Drawing to the edge of the field of rubble which the memories they'd inherited from Sennin Toraono labeled the Kazekage's tower, the Nameless kept watch on all sides as the Assassin strode forward, her Sharingan alive as she attempted to pick out some indicator of an alternative or temporary center for the village's administrative tasks and governance. Repeatedly, from both the memories inherited via the Sennin and the observations and visitations they'd made themself, the Nameless noticed one thing above all others about Sunagakure. The village had been wounded. More than once they suspected. And it was not healing well. They looked over the mounded rubble clotted to the side of the ground like so many scabs or so much scar-tissue annealed over a badly-healed wound. It was not a functional space. At best it served to incite those around to dwell upon what had happened, and such past-obsessed meditations were only ever useful to a point. They could not help but feel that this ground should long since have been cleared. They were certainly tempted to do so, but they suspected this was one of that class of symbolic wasteful activities which served a memorial purpose or served in maintaining whatever ideas or principles people assigned it. Still, it seemed likely she would not find the village's leader in the midst of what was still little better than a ruin. Fighting back the temptation to have the Monster lift the entire mess up through the cavern's ceiling and into open air, they began to widen their search, hoping they could reach the village's leadership before it grew too late.
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