by his side and if need be, provide pointers on technique. Otherwise, he—as he oft preferred—worked in silence only stopping every once in a while to wipe the sweat from his brow and check their progress. Yes, paranoia typically paid in the life of a shinobi, but living scared wasn't much of a life so perhaps it all balanced out one way or the other—was a long life better than a life well-lived?

Follow the sound of your voice ay? That shouldn't be too hard for me to do buddy!


Garuda's steps picked up in accordance with the male he had just met, keeping slightly behind him attempting to match his footstep pattern. They didn't go far from their original location in order to reach the fields that he'd be working in. As the stranger had said there wasn't anyone working in this area so it'd be the perfect training grounds for him to attempt the trade without any eyes judging him for his form or lack thereof.


Ah old timers ya say? I really haven't actually been around too many of them. he shook his head back and forth in a matter of fact way before continuing to speak. We should talk to them as well if you have the time after we're done here. I'd love to pick the brains of those who have been around the sun more times than I


As he looked into the field Garuda saw multiple stalks sticking out of the earth breezing in the wind as they swayed back and forth. Everything around them was new to him and almost overwhelming to the senses as he attempted to take each one into every one of them. From the sound of the seasonal bugs humming their tunes as they buzzed around, to the smell of a slight sweet aroma mixing with the earthy tones of the mixture in the murk they were about to step foot in. It all was exhilarating to be apart of the process that would eventually make food for not only this village but more than likely quite a few more towns and villages across the world they inhabited and it all started with this. While Garuda mused on this the man the man continued to explain where they were in relation to the world and who he was to make their interaction easier instead of calling each other buddy and stranger.


Yasahiro-kuuuun! Garuda let the word roll off his tongue in elongated fashion I love the name ya got, it says "I got power" haha, Rice country is it? They really didn't get creative with these names did they....it's a little to on the nose if ya ask me....maybe you could call it "meadows...no...ILLUMINATION country..yea I like that one, even has nation already built into the word ya know.


Garuda nodded his head satisfied with his ability to come up with names for anything in such a short amount of time. You could say it was one of his better qualities he was blessed with and he'd make sure to use it well every chance he got.


You can call me Ga-ru-da- nii-chan he mouthed each syllable as if you were talking to a lover, his mouth forming each vocalization slowly and eccentrically so that nothing would be missed it's a simple word, no? 


Yasahiro-kun nodded his head once he heard Garuda's name which to him showed that it was indeed time for work to be done and enough antics had been shown. Once he mentioned all he needed was the scythe everything else fell down to the ground in a clanging noise as Garuda did exactly that hanging on to every word the farmer was saying. Each step was being memorized and the movements he took were being performed in a mimicking manner as he was being told what to do. It seemed easy enough but Yasahiro had also more than likely been doing this for quite some time so of course he'd be a lot more fluid and refined in all the motions. Garuda nodded his head in agreement while Yasahiro explained that it wasn't so hard and to give it a try.


Right, boss!


Garuda jumped into the thick of it with scythe held high in the air like a wild caveman attempting to ambush a wild animal for dinner. Feeling in front of him with his free hand attempting to find a free stem to grab, he played up his blindness a little more as he flailed his hands in front of him just slightly before it ran into a stalk and he grasped it firmly. Raising his hand once more, more than likely a lot further back than needed he swung the scythe with ferocity and little to no aim, which showed as he cut the stalk a little bit higher than Yasahiro had. Holding it up sheepishly with a creepily wide grin on his face showing all teeth


Again! he shouted with childish glee


Reaching for the next stalk the chop was much more calculated, and the next was faster, with the next one being calculated and fast. Garuda let out a sinister laugh as he continued to move forward cutting with precision getting closer to the perfect execution Yasahiro had shown.


