When Darkness Turns to Light

Born to Be Wild

Note: In this chapter, there will be a part where Sora is pulled into a memory, and italics are mixed with non-italics. Italics are the memory itself whereas the unitalicized parts are current Sora and the mystery girl. Hopefully, this will make some more sense upon reading. . . .

Recappy From the Last Chappy: "I said calm down, Tayuya," spoke the first as he twisted to look at her. "You do remember our mission, don't you?"

Tayuya narrowed her eyes at him. "Tch."

The dark-skinned, many-limbed shinobi looked forward again. Some of the sun's rays broke through the leaves and glinted off of the hitaiate across his forehead decorated with a musical eighth note. "We've got a special guest to escort. By force, if necessary." Once more, he looked back toward them over his shoulder. "Either way, we've got to bring her back alive."

The other three did not respond. Taking it as concession, the Sound nin proceeded forward once more, shortly followed by his cohorts.

Chapter Twelve: Born to Be Wild

A young lady with big green eyes and smaller facial features surrounding them sat on a large root near the base of a tree. Her chestnut brown locks had been pulled back in a messy bun, leaving some free to frame her face and cover the brow above purple eyelids. She used her knees to prop up her sketchpad, on which she used a stick of charcoal to draw the bird resting on a branch before her.

Her appearance contrasted greatly with the nature around her. Dressed in a yellow cotton blouse with puffed short sleeves and a dull green wrap for a skirt, she was casual for society; however, especially coupled with grey stockings and black shoes sporting a bit of a heel, she was still quite proper for being in the jungle.

She had a light, vague outline of the macaw and wore a satisfied smile across thin, red lips. Glancing up at it momentarily, she took the charcoal and began darkening detail, softening the look of the feathers. The woman smiled gently.

Rustles in the jungle shrubs frightened the bird into flying away and turned the woman rigid. She scrunched up almost entirely into a ball and shrugged her shoulders, drew her knees up more, and tightened her grip on the sketchpad, not seeming to realize that she was wrinkling the pages. "Oh, dear . . . oh dear oh dear oh dear," she muttered uneasily in a noticeably British accent. Wincing with worry, she looked around. "What was that?"

More rustling from behind her drew her to vault from the root and turn toward the aggressive shrubbery. She hugged her sketchpad to her now, staring wide like a deer. Nearly whining, the woman whispered to herself, "Oh, really smart, Jane-go into the jungle by yourself. . . . Now you're going to be eaten by some wild animal. . . ."

The leaves suddenly stilled; a brief reticence proceeded. Jane had her mouth open, ready to scream, but instead swept her eyes across the area with caution. Slowly, wary still of company, she took a step back. She cleared her throat. "Um, hello . . . ? Is, is there anybody there . . . ?"

She was not met with an immediate response.

Relaxing a smidgen, she lowered her shoulders and straightened, releasing a sigh. "I'm sure I didn't imagine it. . . ." Uncertain of her safety, the brunette turned around and slowly proceeded departing, watching over her shoulder. When she turned her stare forward, she wondered briefly about that bird; she had gotten so close to finishing. . . .

The bushes made that foreboding noise once more, clutching her attention again. She swiveled as her muscles tightened and she squeezed her sketchbook tightly. From the bushes came a flash of white, something small and fast coming straight for her. Screaming bloody murder, Jane shut her eyes and flinched, tripping backwards. Her arms released her sketchbook; she tried to break her fall. A weight distributed on four points on her chest.