Reborn

…she is screaming underwater, scorching salt tearing at her throat as she cannot make out anything in the murky waters. It hurts to breathe, to move. The pain that encapsulates her feels like an ugly baptism. The ensnaring currents of the angry river let her break through the choppy waters, the lack of oxygen rupturing her lungs as she feels her body go numb. It's so cold, her muscles cannot help but lock into place. 

Sakura had read a scientific study about freezing temperatures, a morbid curiosity while she had hunched over in the library, the musty smell of dust thick in the stale air as she had turned the pages. The quality of the book had still retained its fine quality, most likely because no one ever found the need to research this particular topic of interest. 

The text states factually on how the brain will interpret lack of warmth in extremely cold temperatures such as freezing water to ice cold snow. The brain registers the glacial burn, the skin sending signals to the brain on how they need to preserve warmth. So the brain will cut off circulation to the hands and feet, rendering them useless as all the blood gets sent to the more important organs. 

Brain, heart, liver, lungs, kidneys and the major arteries. 

Sakura envisions white jagged teeth that resemble sharp canines hissing the organs that will eventually shut down from the cold if they don’t drown first. It reminds her of Zabuza. Another wave of desperation and shock hits her as the current briefly carries her up to reach the surface, the gargled screaming releasing more precious oxygen into the blackened waters.  

The stinging pins and needles from the water slapping onto her back morphs into a fierce burn as she realizes she cannot move her legs. Her lungs constrict and down she goes, the world in shades of murky blues and greens, her panic the only sort of noise she can hear over the primal roars of the water.  

She can no longer feel her arms and legs, the clothes she had thrown on gave her no resistance to the elements she is exposed to. The cold, hellish burn is soon replaced with a warmth that seems displaced. But Sakura knows what it means, she read it in the book. Her vessels have constricted to the pinnacle of self preservation; the epitome of evolution of a self defense mechanism that will aid her into a false safety. 

The tiredness is what is the most dangerous part of it all.

If her body sends her to sleep, she knows she will die. Her corpse may never be discovered as the fishes instead make a home in her skin. Red eggs in her skin to match with her red qipao dress. The sense of drowsiness is daunting, the cold melting away into a heat so scorching that Sakura feels like she is on a pyre.  

She fights the impulse to take off her clothes so that her body will be warmer. 

It's only a neurological response.

Her body twitches, eyes looking at what she knows must be the surface as the river keeps her down, closer to the untouched floors. Her lungs begin to automatically fill themselves with salt water as they replace oxygen. It hurts her chest, the pain grounding as she forces her hands to flex in the currents that are so ancient, overpowering. 

The pain is enough to shock her from the induced amnesia that threatens to overtake her consciousness, a self-defense mechanism that would only quicken her demise. The warmth ebbs away as the pins and needles scratch her skin raw. She's once again aware of  how everything is murky blues and greens, how everything hurts and that she is on the verge of dying.

A familiar buzzing in her head turns into static as it begins to pick up in volume, she finds it uncomfortable. First it's quiet but then it threatens to overtake the painful contractions of her lungs by how loud her inner voice abuses her eardrums. Filled with a bitter rage and anger that cloaks her entire head in cotton and fuzz. A screaming voice deafens her as the panic turns into fury, bubbles serenely floating away. 

Dare she? Dare she die today? 

You weak fucker!

SAKURA'S eyes snap open, struggling to take in a deep inhale of oxygen, despite how the air tastes, stale and dirty. Automatically, she regrets it as her chest contracts angrily with how abrasive she had been with taking greedy breaths. Her lungs burn, her throat is raw and the coughing makes her almost pass out again. The throaty rattle scratches against the thin, dried out membranes of her throat and itches at her nose. Sakura can taste the copper that floods into her mouth. The tinge of blood tastes of horror and desperation. 

It makes Sakura want to spit it out, but instead she lets her mouth be coated with it. Blood and water, she thinks, her rough tongue moving over her gums as the taste of blood makes her prickle, is what makes the world go round. The faint hum in the back of her head remains, a heavy presence cutting through her thoughts like a knife. 

