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The sun disappeared behind the razor-sharp line that the Iwa mountain range cuts through the sky. Above the jagged edges of the peaks, a soft gradient of purples and dark blues is the only reminder of the light that once was. Far above the remaining colours, the stars are beginning to appear, the Guiding Star already bright enough to serve its purpose. On the ground, with a concerted glance, Shikamaru and Sakura stop running.
They’re entering the third month of a mission with no clear ending date, a gruelling trial of stamina and patience that, if a success, would bring a stability to Rinkangakure no Sato that the new village desperately needs. Only three years old, born of a growing resentment at the increasingly immoral, increasingly desperate attempts of Konoha’s government to maintain its domination over Hi no Kuni, Rinkan has struggled to sustain itself.
With the resources and allies this mission would bring back, Shikamaru and Sakura’s new home would finally stand a chance at survival, and become a viable choice for more people to join than those disillusioned enough with Konoha to find Rinkan’s uncertain future a better option.
With the night sky for only companion, they set up camp in silence. Scrolls are unrolled, tools and equipment unsealed with a drop of blood, and soon a fire is roaring under the protection of the shallow cave they’ve found refuge in. Rain is unlikely tonight, but they’ve had strong enough winds for a week now that sleeping in the sparse woods below is becoming a frankly unappealing option.
Shikamaru sets up a simple tripod made of branches that he soaks in water with a quick Suiton jutsu before spreading it over the fire. Hanging from it is the metal tin that will warm up the miso soup. Sakura is wrapping potatoes in a mix of ashes and water before dropping them on the coal bed to cook.
It’s a well-oiled machine that they set in motion every night, quicker and quicker each time. It leaves them with increasingly more time to enjoy each other’s company and the beautiful landscapes they’ve found along their travels.
The summer night is warm and comfortable, the noises from the woods below a comforting familiarity that reminds them of the happier moments of their life in Hi no Kuni, where a forest was as much a home as your Konoha house.
Just as they sit down side by side near the fire, the entrance of their elevated cave giving them a clear view of the sky above the woods, the first shooting star dashes through the sky in its rush to the heavens. Twin grins spread over their weary faces, illuminating the grime and blood they haven’t found time to wash off yet with a child-like joy.
“How’s your knee doing?”
Sakura’s voice is quiet, her words breathed more than spoken and they blend into the night like they’re meant to be there.
“Pulsing a bit. I don’t think it swelled that much.”
“Can I?”
“Of course.”
With careful movements, he takes off his pants, folding them neatly at his side. In the light of the fire, the bruises look pure black, and the swelling is bad enough that Shikamaru makes a face. He doesn’t have to look up to know Sakura is unimpressed.
She doesn’t say anything, though, and lays a hand coated in green on the injury. Shikamaru doesn’t even try to hide his sigh of relief. The swelling goes down considerably, the bruise going from black to brown-ish and even lighter. In the morning light, it would probably be the light green-yellow of an almost fully healed haematoma.
“Thank you, Aizō.”
Sakura doesn’t answer, simply lays a gentle kiss on his knee before straightening up. The miso soup is simmering beautifully in its tin, the potatoes have a nice, thick crackling coat of ash around them, and the shooting stars have multiplied.
It is time.
“Pass me the scroll?” she asks, the teasing and joy gone from her face and tone.
Shikamaru nods wordlessly and throws it her way, turning around as she catches it. In his own backpack, he takes out another scroll and quickly unseals its content. He finishes taking off his clothes and grabs one of the folded yukata now in front of him. Putting it on is a matter of seconds before he can slip into a pair of geta and join Sakura on her side of the fire. He hands her her own yukata, forest green for her and dark blue for him with matching obi.
Both dressed, they kneel in front of the content of the scroll Sakura asked for, Shikamaru barely wincing when his knee sends a jolt of pain at being mistreated this way.
Sorting through the pile of stuff, his breathing turns conscious, measure. Sakura has began assembling stones found on the ground of the cave in crude structures and soon enough, two small altars are standing near one of the cave’s wall.
Joining Shikamaru, they gather the offerings now sorted and carefully organise them, purposefully placing them on the altars. They’re whispering, mumbled words mixing together but not listening to the other. They send their prayers with all the deepness of their souls, taking all the time it needs to make the altars as perfect as possible given the circumstances.
Dried fruits and nuts, trinkets they’ve gathered during their recent travels, dried flowers pressed between pages of their journals, fresh ones harvested just as the sun was setting and they looked for shelter. A bowl of rice cooked this morning just for this purpose.
Mixing more ash and water together, Sakura forms a sort of clay-like matter, using it to mold two small rectangles. Placed on each altar, Shikamaru can then stab the incense sticks through them.
They have no pictures with them, no tablets with the new names given to the deceased so the altar doesn’t trap them on this plane. But Shikamaru takes out his inkstone, wetting it with his waterskin. With smooth, graceful strokes, he writes on the wall just above their makeshift creations. Her new name, Sakurasō, the primrose. Above the other, only the kanji for 'people'.
The beeswax candles they purchased in a tiny settlement in Ta no Kuni are a little banged-up, but they find their place next to the offerings nonetheless.
“This is good, right?”
The question is a little shaky, more a request for reassurance than a demand for a true answer. Sakura nods silently, kissing Shikamaru’s temple with a brush of her chapped lips.
Outside, the show's started. Dozens of comets blaze through the sky, chasing each others in an endless race, cutting the darkness with their fiery trails. From their cave up in the mountains, above the tree tops with the openness of the horizon, there's nothing to distract from the frantic course.
It looks like the comets are dancing through the stars.
"I miss her so much," Shikamaru whispers, his voice cracking on the first word and breaking completely on the last.
Sakura can only press her lips together, so hard they turn white, eyes filling with tears as she watches the shooting stars.
Together, they light up the incense, then the candles. They kneel before the altars and pray, each in the quiet of their own mind, then reciting the ritual words under their breath.
Her name is staring at them the whole time; looking at it isn't becoming any easier the more they do it, but they would never disrespect her memory by not doing this as properly as their situation allows.
“She would have loved the village,” Sakura says, blinking fast. It doesn't stop the tears.
Shikamaru lets out a strangled laugh. “Are you kidding? She would have criticized everything about it until we allowed her free reign of the landscaping.”
“Not many flowers yet, uh?”
They snort, laughing together despite their wet cheeks. Sakura stares at the shooting stars outside the cave, as if she can see them writing her name in the night sky.
“Thank you for your visit, Sakurasō. May you have a safe journey back.”
Shikamaru is sobbing now, not bothering to try and contain a pain neither of them was prepared for. She was taken from them too soon, before she could see any result for all the hard word they'd done together.
“Have a blessed Obon, sister,” he whispers to the night.
For a brief second, the trails of the comets draw a smile between the stars. Busy with settling in to sleep, neither of them hears the night whisper a blessing back.