YAHOO, RICE CUTTING he shouted


Water was splashing behind him and kicking up into the air as his speed increased, it hit him in the face and splashed over his golden clothing turning it a dark brown color. There was much to be learned from this, each move and swipe was that of a trained swordsman aiming for cutting the nape or weakest part of a human. All things he had been trained to do in his early days from the clan elders and his own father, it was bringing back memories and it honed his strikes. As he continued to move his concentration focused in more on everything that was happening yet somehow he picked up a slight scream coming from the direction of west. At first he didn't pay attention to it as maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. The scream echoed again and this time there were more people yelling something he couldn't make out but there were definitely noises that sounded like crashing and maybe horses neighing and running in the direction of the commotion. His senses tuned more to the commotion and his body tensed as the fighter in him took over, the scythe still in his hand raised above his head in stasis as not one part of his body moved.


Yasahiro, do you hear that..?


His voice and tone had a slight tang of concern in it as he tilted his head in the direction of the man he was with. Maybe this was something normal in their village and he was over reacting but he wanted to make sure he wasn't getting worked up for no reason.


WC=2786

After every other row or so, Yasahiro spared his new companion, Garuda, a glance. At first, this pattern arose out of caution, the omnipresent threat of an unseen dagger did wonders for one's awareness. However, soon his caution ebbed and gave way to veiled admiration for the progress the self-professed blind man made in such a short time. Where once his blows came across as clumsy and unpracticed by the time the pair made it through ten rows their respective forms became indistinguishable from one another. Even an old-timer, like Jiro, would be hard-pressed to say that the two men had not grown up in the paddies like so many others in Tanbogakure.

Somewhere between the twentieth and thirtieth row—Yasahiro had long since lost count—the peaceful pace the pair set shattered into mayhem. The wind shifted sending a wave of swaying rice before it and leaving the clip of hooves, the neighing of horses, and shrill screams behind it. The telltale sounds of a struggle, if not a battle, were rare this deep in Rice Country. Such conflict typically found a home closer to the borders, where Zukumiki's men had long since set up camp. Perhaps someone had simply allowed a horse to get loose? It wouldn't be the first time.

"Yeah, I heard it," Yasahiro paused mid-strike and cocked his head in the direction of the commotion. "It could be anything—"

The words died in the Komekage's throat as a concussive blast rocked the landscape. In the distance, the thin spools of smoke that once rose from the distant farmsteads took on a darker more sinister appearance as they expanded into dark billows. In the aftermath of the sudden interruption, silence reigned as all work in the valley came to a stop and everyone's gaze sat fixed on the horizon. A few screams and a loose horse might raise a few eyebrows, but an explosion this close to the village could only mean one thing: an attack.

"You five," the samurai's voice cut through the stunned silence. "Get people back to the village; I'll go see what might have happened."

The five construction workers in the terrace below shook off whatever shock might have frozen them to the spot and dashed off in different directions. While Yasahiro did not yet know everyone in his village by name, his figure had become recognizable by most. Even out in the rice paddies, the group of five knew enough not to disobey someone who they had come to learn rarely enjoyed repeating himself.  

"Garuda," white knuckles reappeared around the former exile's scythe. "Stay here, tag along, or follow those five; it doesn't matter, just don't get in my way."

Without another word, the Komekage took off across the valley, using each terrace as the step it was meant to be. Few in Tanbogakure could keep pace with him at his full speed, and Garuda would likely be no different. That said, following the black-haired man's path would be trivial as it cut a beeline through the fields towards the growing plume of black smoke—nothing would stop him from coming to the aid of his villagers regardless of the danger that awaited him.

I owe them that much.

In about a minute Yasahiro arrived on the scene to what could only be described as a disaster. One of the smaller granaries—the clear target of the previous explosion—smoldered under a dying fire and filled the air with the acrid smell of burning rice. A group of six individuals, each sporting the insignia of  Zukumiki on their person, stood over a pile of three lifeless forms. If there were any other details worth noting, they all fell from the fore with the sight of dead farmers. Though, before stepping forward, he cast a glance over his shoulder to see if Garuda had come along.

"You there," no emotion remained in the man's voice as he walked towards the murderers. "Step away from those people."

No matter the outcome, Yasahiro had already failed.