How did she survive? She can’t remember, the black holes in her memory preventing her from recalling anything of substance. Sakura attempts to move, but is quickly hindered by a pain so devastating that it could have been worse than drowning. Raspy, wet coughs tumble out of her salt crusted lips as she rests onto the soft riverbeds of Wave. 

What a desolate country, Sakura mentally curses as her thoughts drift to how terrible her first mission had been. If she ever gets assigned a mission close to this shit show again, she is personally resigning. The riverbed is soft at least, Sakura tries to console herself, wondrous at the fact she had survived.

Dirt-brown sand remained delicate on her sensitive skin and broken bones. Sakura doesn’t know what exactly is broken, but the rough fall from the bridge had definitely shattered bones she should be worried about. The pricking of sand particles tug into her scalp, her hair still limp and wet as are her clothes. 

The sound of dry wood snaps, the crackle of tumbling logs tugs Sakura out from her musings as she feels actual warmth. Not a trick her brain had created to trick her into sleeping and dying. The fire symbolizes life, her corneas begin to burn as she cannot look away from the oranges and reds that provide actual heat. A fox screams, a demonic trill ringing in the air as the golden boy she knows melts into a peeling figurine of anger and death. Sakura cannot forget his teeth, how bone-white porcelain gleamed sinisterly in the wet mist as the shockwaves burned her alive from the inside out. Fire burns, it-

A gloved, leather hand drops another bundle of skinny, dried out tree limbs. She is half expecting her sensei, the shock of silver hair and covered face to smile at her and scold her for her brash actions. Sakura prepares for the lazy drawls and loose shoulders shrugging melodramatically to prove their teachable lesson. 

That's not what she gets.

Sakura begins to notice the other person who is sitting in front of the raging fire. A slim built man, draped in black clothing that fits somewhat tightly across developed arms and legs. A build she would typically see in ninja. 

It's the orange mask that throws her off. 

It should creep her out, but her teammates had really desensitized her to their own individual wardrobe choices that an orange mask is really nothing. Sakura can keep her neck tilted in his direction before she feels the pinch of her nerves begin to send a tenseness that runs across her skull. It feels like the start of a migraine. Flashes of white and gray make her vision unreliable. 

 Softly tilting her head back, Sakura positions herself to look at the stars that attempt to shine brightly in the skies that are cloudy with smoke. Without streetlamps, the stars twinkle, their visibility impressive now that she is no longer close to any cities. The warmth from the fire blankets her as well as the thick cloak sewed with red clouds that have been draped over her while she had been asleep. A gesture made to have her preserve her warmth to protect her against hypothermia.  

A possible ally and most likely my savior, she thinks absently, still not fully cognitive from the events that had transpired. Perhaps she is in shock? Running her tongue over her gums once more, a ravenous craving for water emerges.  

“How are you feeling?” The man asks, the awkwardness of being strangers making him hesitant to initiate conversation. Sakura takes a moment to think about how she feels, swallows gently to avoid making her throat any more agitated as she softly whispers back to the man.

“Awful.” She keeps it short, it hurts to breathe. Talking makes it worse. The screaming had done its damage. He hums, a low vibrational pitch that sounds awfully familiar for some reason. The conversation quickly lapses back into a comfortable silence as she just stares into the open skies, an unknown feeling beating behind her chest as she slowly comes to terms with almost dying. 

She had dared. She had dared to live. 

The crackling of the fire is comforting in that profound moment, it makes everything seem more real. There are no blue or green colors surrounding her, the orange glow of the fire doing a fantastic job of illuminating the area around them. Sakura can hear the faint roar of the river (of the fox) and shudders. 

The stranger must take this as a sign to come closer to her. 

She tries to move her neck to look at him better, wary at what he might do. 

The bridge had left an impact on her, Sakura thinks as the carnage passes quickly through her mind. Her neck twinges in protest and she can hear the dismayed grunt that comes from behind the orange mask. 

