Bearing precious guidance and boundless hopes for the future, Shira returned safely to the marketplace and reunited with his parents, who had been searching for him anxiously.
On the eve of the caravan's departure for Sunagakure, Shira did not forget Granny Chiyo, who, despite her odd temper, had given him shelter and occasional pointers during his hardest moments.
Using the meager change he had saved by scrimping and occasionally helping his parents with their work, he carefully picked out two packets of decent-quality tea at the market, said to have a calming effect.
One was for Granny Chiyo. He hesitated over the other, but bought it anyway-for Elder Ebizo, whose status was lofty, though Shira had only met him a handful of times.
The caravan set out on its return journey. It had come laden with hopes and expectations; it returned carrying goods and a weighty harvest.
Sitting on the swaying pack wagon, Shira spent most of his time immersed in memory and thought, turning over every one of Might Guy's comments and planning his training for when he returned to Sunagakure.
But as the caravan gradually left the relatively prosperous marketplace in the Land of Rivers behind and once again crossed the vast wasteland at the junction of the Lands of Wind, Fire, and Rivers, the scene before them abruptly changed.
It was no longer empty and silent.
Along both sides of the road, people began to appear in twos and threes, trudging along with their families.
Dressed in rags, their faces gaunt with hunger and their eyes vacant and numb, they pushed battered wheelbarrows or carried simple bundles, struggling onward in the direction opposite the caravan-toward the Land of Fire.
The farther the caravan went, the more people they saw, until at last they formed a silent, desperate stream.
"Refugees," Rani murmured gravely, reining in his pack animal and signaling for the caravan to slow down.
Fūi kept a wary eye on their surroundings. "Judging by where they're headed, they must have fled from the Land of Hot Water or the Land of Grass, right? I heard fighting broke out again in the small countries over there recently. Several ninja villages have been fighting fiercely."
Shira's heart sank. He swept his gaze over the refugees.
He saw young mothers clutching infants, their eyes full of despair;
saw boys supporting injured fathers, their own legs still oozing pus and blood;
saw elderly people sitting by the roadside, weeping silently as they looked toward their burned-down homes;
saw that in the eyes on children's filthy little faces, eyes that should have been clear, only fear and bewilderment remained.
The air was filled with dust, sweat, and the faintest traces of blood and burning.
A child stumbled and fell, and the hard, dark flatbread in his hand rolled to the hooves of one of the caravan's pack animals. He dared not pick it up, only staring wide-eyed in fear at the tall Rani and Fūi's Sunagakure Forehead Protector.
Rani sighed, dismounted, and picked up the sand-covered bread. He brushed it off and handed it back to the trembling child, then took a piece of dried meat from his own rations bag and pressed it into his hand.
The child froze, then snatched the food and ran back to his mother without looking back, like a frightened little animal. His mother hurriedly bowed to Rani with the child and thanked him, then quickly led him away.
"What a tragedy..." Shira's father sighed under his breath, while his mother turned her head away, unable to bear the sight.
The caravan made its way slowly and silently through the stream of refugees, starkly out of place amid the despair and numbness around it. Sitting on the wagon, Shira clenched his fists involuntarily, his nails digging deep into his palms.
Was this the reality of the ninja world?