Arashi sat on his bed. The wooly blanket beneath his uncovered hands itched and felt much too rough to ever sleep on. And yet night after night he found comfort under these coarse layers of fabric. The light was too bright. It was too warm. He knew he was being hypersensitive, but today was the ninth anniversary of the day his father, Jacen, had not returned from war. In the pockmarked off-white wall he could see his father's dancing hazel eyes. He could still recall their last conversation:

"B-but," Nine-year-old Arashi sniffled, wiping his eyes, "I wanna come with you! I don't want you to go alone!"

"I won't be alone. Your uncle will be here, and all the men of the village..." Jacen bent down, stroking his son's hair. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared for you!" sobbed Arashi, flinging himself into his dad's arms. "I don't want you to die!"

"Arashi. Look at me." He son obeyed. "You need to be brave for me, okay? You have to promise to take care of your little cousin. You're going to be the man of the house while we're gone."

"I promise."

"It's going to be okay. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. You'll be a man soon enough."

Yeah, well too late for that, Dad, Arashi thought bitterly, feeling the stubble on his chin - he'd quit shaving a month ago. He lay back on the bed, squinting out the window. The weather had been unfailingly sunny all week - an ironic counterpart to his grim mood. There was a stained-glass boat dangling in the window. His father had taught him how to sail a fishing vessel. He'd stuck with the hobby even after he and Tora, his younger cousin, left to settle in the Fire Country.

The door creaked open. Only one person came into his room without knocking.

"Tora?"

He listened to her shut the door and come over to his bed, blocking out the sparkly sunlight. Her face was concerned.

He sat up and regarded his cousin. Tora's shaggy black hair - almost identical in texture to his - framed her dark golden face and fell in an unruly ponytail down her back. She had a slightly more angular jawbone, a narrower nose, and darker skin than him. Arashi touched the indent of his nose and brow. "Look." He reached over to the table and picked up a necklace. It was a cord of leather strung through a pair of wolves' teeth. He slipped it on. "This was my dad's."

She nodded mutely. Somehow she could say more with her silences. 

"Why did he tell me it was going to be okay?" Arashi whispered, mostly to himself. "It wasn't. It's not. He's dead." His voice cracked painfully on the last syllable. "I hate him. I hate him." That wasn't true, but Arashi was angry.

"He didn't want you to worry," ventured Tora softly. Arashi felt the familiar enmity that her father, Mano, had survived, and his hadn't boiling in him.

"Well, that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" he snarled. "Your dad is alive!"

Tora's eyes were chips of ice. They were the only sign of anger in her otherwise neutral expression. "You know what?" she said flatly, sliding off the bed, "Jacen deserves more respect than you're giving him."

"Go away, Tora," he ordered, falling back on the sheets even as she shut the door. An immense wave of guilt rose up in him, making his eyes water. I'm so sorry, Dad...

WA 2 draft 2

Arashi sat on his bed. The wooly blanket underneath his uncovered hands itched and felt much too rough to ever sleep on. And yet night after night he felt comfort under these coarse layers of fabric. The light was too bright. It was too warm. He knew he was being hypersensitive, but today was the ninth anniversary of the day his father, Jacen, had not come back from war. In the pockmarked off-white wall he saw his father's dancing hazel eyes. His voice, Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, little Arashi. You'll be a man soon enough.

Yeah, well, too late for that, Dad, he thought bitterly, feeling the stubble on his chin - he had quit shaving a month ago. He lay on his back and squinted at the window. The weather had been unfailingly cheery all week - an ironic counterpart to his grim mood. There was a stained-glass boat dangling in the window. His father had taught him how to sail a fishing vessel before he died. He had stuck with the hobby even after he and Tora, his cousin, had left their home country to settle in the Land of Fire.

The door creaked open. Only one person came into his room without knocking.

"Tora?"

He listened to her shut the door and come over to his bed, blocking the sparkly sunlight. Her face was concerned.

He sat up and regarded his cousin. Her shaggy black hair - almost identical in texture to his - framed her dark golden face and fell in an unruly ponytail down her back. She had a slightly more angular jawbone than him, a narrower nose, and darker skin. Arashi touched the indent of his nose and brow. "Look." He reached over to the table and picked up a necklace. It was made from a cord of leather that was strung through two wolves' teeth. He slipped it on. "This was my dad's."

Tora nodded mutely. Sometimes she could say more with her silences than by talking.

"Why did he tell me it was going to be okay?" Arashi whispered, mostly to himself. "It wasn't. It's not. He's dead." His voice cracked painfully on the last syllable. "I hate him. I hate him."

"He didn't want you to worry," ventured Tora softly. Arashi felt the familiar anger that her father - Mano - had survived, and his hadn't boiling in him.

"Well, that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" he spat. "Your father is alive."

Tora's eyes were chips of ice. "You know what?" she said flatly, getting up, "Jacen deserves more respect than you give him."

"Go away, Tora," he ordered, falling back onto the sheets even as she shut the door. An immense wave of guilt rose up in him, making his eyes water. Dad... I'm so sorry.

WA 2 draft 1

Arashi sat on his bed. The wooly blanket underneath his uncovered hands itched and felt much to rough to ever sleep on. And yet night after night he found comfort under these coarse layers of fabric. He was feeling extreme physical hypersensitivity on this day. The reason? Today was the ninth anniversary of the day his father did not return from the war with the Village of the Mountains. He gazed at the pockmarked off-white wall and saw his father's dancing hazel eyes. He studied the chestnut wardrobe and his father's lighthearted smile His voice, Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, Arashi-kun. You'll be a man soon enough.

Yeah, well, too late for that, Dad, Arashi thought bitterly, feeling the rough stubble on his chin. He had decided to quit shaving about a month earlier. He lay back on his bed, squinting through the bright light that streamed through his window. The weather had been unfailingly sunny and warm all week, an ironic counterpart for his grim mood. Dangling from the ceiling was a wooden boat that his father had carved for him as a third-birthday gift. His father had shown him how to sail a fishing vessel. He had stayed devoted to the practice even after he and Tora had left the Snow Country to settle in the Fire Country. 

The door creaked open. Only one person came into his room without knocking. 

"Tora?"

"Hey." He listened to her shut the door and then his light was blocked out as she appeared over his face, her brows drawn in concern. 

He sat up and regarded his cousin. Her shaggy black hair - almost identical in texture to his - framed her dark golden skin and fell down her back in an unruly ponytail. She had a slightly more defined jawbone than him, a narrower nose, and very defined eyebrows. Arashi touched the indent of his nose and his forehead. "Look." He reached over to the night stand and picked up a necklace that was sitting on it. It was made from a leather cord, on which was strung a pair of wolf fangs with holes cut into the roots. She nodded.

He slipped it over his head. "This was... my dad's."

"I know."

"Why did he tell me that it was going to be okay?" he whispered, more to himself. He looked down at his hands, rough and scarred from years of fighting and training. "Why did he promise me that? He was wrong."

"You know he was just telling you that so you wouldn't worry about him," offered Tora gently. Arashi felt the old enmity that her father had survived and his hadn't returning. "Easy for you to say!" he snapped. "Your father is alive!" 

Tora's eyes were chips of ice. They always became like this when he yelled at her. "I think Jacen deserved more respect than you're giving him," she said flatly, getting up to leave.

He didn't need any of her wisdom right now. "Just leave me alone, Tora," he rasped, feeling tears sting his eyes. He heard her shut the door behind her. He lay back on the bed and let angry tears course down his face. Why, Dad?