The fog was heavy this morning, quite a rarity for the village hidden in the leaves, but Daisuke didn’t mind. His blonde hair swayed slightly as a eddies and whirls of a subtle breeze drifted over the walls that surrounded the outer part of the village. The young boy stood in solitary silence, looking out into the obscured distance – the forest vaguely silhouetted itself against the greyish air and created what almost looked like a rolling sea of slightly dark haze that sat below the lighter air.
There wasn’t really a whole lot to be doing, there wasn’t a whole lot going on in general if Daisuke was being honest with himself. His time away training seemed to have caused him to miss something – things were quieter now than they had been during his time at the academy. He didn’t mind the change, but it was strange to think about. Friends weren’t something the boy tended to think that he had, if he did then the lack of shinobi his age would have made far more of an impact than it did. For Daisuke that could have been seen as a blessing, for he would not have to face such meaningful losses in the future. He could be thankful in that regard.
For a moment the wind whipped up, revealing the primary road leading to and from Konoha. Many had walked along it, Daisuke thought as he watched the low clouds of fog roll back over to obscure the view once again. Many he knew had stepped over it on their way out on adventures vast, be it by choice or by order with or without honour. Honour was a rather strange concept for a shinobi to have, in a sense it was a moral limitation that bound those too disciplined to act with their best interests in mind. Daisuke wouldn’t make those sorts of mistakes, he had only passed the Genin exam because his father had told him the sort of things that the higher-ups looked for when making their decisions. Teamwork was useful of course, but unless a team of people were of the same mind then there was always room for catastrophic mistakes to be made. Daisuke would never be able to control the actions of others in the same manner that he controlled his own movements and decisions.
A breath left his nostrils, adding to the clouds of water vapor around him. It was cold. He liked it that way, reminded him of the stories of his ancestral homeland. Somewhere he would endeavour to travel to one day. The fact that the shinobi of the hidden mist managed to integrate into other villages showed him far more than he reckoned others perceived. There were always differences in nations, always conflicts of interest between the great powers of the world. It was needless.
The Minamoto boy stood, still alone, looking out towards the wider world.
Things would change eventually.
[Topic entered]