It wasn't so unusual to find Kenta here, wandering the quiet paths between the graves of the cemetery He enjoyed the quiet you see, and had always been taught that reflection upon the past was a good thing. In the proper doses. "Don't forget, but never dwell," as his father had told him long ago. Although it was somewhat rare for a clan ninja like him to be in the main cemetery; most clans had smaller burial sites for their own within their compounds; the Inuzuka where no different. Only, his father hadn't wanted to be buried there, no. His beloved father had made sure to state clearly in his will that he wanted to be laid to rest among the civilians of his adopted village. Carve his name upon the Memorial Stone if they must, but leave him free to rest with the people he chose to protect. His mother as well, she refused to be separated from the man she loved; going against all arguments so she could stay with him even in the next life.

It was to their graves that the youth meandered to; slowly, he had no reason to rush. His Aunts and cousins had all but begged for him to leave his kids with them, and given his mate was on a mission out of town, he had little choice if he'd wished to visit alone. Oh, he could have brought them; for year old infants the three of them behaved remarkably well in places like this. Heck, now that they where almost walking, the loved to visit. The flowers and small animals that flocked to the space; Little Hiroyuki was always transfixed by them, and the girls loved to play sword fights with the small sticks, working to see who would get to keep the biggest wildflower they could find. They knew not to touch the offerings and tributes, he'd made sure of that when they where old enough to understand why they couldn't touch. With him he carried only a simple wreath; woven of small tangle branches and laced with the first wildflowers of the season, a simple silken band wrapped around the mass to hold it together. A project made with love by himself and finished by his mate and kids while he was gone. A proper gift, in his mind; not some fancy show of money or power, simply a gift of love by the family left behind. The family his parents never knew, but who knew them intimately through Kenta, his Uncles and Aunts and everyone that knew them so long ago.

The few people also paying respects to lost loved ones where background noise at best; he'd walked this path a thousand times before and had little reason to pay attention. Oh, he would stop at random; leaning down to a knee to offer a prayer as he would clean the older headstones; there where some truly ancient burial sites here, it was no wonder some had become overgrown and dirty. These too, deserved respect; all life was sacred, even in death these people had lived, dreamed, loved; they deserved more then grasses and weeds. It was this ritual; the cleaning and respect paid to the strangers gone long before him that ate his time, stretched a short visit into an all day affair. He didn't mind, the peace did him good, especially fresh off missions or long training sessions.

After a time; he didn't know how long really, only that the sun had been high in the sky when he arrived and was now nearly to the tree line; Kenta arrived at the modest headstone that marked his parent's grave. Golden eyes shined softly in the bright light, sun warming his back and shoulders through the light, airy white cotton shirt he wore, adorned only with a Leaf Village symbol emblazoned in red. One of his usual day off outfits, the simple shirt and khaki cargo-type short that ended below his knees, shirt untucked and hiding the long sash he used as a belt most days, headband typed habitually over his right bicep even off duty. Knee's hit the soft grass harder then was outright necessary; his kneel more of a fall in more ways then one. "Father... Mother..."

Hands used to brace him now, he hovered on hand and knee over the stone, eyes unable to leave the names carved upon it; memories flashing in an almost crazed manner between his happy childhood and his current life, always with the flashes of horror from the night his childhood ended. Even now, a decade and some odd later, he was still haunted by it, by the loss of them. For the barest of moments he felt with his entire being that helplessness; the weakness he'd worked so hard to concur; the paralysis it caused. In his mind, he heard The Bastard; his own Uncle, why did you do it!? ; those horrible words of betrayal. Tears, hot and salty; more weakness, threatening to consume him again; falling free to the grass. Only when the tirade in his mind began to repeat did he fight back; this battle was test, always a test. Listen to the pain, embrace it, find your strength and make it stronger! More voices, loving voices now; Father, Mother, Gen, Michizuka.... the ones whom he loved and loved him in return; the babbles of his children echoing loud over the hateful words, overwhelming him and bringing the light back to his mind as they always did. His new strength, his perfect light. Love once lost, found again anew, in this new form; his love for and of them.

A hand was raised soon, moving to wipe across his eyes as the Inuzuka sniffled quietly; shifting to sit back on his heels and raising his head to look upon the clear, azure blue of the open skies; a glance to heaven, as it where, imagining his parents watching him. Childish, but comforting. The wreath, carried all this time in a medium sized backpack, was carefully removed and placed upon the ground for a moment. For long minutes he adjusted and tweaked the petals of the flowers, tucked in loose branches, made sure it was perfect once more. That was to say, messy and wild looking, just like the loving son that placed the wreath and said his simple prayers; always asking for the guidance he missed, protection for his family. After that, he just sat there talking; stories of his days since he'd last visited; too long ago, he'd been so busy and that was never an excuse but merely an inconvenient truth; he preened like the proud parent he was, telling them about the grandchildren he knew without a shadow of a doubt they would have loved unconditionally, soiled rotten with every chance they got; just like normal grandparents. Kenta's voice floated on the winds, carrying his tone of absolute love around the cemetery; lifting some of the gloom and giving an almost music to the place that served to lift spirits of the living, not weigh heavy and cold.

He talked and talked, until there was nothing more to say and his heart felt light as a feather dancing in the breeze; never moving from his spot even when silenced. There he sat, bathing in the slowly dying light as the sun sank below to trees, seeming in a trance until Yuki; whom he'd left behind with the kids; appeared to fetch him; a small flower tucked into her collar and her current favorite toy clutched in her maw. The flower, a final offering from the kids, the toy Yuki's own. Once a year she would leave her favorite toy, nuzzle the stone to shine it properly, then be on her way. And she did, Kenta rising to his feet slowly, stiffly, brushing the dirt and grass from his knees and palms as she worked; a scratch to her ears when she moved to sit beside him as he stared at the cleaned, adorned memorial to his parents. "Goodbye... for now..." He left a final gift, a small, roughly carved wooden kunai; turned, and walked away; back to the world of the living and the present, the promise of the future held by his own children waiting for him to return, the shadows of the past enhancing the brightness of the path he walked; and he knew his parents approved. He knew, he knew with all he was, that they where proud.