Rain fell on the gray tiles, water streaming from the eaves.
Damp firewood fed the flames, sending up thick smoke.
An old man in a straw raincoat and bamboo hat led a water buffalo.
Swallows new to the old shrine settled before the hall.
The young and the old had all drifted away; the mountain spirits alone heard tales of the past.
Jiraiya fell silent. Perhaps the reason he could live so freely really was that he had no attachments.
He hoped the people he cared about would never need his concern, while the people who might have cared for him held little place in his heart.
Jiraiya wasn't pleased with the Third Hokage's actions over the years. What little affection remained between teacher and student had almost worn away. Otherwise, he wouldn't have used any old excuse to wander the world.
Minato, too, had been a political assignment from the Third Hokage. Aside from teaching him the Summoning Technique, Jiraiya had hardly taught him anything.
He had helped a few children in the Land of Rain, but back then, he'd thought they were the Children of Destiny. Once he realized they weren't, his enthusiasm had faded.
The two men stared at each other in silence for a long time. So much had happened over the past few years. The companions who had once relied on each other had gradually drifted apart.
On life's carriage, some people climbed aboard while others got off. With everyone headed for a different destination, they could only travel together for a time.
Over the course of a cup of tea, the two men's fond memories of growing up as the Sannin passed through their minds.
The good memories would remain in their hearts, but life still had to go on as it always had.