hiding?
They scoured the library, reading words on books above their age with a dictionary by their side. They read about history, politics, science, herbs, poison, anything they can get their hands on.
And chakra.
Turns out, her other-sense is chakra sensing. It is mentioned, briefly, in an introductory book about chakra. A book that would have been so much help if she had it a year ago. But what done is done, and so she reads. Ayaka and Ann are different, but so alike. One can barely read, unable to comprehend the kanjis and hiraganas and kataganas, kept away from knowledge by her own disability. The other reads with barely a pause to recheck the dictionary, to look up a word.
One spends time with children's books and the other advances quickly.
Ayaka sometimes wishes she has Ann’s capacity with words. No, just her capacity in general. Because Ann? Ann is brilliant. She never even knew that concepts can be reduced to mere words, vocabulary befitting of a child, yet still be so eloquently worded. If she grows up to be a politician, Ayaka wouldn’t be surprised. And she is intelligent, eerily so, if Ayaka dares to say. It’s maddening to see and not be able to replicate it. But Ayaka knows prodigies and genius, so she settles down to wait and learn.
(Ayaka was three when she realized not all those who disappeared became shinobis.
Ayaka was three when her sister whispers to her to take note of those who never came back. Of those who dropped off her chakra map.
They all excelled. They were special in some way. Stood out in the mass. Better stamina, better learning curve, better reserve, better control. Better.
Ayaka doesn’t want to disappear. She kept her head down and avoided the assessing gaze of the shinobi manning the desk or the one sent to test the orphan. Ayaka wrapped her essence around her budding light, wounding the energy-chakra again and again, until she barely felt like a candle light, small and innocuous.
Ayaka was three when she realized she wanted power, something tangible beneath her hand, something she can kill with, protect with.
She was three when she knew she could never get it without risking her sister.
Ayaka is possessive. A fact like the sky is blue or the water flows.
So she stayed down and watched, because she is young and weak and can no better protect her twin.)
The walk to the library becomes a daily routine.
They would spend the morning working on chores, helping where they can, playing with the children.
In the afternoon, Ayaka and Ann can be spotted walking side by side, hand in hand, traipsing through the wildly growing weeds on the sidewalk, hiding under the shade of trees. They kick at rocks and pick flowers (pulling herbs up for their use), wander around the streams and ponds, and settle down at the library as the afternoon starts.
They look innocent, going about their day.
The books they read are anything but.
Politics finds its way to their eyes. The world opens up under their eyes, scraping together maps and geographic research. History tells the tale of wars, of sacrifices, of criminals and deadly fights. Herbs speak for themselves, cocoon of salve and paste pulling at the seam. Strategies lay bare under their watch, dissected into pieces of logic and luck and chance.
(They don’t mention the pile of chakra related books, don’t look at the scrolls they pull from hidden corners.
They carefully put it back to where it belongs, never a millimeter off.)
They learn and study and read.
They commit the knowledge to their brain, wanting nothing more than to be prepared.
The world is never kind, after all.
They wander the village when the librarian shoos them out, books in hand to read in the receding light of dusk. The shadows close rank around the two of them, and no one bats an eye at two kids running around.
They often end up somewhere near a water source. Often the stream close to the orphanage, but it can be anywhere. They wander often.
The forest ground is often their place of choice, the shade hiding away their smiles and laughter, soft spoken words drowned in the rustling of leaves.
It isn’t uncommon to spy red hair peeking through green shrubs and trees, emerald eyes flitting around, the sound of running water hiding ringing laughter.