The scent of damp earth and pine resin hung heavy in the air after a morning shower, the cobblestones of Konoha’s lesser-used artisan quarter still slick and gleaming. Kaito moved with the quiet efficiency ingrained in him, his path taking him past the rear of the Fuuinjutsu Research Annex--a place of sharp-smelling inks, hushed theory debates, and the faint, constant hum of contained energies. He'd just spent hours studying the finer points of the sealing arts, and decided to take a walk to relieve himself of the eye fatigue that came with studying dusty scrolls in a dimly-lit library annex.
A flicker of movement, too small and too close to the ground for a shinobi, caught his peripheral vision. Instinct honed by years of ANBU alertness snapped his focus downwards, near the base of a large, rain-drenched oak beside the annex's back wall. Wedged into a crevice where root met stone, trembling violently, was a ball of russet fur. A squirrel--a young red squirrel, impossibly tiny, its body barely the length of his hand. Its large, dark eyes were wide with terror, fixed on Kaito's towering form, and it pressed itself deeper into the shadowed niche as if trying to vanish into the stone itself.
Kaito paused, his usual impassive mask softening minutely with surprise. Squirrels weren't uncommon in Konoha's trees, but they usually fled from shinobi, not cowered practically at their feet. He knelt slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might startle the creature further. The damp chill of the stone seeped through his pants. Up close, he could see the fine details: the delicate curve of its ears laid flat against its skull, the rapid flutter of its chest, the sleek fur darkened by the recent rain. And then he saw it--the distinctive mark that made this squirrel unique.
Its tail, a plume of vibrant red fur usually held high, was tucked tightly against its body. But the very tip, the last inch or so, wasn't russet. It was stained a deep, indelible black. Not dirt, but ink. A permanent blot, as if its tail had been dipped in a calligrapher's well and never fully cleaned. The stain stood out starkly against the vibrant fur, an incongruous mark of something profoundly out of place in the natural world.
An ink stain? On a squirrel?
The Jounin knelt on the cobblestones and slowly extended his hand to the cowering animal, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth to attract its attention. "I'm not going to hurt you little one, I promise," he muttered softly as he allowed the creature to sniff his hand and slowly creep its way forward, before he gently brushed his fingers along its small cheek and got a chittering sound in response. A genuine smile crossed his face as he scratched behind the squirrel's ears, wondering what in the world this creature was doing in a place like this.
