I don't own Naruto.
"You did a good job, too," Anzu rasped, speaking for the first time since her arrival. "Most people tear up the arm and make it worse. Yours was a clean fix. Riko's son ain't needed my help. You must got a real talent for healing, or you're as lucky as the Sage, bless his soul. I'd be happy with either." Anzu fixed Rena with a hard stare. "Be my student, girl. My last two students died, and I'm not getting any younger. There'd be no healer without me, and heavens help a village without one."
"I'm the older so I give the permission."
"Sure," said Rena easily. "I'll be your student."
Anzu was a hard teacher, but she was fair. Rena memorized the medicinal uses of the local plants (according to Emiko, Sada used plants to treat wounds, but their clan had healing powers so when Emiko sings her hair can heal any wounds,) their locations, and the various brews and tinctures that could be made from them. The rest of Anzu's lessons, Rena knew. Her hand was steady as she stitched wounds and staunched blood. To her credit, or perhaps against it, Anzu never asked questions. Rena's knowledge was quietly accepted, even when it seemed strange. Her insistence on boiling water, cleaning needles, and washing cloth was soon followed by Anzu herself.
The two fell into an easy rhythm. They rose at dawn, gathered plants, created poultices, helped their fellow villagers, and meditated. Rena didn't know why they did the last one, but she gave Anzu the same courtesy by not asking too many questions. After a year, the old woman gave the answer to Rena's silent query.
"It warms the soul," said Anzu suddenly one morning. They had just finished their daily meditation. "It gets peace of mind." Her eyes grew bright. "And it lets us use life itself."
With a grunt, Anzu stood. Yui followed her into the back of the hut where the herbs and other medicines were stored. With shaking hands, Anzu withdrew a small clay pot from the back. Rena knew the ins and out of the different concoctions, but she had never seen this before. Anzu lifted the lid, revealing a thick, almost translucent paste. The bright green color reminded her of neem and turmeric.
"Touch it."
Rena pressed her finger to the tincture. She gasped and jerked back. It had felt cold and warm and sharp, all at once—like static, but deeper and slower.
Anzu smiled. "This my life's work, and the healers' work before me. It just looks like turmeric and neem paste, right?"
She'd been correct, then. Rena nodded, pleased but intensely curious.
"But it ain't just paste." She leaned forward and whispered, "It's infused with my life. Use it only for the worst cases."
Rena was skeptical. Of course she was. That skepticism remained until she saw Anzu make more of it. Pale green sparks drifted from the woman's hands and sunk into the mix.
"I'll teach you how. If you want," said Anzu, solemn. "It ain't something to do lightly."
Her response was the same as before. "Sure," Rena said, and she smiled.
It took months, but Rna eventually learned how to harness the sparks of life deep in her core. The energy danced on her fingertips, sharp and soft and contradictory. It took even more time to mix the sparks with the different tinctures. It surprised both of them that Rena had more life energy than Anzu.
"Perhaps it's your youngness," mused the older woman. "I didn't learn the art until I'd seen thirty seasons. My last student had started when she'd had twenty, and she also had more than me. You've only ten years, and the young've more life."
