Archive of Our Own ^beta

Her mom was a very strong woman, she knew.

Her legs were fast and the scarred arms that carried Karin’s small body had surprisingly developed muscles for someone who ate so little. She could feel the hardness whenever she fell ill and had to bite on her mother’s skin. Maybe she was some sort of warrior.

Not only was she strong, but she was a very talented lady.

She drew all the time, intricate patterns with symbols Karin didn’t know. She’d place those around the house, near the windows, behind the doors — if they happened to have a roof over their heads, that is. Sometimes she’d give her one of her drawings and ask her to keep it close no matter what.

“To protect you, my beautiful Karin,” she always said, before hiding her in a cave.

Karin wondered if the drawings would look prettier if they were colored something other than black.

—

Her mom also liked being mysterious.

Her name was Shion and her daughter was Ayame, she said with a trembling voice, once, asking an old lady for food. It was mid-October and her short crimson hair was covered by a scarf. Karin’s own hair had been shaved due to a lice outbreak in late summer.

The old lady had pitied them — mother and daughter so poor they couldn’t even clean themselves — and gave them food, a warm bath and a place to stay for the night. Karin hadn’t felt that comfortable in weeks, but she couldn’t help but notice her mother’s warmth leaving her side during the night. She was placing one of her drawings behind the door.

When they reached a small trading town near Kannabi Bridge, her name was Renge. And Karin? No, Renge did not know her name.

“Don’t waste your time on her, she doesn’t remember it, sir. I picked her up on the way,” she told a large man with a weird headband on his forehead.

The same man who tried running after her once she stole two pieces of bread from a street vendor.

By the time they finally reached an area with thicker vegetation, heading south, Karin’s hair had grown a bit. It was a blessing for the cold December she had to endure with thin — and often wet —  clothes. The gates to the Village Hidden in the Grass were hard to spot from a distance, but they managed. The men guarding the gates wore headbands similar to the one the guy who chased them wore.

“What business do you have in Grass?,” they said from afar, not bothering to get down.

She removed her head scarf.

“My name is Tsubaki. This is my daughter, Karin. We seek refuge.”

She was Karin for the first time. Years later, the girl would wonder if that was her mother’s real name.

“An Uzumaki, huh? I was unaware they named their people after flowers,” one of them answered.

Her mom’s lips were pressed.

“But nevermind that, ma’am,” he added. “You must have one hell of an ability to ask for refuge bearing nothing but a kid.”

“I can heal.”

Somehow, they got a place in the village. A shabby home that was better than anything they had ever had, a place where Karin could be Karin and didn’t have to hide from big men while crying in silence, waiting for her mom.

The “waiting for her mom” part didn’t change much, though. She waited more and more as her mother was busy with work — she was the village’s healer now —, but, whenever she got home after a long day, she’d smile in a way Karin had never seen before as they had a decent meal before bed.

On second thought, maybe she didn’t like it. Being mysterious. Running away.

She still placed drawings around the house and the scars in her arms multiplied, but her shoulders were more relaxed and she looked better rested.

Maybe they could be happy.

—

Karin only realized they couldn’t once her mom was six feet under.

Her corpse was buried in a trench alongside people she didn’t even know and she filled her position as a healer.

And, then, Karin realized: her mom was very, very strong.

There was so much pain. She doubted her mother was ever happy as people dug their dirty teeth into her flesh.

Karin sure wasn’t.

—

The little girl missed her mom’s warmth, her pretty drawings and her cozy smiles.

She wished she was as strong as her, capable of being a warrior, but her arms were thin, her legs were clumsy and she couldn’t hold a kunai to save her life.

Yet, she wore the same weird headband those men wore on their foreheads and was left to fend for herself in the wild.

Her foot was sprained and all she could feel was despair as she felt the unstable chakra of wild creatures.

She could feel other people as well. Scary, cold and despicable chakra signatures. Some smelled like rain, some like blood. So, when the raven-haired boy offered his hand, she was surprised to feel the warmth of fire coming from him.

It wouldn't last for long.

—

Being tangled in snake business wasn’t part of the plan.

(Not that there was ever a plan other than survival, Karin reminded herself.)

But they needed her as a soldier and a healer.

So a soldier and a healer Karin would be.

(That was all she’d ever be.)

—

Karin thought things would be different once she found the boy warm as fire.

When they finally met, she was no longer a small child. Her red hair had grown a lot longer, her arms were stronger, her legs were faster. She was taller, smarter, older.

Things got better and, perhaps, Karin could be happy after all.

A hand through her chest was enough to know she was caught in delusion.

Maybe she was a small child, still. For lowering her guard.

(Her mom never made that mistake.)

She knew she could heal herself, but did she want to? Not really, no. She was tired. Of healing, of being tough.

(She wasn’t tough.)

The girl still ached for her mom.

Was this all they could’ve become? Broken warriors and run down healers?

Maybe Karin wasn’t a warrior at all.

Maybe her mom also pretended to be strong all this time.