She’d been here before.

In years long past, almost a decade of absence and here she found herself again, in the place that smelt of her child hood, the subtle scent of sand, the poignant salted smell of the sea drifting through the air, fish scales and oysters and crabs, moulded wood and fresh wind. Yes, she’d been here before, but she’d never dreamt of here before.

The sky was saturated by bleak, colourless clouds, behind them there was a mere twinkle of the golden sun, but down on the shore it was cold. Wind ravaged the sea and the land, tossing the water so that it foamed and the trim of otherwise translucent dark waves became white with the same deposit that lined the sand with every caress of the cold water. Beyond the sand and overlooking the sea was a long, seemingly endless line of battered huts, cracked tiles clattered ominously in the wind, ready to abandon the roofs they lined, many had already been blown away. She could see the rotted rafters showing through like a worn patchwork quilt of clay and wood, many of the roofs had caved in. There was not a soul in sight, only the remains of human life, fishing nets strung out the front of houses, caught with anything and everything that flew through the air, clumps of dirt, fish bones and broken crockery tinkled together like wind chimes in the storm.

The sea had risen, she could no longer see the sand through such dark knee deep water, the tide swept dangerously, like strong hands that grabbed at her ankles and threatened to pull her under. She ran through the water, her hair a mess of tangled black strands that swept behind her and caught in the wind, the sea was rising still, higher and higher until she was forced to wade as it reached her waist. Azalea’s reflective eyes were wide, the mixture of confusion and fear in her usually calm azure orbs was an alien expression she’d not felt for a long time. Her heart stammered in her chest, her hands shook from the chill of the sea, she span around and around hopelessly as the water rose as high as her shoulders now. She watched, helplessly as the tide broke through the nets and covered the huts, like stampeding horses, it tore down and trampled everything in its way.

She turned from the sight of it, head her in her hands, the water pulled from her then, she nearly toppled off her feet and was carried away with its surge, lifting her head she stared through her fingers as it gathered high above her in one great tidal wave, so large it cast a shadow over her frail form. Arms spread wide, she stood before it, knowing that she couldn’t fight it any longer – she let the wave take her and lost her breath in its cold, dark embrace.

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There were tears in her eyes when she opened them, nestled in her thick, dark lashes, she didn’t blink lest they slide down her cheeks. Azalea was perfectly still as she awoke, on her back and laid on a thin mattress on the ground and covered by layers of sheets and blankets. The room was dark save for the flickering glow of a candle, without moving her eyes she could see a shadow on the wall and as her senses came back and she reclaimed her wits she heard the soft, gentle hum of a woman. She sang a song without words to a tune she remembered with disdain.

“Shut up,” her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but the woman heard it and her voice silenced instantly. Azalea lifted her arm slowly from the sheets, she wore a white linen gown with long sleeves, she used one to wipe her eyes before she turned her head to see just who was in the room with her. It was Chiaki, the young waitress with strange black and white hair, their eyes met and Azalea recalled faint memories of stumbling back through the tavern doors with a wound so deep that blood ran down her thigh, despite her hazardous first aid and a pressure bandage. She remembered Akemi, catching her as she fell and bustling her girl upstairs where it seemed after an hour or so her life was saved. Azalea lifted her head and used her arms to push her up so that she could sit, her side stung painfully, she clenched her teeth and braved the pain. Chiaki was silent and despite disapproving glances she pulled the sheets back slightly and rested them loosely over her legs. Azalea turned her head the other way and stared about the room, her bloodied kimono was gone but the Ashura blades and her pouch were placed neatly in the corner.

“Did I hear right?” Akemi pulled the rice paper door open and walked into the room, her wrinkled face was tired and slightly puffy, from tears perhaps? Azalea thought it likely. “Mind your manners Amaya,” like Azuma she used her alias despite knowing her true name, it was for Chiaki’s benefit. “…or next time I won’t be so quick to save your life.”

Akemi fell to her knees at the bedside and with the bedside manner of a mortician, pulled open Azalea’s gown and exposed her flesh. Chiaki stood and averted her eyes, the gown had sloped inwards, it covered her breasts but revealed her navel and a rather bloodied strip of gauze that had been wrapped and bound about her hips.

“The dressing needs changing,” Akemi said as she turned to Chiaki who was slinking quietly out of the room. “Bring me back another roll of gauze,” she said, Chiaki nodded and moved out the door. Alone, the two of them, Akemi sighed as she sat back on her knees and met Azalea’s gaze head on.

“It’s none of your concern,” Azalea spoke before the elder woman had the chance to. “An old friend, or at least he used to be…it’s nothing.”

“‘Nothing,’ almost bled you dry,” Akemi replied sharply.

“I’ll add the scar to my collection,” Azalea bit back, her cold cerulean gaze was surprisingly calm despite the tone of her voice.

Akemi just sighed as she pressed her hand lightly to Azalea’s side, the kunoichi gasped in pain then bit her bottom lip to silence any more cries.

“Lie back,” there was a softness to Akemi’s voice now as she rested one hand on Azalea’s shoulder. “Rest, you lost a lot of blood.”

“Just bring me some juice, I’ll rest when I return to Goza.”

“Five hours,” Akemi pushed, glancing out the window to the slowly lightening sky. It would be dawn soon, daylight was not exactly the best cover for a ninja. Azalea scowled but submitted herself to the compromise and nodded.

“Five hours,” Azalea repeated with distinctly dismal tone to her voice.

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