Listening to Yasahiro-kun while also taking in the mans body language Garuda could tell that indeed this situation was exactly what he had felt it to be. It didn't seem like this village had enemies or would come under attack from any outside force, however human greed and the need for senseless destruction seemed to know no end. He had seen it countless times in his own clan, the needless in-fights and politics that always led to some type of subterfuge or direct attack. Elders in the Kaguya clan never really lasted long, at least in his sect, assassination or trial by direct combat were always used to force new regimes into play. Sometimes these were done just for the pure pleasure of the clan or when someone was bored, it was tactless and to Garuda didn't lend itself to the true thrill of combat that he wanted to explore.

After the explosion could be heard over in the distance the rumblings from the aftermath rolled through the earth through vibrations felt. Whatever was going on seemed to be picking up in severity and Garuda couldn't help but get excited at the opprotunity to test his strength against a new type of enemy. The short instructions that were given to the others around them fell on deaf ears to Garuda himself, all he could think about was how he would remove the threat in glorious fashion that led to a beautiful end to those around him. As Yasahiro spoke to him directly it pulled all of his senses back to the real world as he focused in on the words that were being said. Just as he had been given the go ahead to either follow or stay behind the what seemed to be ordinary man almost dissapeared from view cutting through the fields and out into the opposite portions of the village.

Sickle still in hand, it didn't take long for him to react as well taking a low stance pushing off his dominant leg to increase his initial stride in following the man into the fray. He wouldn't let his brother, Yasahiro-kun perish or fight on his own, they had been through wars together and shared meals with one another. Each of them had promised to marry the others sister so they could always be in each others families and truly be "brothers". A single tear slid down Garuda's smiling face as he remembered all their good times and hastned his foot steps even more as he hopped over hills and dashed through the fields of rice.

Where Yasahiro had paused once he made it over the fields and witnessed the burning reserves of rice and other neccesities Garuda took it all in while still pushing forward counting the indivuals that belonged and didn't in his view. Time slowed as he noted three bodies played out across the ground, dead, they had been cut down or died from the explosion, he could tell. Yasahiro-kun had stopped to speak to the men telling them to step aside, however Garuda had already thrown his sickle at a dizzying speed towards one of the bandits while mid sprint. It landed directly in the side of one of the six bandits head, splitting his ear from entry and puncturing the skull as it lay stuck in the now dead males head.

Waaah! YES!! It hit! Three for me and three for you, hurry up brother! He had yelled this while passing Yasahiro and watching the body thump to the ground as blood leaked from the wound. NOW IT'S A PARTY, LET'S DIE GLORIOUSLY


Garuda's fighting style was very unnatural and left little to defense as it focused on always moving forward towards a target. He hadn't learned to stop and analyze targets, it was always learn while you fought and that's exactly what he did. As he approached the other bandits his body still lowered in its advance one of the bandits had pulled a sword, drawing it quickly sliding it across Garuda's chest digging into his flesh in an upwards slash across the right shoulder. His flesh gave way to the blow till it hit bone, making a slight clanging sound as Garuda had hardened his bones to protect himself from the blow.


He however in the thrill of this had almost forgotten no one should know of his hidden ability. The wound bled but it was superficial as only the skin had parted, hopefully once this was all over no one would be any wiser and they wouldn't ask questions. After side stepping the upwards slash using the momentum of the slash to roll off the sword and bring him upright he reached for the mans sword arm grabbing at the wrist pressing downwards against the bone snapping it while moving his body into that of the bandits positioning himself in front and propelling the bandits body over his hip into the ground in front of him performing a quick yet effective hip throw. As the mans body hit the earth Garuda's free hand, open palmed slammed into the mans chest where the heart would be secretly shooting a small bone through his palm into the mans heart, killing him instantly. Standing back up he began the charge towards his last opponent.


Are you ready, I promise to make it fun and quick!