“Don’t push yourself, you almost died.” His voice is dry, almost baritone. His steps are soundless as they slouch closer to her, their body blocking some of the fire's warmth to Sakura's dismay. She can feel the absence of heat, her heartbeat going faster at the thought of being left for cold. 

Dare she? Dare she today?

Her green eyes watch as his gloved hands gently pull out a pouch. He pulls the cork off and gently places his warm hand behind her head. Sakura takes note of how softly he lifts her head as he places the pouch in front of her, she wets her lips reflexively as the soft scent of freshwater hits her. 

No salt, no burn. 

He tilts the pouch into her mouth, at first the lukewarm water is nice. It isn’t until she takes her second sip, that she realizes how parched she is. Sakura gulps down as much water as he will give her until he pushes the pouch away from her chapped lips. How unflattering, a vain part of her thinks but Sakura knows it's unnecessary to give a shit about such matters considering what had happened to her in the last 24 hours. 

She can give herself some leeway.

Protocol dictates that Sakura immediately reach into her pouch to ignite the emergency flare so her comrades can get her but Sakura is pretty sure her pouch is at the bottom of the river, and she is not going down to get it. For the second time in her squeaky clean military transcript, she has broken protocol once again. 

She feels calm, the fear of breaking the rules nowhere to be seen as she is incubating in the sand. Her hands and feet are still stiff, the blood vessels most likely constricted to preserve her chances of warmth. Her back and lungs are what are the most painful, her breaths light and short to make sure she doesn’t further irritate the damage. Her head no longer feels fuzzy, a dull clarity replacing her awareness. 

The man carefully places her head back onto the sand, it feels stiff at first, until the sand particles begin to make way under the pressure of her scalp. The small pop of the cork being fit back on lets Sakura realize how much resources she has taken from the man who had saved her. Sakura is slightly bashful at her greed, so she wets her throat to make sure her voice won’t sound old and dingy. 

“Thank you,” Sakura starts, “for the water and for saving me.” She doesn’t notice how he grips tightly onto the deflated pouch, his intense eyes focused solely on her and nothing else. The shallow breathing of her bruised chest and pinkish skin are devoured by the cloak she is wearing. Unaware of what it means for someone to don that cloak, Sakura doesn’t notice the intricate mesh of shinobi grade fabrics but rather how soft it feels against her skin. 

Her hands twitched against her thigh, the pouch no longer attached onto her leg as she had suspected. The fire crackles and pops as the man goes back to his sitting position, crossing his legs as he maintains watch. He is most definitely a ninja, she silently confirms to herself. The lack of any standard village markers is entirely absent as only an orange mask and tight black clothing is what the stranger dons. 

He just doesn’t act like a missing ninja. 

The images of Zabuza and Haku burn behind her closed eyelids, their violence still fresh in her mind. Sakura delicately breathes through her nose, the dry itch making her eyes water as she fights the urge to rub her nose. She scrunches her face, alleviating some of the itch. The scent of burning flesh wafts into the air, even though she knows there is nothing cooking. 

Memories slip forward, wanting to be remembered, threatened to spill over into reality as she struggles to find a solid moment to ground her. The faint sounds of the river leave her feeling sick, water in her stomach churning like the rapids. 

A soft start of a song dances in the stale air. 

A low, dry voice weaving a melody that is uplifting and freeing. Sakura closes her eyes, listening to the hums of a chorus she doesn’t know to distract her from the looming anxiety that wishes to drown her. The memories begin to melt away, the itch dulling as she continues to give her focus to the man who is distracting her with a melancholy melody. 

He hums a soft song, the deep vibrational sound soothing to her wrangled nerves. His pauses for breaths seamless as he continues on prodding the gentle fire. They still haven’t spoken much to each other, but his actions are much louder than anything words could have said. Sakura feels the tension leaving her body, the pain still there but her mind is tired enough that rest prevails against her conscious wishes. 

The beautiful, eerie song continues. She takes a tight breath in as her consciousness willingly flows away from her.