"Find your strength before running a fool's errand." Hideyoshi would bark at Watsuji as the teen etched a rough sketch of the village layout onto a piece of wood. His skill with a knife made this carving of wood rather impressive. The samurai was not here to make art and souvenirs, however. In his mind, there was still a tyrannical being perched atop a throne of deception and greed within the Raikage's Quarters. Watsuji had watched the innocence and trust drain out of his friends, his family, and even his own heart when Hastur enslaved his people. Revenge would be a bloody, unsightly task. It weighed heavily on the Miyamoto's heart. Would he stand by his code and challenge Hastur to an honorable battle, or take what he had learned from the shinobi, from Uchiha, Kirei, to dispatch his foe from the shadows.

It was not the way of the samurai to strike from the shadows, some would even call it a dishonor and a disgrace to do so. Watsuji was full of rage and a need for vengeance, however. As he took his model to a neighboring structure he would continue to etch the mountainous landscape of the Hidden Cloud and its structures. The highest one was presumed to be the quarters of the so-called Raikage. As his village was under siege, neither Hastur nor any other significant opposition had bothered to show themselves yet. It was as though the village itself was full of cowards and recluses.

He had heard this description used for shinobi an infinite number of times, samurai culture holding itself to standards of direct confrontation and honor more than the shadow stalking warriors of the elemental villages. As Watsuji looked on at the scene before him he would notice a smoldering building not far from his position. It was a somewhat ornate structure, likely the office of the Raikage. It had been destroyed and made into a molten mess in just a matter of seconds. The immense heat put off by the attack would be blown into the samurai's face, causing him to shift his eyes to the side. As the smoke continued to rise, it was evident that the mountain which harbored the building in question was damaged severely by the blast. If Hastur were there, he was surely dead already.

All of the intensity of war had come over the village. People were evacuating with fervor and panic, the wandering samurai began to wonder if the family he had decided to protect would be safe if they continued to stay behind. It was as the thought crossed his mind that a large molten rock came into view, clearing the distance between the explosion and the residential area below in a matter of seconds. The rock was dropping toward the families abode at high speed, leaving a comet's tail behind it.

"No!" Without hesitation, Watsuji darted through the air, destroying the tiles on the roof he had been perched upon as he as he ascended to intercept the projectile. His hand would grap at his hilt in the familiar Iaido sword drawing style as he sliced the boulder through the center. A loud, powerful lightning strike would sound as he traced a lightning bolt with his blade, shattering the projectile into dozens of manageable fragments which fell onto the roof. He would land, sheathing his blade once more as he panted.

---

WC: 547

His search was proving to be fruitless thus far. After spending nearly a month within the confines of Kumogakure no Sato, the Lion had nothing to show for his search for his little bird. And even worse, with the attack upon the village by forces unknown to him, he had resigned himself to assisting the village people to evacuate down the mountain. The task was grueling work: the amount of destruction was widespread, and flames blocked off many of the paths down the mountain. Those few that remained clear were narrow and overcrowded, bottlenecking those that wished to travel them. Injured villagers seemed to dictate the pace at which throngs of people moved, often forcing it to a standstill.

But the work needed to be done, and so the Lion did it. Using his raw strength, the male cleared paths where he could; often moving boulders and downed trees to allow others to pass around them, or putting out fires by smothering the flames. He hated that he was limiting himself to just this: but with the recent rumors of conflict between Kumogakure and Konoha, he did not wish to draw attention to himself. He was here as an enemy to Kumo, and he did not wish to cause a panic amongst the people when his only intentions were to help them. If the people found out that it was a Konoha ninja assisting them with evacuating their beloved village, they might assume that he was attempting to lead them into a trap.

He was a shinobi, not a murderer.

And so the Male worked, beating a path into the mountainside so that others could follow in his wake. Sweat sizzled on the male's skin as quickly as it was produced; between the heat from the fires and that which dwelt within him, he was a walking furnace. Every breath that left him was punctuated by plumes of smoke from his nostrils and flames from his maw. His shirt had long ago burned away while carrying and protecting a frightened child from a burning house; his pants were ragged and soot stained, swirling up ashes with each step. His shoes were long gone, having melted into nothingness. To the people whom he was assisting, the black lion looked like a demon, his hair ragged and billowing in the waves of heated air, but his actions spoke of benevolence.

It was these actions that would carry the Male into the area, hands gripping a tree trunk and ripping it free of the ground to the sound of wood cracking. Those back eyes were cast over the area, taking in the sight of the persona perched upon the roof of a hut, clutching a sword. Tossing the tree off to the side of the path, the Lion spoke not to the figure before him, but to those who walked behind him.

"Stay upon this course until you come to the river, then follow it downstream. You will come to a place where it fork. There will be someone waiting to take you further down the mountainside."

As the villagers began to move past him offering their gratitude, the lion kept his eyes upon the figure perched on the rooftop; he nad no idea who this persona was, not their intent. If they were simply a passing swordsman, having been stranded by the destruction of Kumogakure no Sato and seeking a way down the mountain, then they would be granted asylum. If they were a bandit seeking easy prey, then would find the,selves the prey for a most voracious lion.

The Black Lion would feast upon them, and leave naught but a memory in his wake.

As the male waited to see how this scenario would play out, his eyes would seemingly swirl and mutate in anticipation, taking on a red color; three tomoe would appear on those orbs, each one a testament to life’s attempt to break him, and his will to endure.

Come get some, stranger...

668 WC