"Oh yeah? Make us—"

The muted whizz of metal through air silenced the bandit's retort as Garuda's scythe found a new bone-bound sheath in the side of the man's head.  For a few heartbeats after, as the man seemingly fell to the ground in slow motion, a certain peace prevailed. Each heartbeat thumped in the samurai's ears, his fist tightened around his weapon, and the intoxicating rush of adrenaline flooded his veins; training provided no substitute for this feeling, the tension before unthinkable violence.

Brother?

Reality came back in an instant as Garuda passed by the Komekage screaming something about dying gloriously and some supposed kinship. The man certainly had his quirks, though as an enemy of an enemy—in this case, the thugs of Zukumiki—he could be trusted for now. That said, one question mark remained: Garuda's sight. After all, a blind man does not simply sling a scythe so accurately into another man's head without some ability or, perhaps more plausibly, without ever being blind in the first place. This, however, would be a mystery for another day, as far more important matter than the truthfulness of a stranger remained.

The largest of the three men allotted to the samurai wasted no time rushing towards him. Sword held high and rage in his eyes, the man let out a bellow as he brought his sword down on what should have been the Komekage's shoulder. Instead, it bit through the air and cluttered to the ground alongside its wielder who let out a gurgling sigh—his last breath as a thin stripe of red appeared about his throat. The final image burned into his very soul would be a blood-splattered Yasahiro stepping over his cooling corpse, and soon even that image faded into darkness.

The next thug made the same mistake by misjudging their opponent's speed. He lost a hand, a long gash appeared across his nose, and finally, a surgical strike to the midsection revealed his last meal to the world. Soon he too keeled over onto the ground beside his erstwhile companion and joined him in the unending void. Zukumiki had clearly not sent the most adept fighters into the field today or, perhaps, the sudden death of one of their comrades threw them for a loop. In the end, it didn't matter one way or the other; their fates would be the same regardless.

Yasahiro's third quarry hung back, watching his comrades fall in short order. Where they rushed in he fell back and wove a few hand seals causing the earth to roil and rise around him. Breaking out into thin earthen strands, a makeshift earthen armor wove itself around the man creating a hulking golem-like form. Little remained to hint at the creation's humanity save for the fiery eyes of the bandit which burned from a slit in the earthen creation's head—an oversight that would be the man's undoing.

The clash of the scythe and earthen body suit sent sparks flying and tremors down Yasahiro's arm—direct attacks proved less than useful. A few more fruitless attacks confirmed this and put the Komekage on the defensive after a wild haymaker from the behemoth and then another and another. The third one, however, lodged itself in the ground allowing the samurai to take back the initiative and slide the blade of the scythe through the small slit in the helmet. The scream that followed echoed through the armor's hollow shell and chilled even Yasahiro to the bone—humans were not meant to make such a noise.

Withdrawing a blood-soaked blade, the former exile flicked it back sending an arc of blood through the air and onto the ground. The stone golem, for its part, collapsed as its creator writhed in pain in its corpse. Before he could rise from the wreckage, the final bandit found a boot on his throat as he came to terms with the aliment Garuda claimed to suffer from, blindness. Little now remained for the blood-flecked Komekage to do save for glance over at his companion to see how his fights ended.

Adrenaline had come and gone as Garuda strode towards the last of the bandits he tasked himself with. Yasahiro-kun had already dispatched two of his marks as well and from what he could tell he did so with swift, thorough movements. The man was something of a genius when it came to weapons. They had trained together in the pits before wars on countless occasions, each sharpening their techniques against each other. Garuda could never show his comrade in arms his true nature and techniques because he didn't think that his long time friend would understand his ability and he'd be shunned for the blood lust his clan was known for. Oh what a tragic friendship it was that they had, a friend who wanted to be completely open with someone that was like a brother to him yet a dork secret would always loom overhead of them like a dark cloud holding a devastating flood of rain.

