Weeping Samurai | Uchiha Itachi [Editing]

Chapter 5: Converging Paths

I do not own any Naruto characters or settings.  I only own my OC, Musei Shiro.

This chapter does not contain any descriptions of blood or violence.

I hope you enjoy the story of Shiro, the Weeping Samurai of the Land of Iron!

~~~*~~~

“Musei Shiro,” the tall shinobi grumbled. “Shidare no Bushi of the Land of Iron.”

Shiro stiffened from the title as she always did, but she hadn't heard her real name for tweve years, much less her surname. Something stirred inside her chest, bubbling and boiling with anger. Her perfectly smooth face cracked, a fierce scowl crinkling her ivory forehead and a dangerous growl rippled from her throat.

“How do you know my name?” she barked at them, her katana tip pointing at the two men. “How did you find me?”

“We just so happened to be nearby,” the towering blue-skinned man chuckled once more. “It was lucky of us really, since you're the one we're after this time.”

Shiro's eyes widened.

They were after her? Why would these people be after her?

“You're bounty hunters then,” Shiro snarled darkly, her obsidian eyes glinting in the pale light. “I'll have you warned, I've battled a little more than ten bounty hunters in the past three years, so don't you dare underestimate me, aku (scum).”

“Harsh words for such a little thing,” the raven-haired man suddenly murmured. His husky deep voice caught Shiro of guard, making her flinch at the sound. “I'll have you know Musei-san, that we're not those pitiful things called bounty hunters.”

“Who are you then? Why are you after me?”

The two men just stood there, their long cloaks rippling in the wind. The raven-haired man's eyes were glued to Shiro, her's stuck on his.

“We're from an organization," he finally said, raising his head from the tall collar that blocked the view of his mouth and nose, the snapping of buttons clicked in the empty snow, "called the Akatsuki.”

“Akatsuki...” Shiro mumbled the name on her thin lips. Her mind raced as she frantically tried to find an image to the familiar word. Her onyx eyes flashed open. “The organization of S-rank missing-nin?”

The dark-haired man nodded once.

“Hai,” he grunted.

“That means...”

Shiro gripped her exposed sword in her right hand and slashed out the other from its long slumber. Her dark eyes burned in fury.

“You're from ninja country.”

Both of their eyes widened as she unsheathed her second blade; never in her image as the Shidare no Bushi did Shiro ever pull out the other twin sword.

The white metal gleamed in the morning sunlight, reflecting pale death as it shimmered like the snow that rested on the ground.

“I see those katana are as menacing as the myths say.” The pale blue-skinned shinobi raised an eyebrow.

By this time, both of their conical bamboo hats had been shed, their coats unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze like wings.

The tall man's eyes wandered over to the katana in her right hand.

“Raiha,” he growled as his black eyes slid up and down the sword, “the Lightning Blade.”

“And Kyuminha...” the raven-haired man nodded at the left sword, “the Dormant Blade...”