And...then...there...was...one...Garuda spoke slowly and endearingly to the last bandit pausing on each word while waving his finger around as his are was out stretched pointing towards he male. How do you want this to go friend, want to repent, want to be friends, want to tell me why you've come here....OOOOO...his voice got louder for a brief moment as a thought crossed his mind as he was now mere inches away from the bandit who was now frozen in fear back against a mound of dirt. With a smile on his face he began speaking almost childishly with pouted lips. Just tell me what's going on, I promise I won't get upset, and I'll protect ya from me old Yasahiro-kun over there, he never lets me have any new friends...Garuda spoke this way while poking both of his fingers together looking down at the ground while kicking a small Little Rock to the side in a sign of throwing a fit slightly.


The bandit was clearly thrown off by how the murderer of his two compatriots was now acting and no words came from his mouth. His body just stood there, pressed against the wall of earth as if he was attempting to meld with it and hopefully disappear from the situation he had put himself in. Clearly distraught with how the bandit was not responding to him Garuda let out a sigh of disappointment while he tapped his foot impatiently while looking up. Unfortunately his eyes caught a few rays of the sun and the slight burn it sent through his eyes caused them to water as if on command as tears began to flow and he pointed to them as he once again interacted with the perturbed figure in front of him.


Wah, see, you're hurting my feelings! Look ya done made a blind man cry cause ya won't answer my question and be friends!.. Garuda wiped the tears from his eyes in his sleeve while whimpering and sniffing back in his now runny nose. YASAHIRO-KUN, HE'S TO SCARED TO DO ANYTHING ELSE, YA TAKE SLAVES?! He bellowed back to his brother while still keeping the bandit in front of him waiting for Yasahiro to either respond or move closer to them.


Now Garuda had to come up with a reason as to how he was cut but nothing from his clavicle and downwards was bisected or fractured, just a simple superficial bleed was occurring from the sword strike from before. Hopefully his partner hadn't even heard it or seen it while he was engaged with his own battle and the blind man could play it off as a simple flesh wound from....a stick, yea that would be believable. If Yasahiro would move closer Garuda would hold his hand outstretched towards him waiting for a returned high five as he smiled brightly but intentionally looking in the opposite direction of where Yasahiro-kun would be to continue on the play of being fully unable to use his eyes.

Blood and body parts littered the field in a scene fit for a butcher shop rather than the farmland it was. The dead curled inwards on themselves as rigor mortis set in, making for a grim display of life after death as their extremities moved with an eerie smoothness unattainable in life. Replacing the din of battle were the flies; a veritable black cloud of the insects already clustered around the dead as if they had waited for the right moment to emerge. And among it all stood the two bloodied victors, Yasahiro and Garuda each with their own terrified prisoner.

"Garuda," he spoke, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "We won, there's no need to traumatize the poor man."

The Zukumiki henchmen under the Komekage's boot struggled and gurgled something adjacent to words as blood continued to pour from what remained of his eyes. Another application of pressure to the man's throat, however, discouraged any further ideas of escape. The instinct to cling to life seemed far stronger than his loyalty to whatever cause he once fought for.

"However," his foot pressed down and through the bandit's throat with a sucking sound. "We only need one prisoner."

Blood pooled around the final bandit's corpse staining the ground and leaving behind a sticky crimson veneer. And for the briefest of moments, Yasahiro found himself back in the Land of Iron standing over the body of his brother. The same caustic smell of iron filled his nostrils, adrenaline pumped through his veins, and the distant screams of his mother echoed in his ears. A heartbeat later, however, the rice paddies came back into focus, and his stomach turned over on itself in disgust. Disgust not with the acts of the bandits but at what he did to them for their actions.

"You're hurt," emotion returned to his voice. "Tie that man up, and I can help get you patched up."

Moving on autopilot, the samurai approached his fellow victor. Blood still spattered Yasahiro's face and body, but wiping it away now would be an impossible task. Instead, if Garuda allowed him to, the man would help bind his wounds with bits and pieces of what unmarred cloth remained on the battlefield. Perhaps a less distracted Yasahiro would have commented on how shallow the wound appeared and maybe pressed the stranger about his scythe throwing antics. However, even now, so close to another human he felt himself a thousand miles away back in the same state he left the Land of Iron in, lost and confused.