When Umeka saw a dark-haired boy hiding in the shadows, shunted aside by the flowing crowd, her fingers went automatically to the cards in her pocket. She pulled one out and looked at it, even as she side-stepped the pedestrians and went to the boy's side. The reversed Prince of Batons.

Interesting, she thought, and drew another, feet coming to a halt. The High Priest.

"Hello," she said, and slipped both cards back into her pocket. The boy turned only slightly, stringy dark hair hiding most of his face from view.

"Hello," he muttered.

This guy is the Prince of Batons? Doesn't seem like it. "What's your name?" she asked, voice perhaps too loud, too bold, but that didn't worry her. It had bothered her mother, gentle noblewoman that she was, and eventually her daughter disappeared, only to reappear with the circus parade.

"I don't remember," the boy said honestly, voice sullen. "And I wouldn't bother talking to you even if I did. Go away."

She grinned, poking her tongue out of the gaps where her canines used to be. "So you are a brat after all. I'd wondered." He said nothing. "Why d'you keep your face turned away, huh, little Prince?"

"Little?" he repeated scornfully. She could see his hands clench into trembling fists.

"You're tiny," she teased. "A whole three heads shorter than me, but I'm a big girl. C'mon, look at me."

He turned suddenly and did, mouth pulled into a tight, nasty smile. "There," he said, turned almost but not-quite in her direction. "Are you happy?"

She carefully stretched out her hand and touched his chin -- he tensed, throat working frantically. "Calm," she advised, and tilted up his face.

Small, neat, and black. There was a faint redness and a shininess, almost a dampness. Do they irritate him? she wondered. Or was he crying? She tried to imagine him crying and found that she couldn't; he was frozen, like a prince carven from ice.

"Your eyes are sewed shut," she said plainly. "Is that why you're hiding?"

He said nothing for the longest time, as the crowd flowed and parted and moved around them. Eventually he sighed softly and admitted, "I don't know. I don't remember."

Umeka's fingers itched to draw another card, but she sensed that this wasn't the time. "Come on," she said instead. "I know someone who can help."

~

"Your talent for the cards is still unmatched," an old woman crooned, trailing her fingers over a fine silk pillow that rested on her knee. "But I don't know what good it is to bring him here."

Prince -- as Umeka had taken to calling him -- was in the corner, back pressed against the faded red canvas that acted as a wall. He'd eaten something, drank a little, talked even less.

"It seemed like a good idea."

"He's blind."

Prince said nothing in his own defense. Umeka said, "I think he'll be useful," and reached into her pocket, withdrawing a card. "The Seven of Coins," she said, satisfied, and slapped it down on the table. The old woman touched it to insure that it wasn't fake. Her rings glittered. "It'll take some work, but I bet he's a perfectionist, aren't you, Prince?"

He made a small, halted motion. One of agreement, she thought later. "I don't remember," he said.

"Does he remember anything?"

Umeka rolled her eyes. "Do you remember anything?" she asked Prince.

He made a small, scornful sound. "What do you think?"

"No," Umeka translated.

An arched white brow was her only response. The old woman leaned back on her pile of cushions, useless legs folded in front of her, delicate ankles adorned with jewels. Even Umeka, with her many piercings and necklaces, didn't have as much jewelry as Naina, but then, Naina didn't spend all of her time lugging the stuff around. Her legs had never worked, just like her eyes.

"If you can teach him the tightrope," Naina said slowly, staring hard at Prince, "I'll let him stay. But keep him away from the tigers. They don't need any competition."

Umeka bowed. She turned, prepared to bully Prince into doing the same, but he had already done so.

~

I don't know what I'm doing, his mind screamed, but his body remembered.

Once, he thought, there were heights higher than this and perils far more perilous; once, he thought, there might have been enemies before and behind him while he walked this thin tightrope. Once, he thought, but he couldn't have said where those thoughts came from, except perhaps before.

Before, the nebulous blankness that he'd stepped out of, finding himself crumpled and bleeding in a dark world that never seemed to end. Someone had taken him in, hidden him from the roving bands of gangs and soldiers, and had healed him. He remembered a low voice, female, and another, loud and brash.

He'd thought he heard it again when he met Umeka, but it was all wrong, the faint lisp, the timbre, the strident vowels. That other voice, he knew, had been scratchy and soft when it spoke to him, gentle. He remembered the feel of it against his skin, he remembered asking if he could touch the boy's face since he couldn't see. He remembered soft skin and six long scars, three on each cheek, stark and parallel.

Prince stopped mid-step, chasing a thought.

"Gonna fall?" Umeka's voice rang out from somewhere, behind him or before him, he couldn't tell. An enemy? He didn't think so.

What is this old fear, he wondered, this old fear of enemies?

"Of course not," he said scornfully, and on an impulse gave into to the desire that made his palms itch -- his body pitched forward and his hands reached out, found the wire and gripped it tight. The world dipped and spun crazily -- Umeka laughed -- and his feet found the rope again. He'd done a flip, as simply as if he was standing on the ground.

"This is easy," he said.

"Good," Umeka said. "Then you won't mind if I join you?"

Prince swallowed, but she was already there, just in front of him. "Not bad," she said. "Good stance. But you've gotta do more than just toddle around, you know."

He could sense where this is going. "I'm not going to dance."

"It's not dancing," she corrected. "It's . . . walking the tightrope."

"No dancing."

"More like gymnastics."

Prince drew his eyebrows together in the best glare he could muster, even as Umeka took his hands and made him stand straight. Her posture was less natural, her feet somewhat uncertain. He didn't think she was used to the rope, and a strange thought came that she was used to animals instead. He could almost smell a heavy musk on her, radiating from her large warm body like bizarre perfume.

"Tigers," he identified, and wondered how he knew them, how he recognized them.

"That's right," she said approvingly. "Now, be a tiger on this rope, Prince, and you won't have to go back on the streets."

He thought about it for a moment, brow furrowed, and eventually stepped away. "Let me learn it on my own," he said. "I don't like to be taught."

"All right." The wire shook slightly and she was gone.

He started to move, until the world wasn't a thing of darkness but of wind, rushing and loud and overpowering. When he came to a stop his feet were on the ground and something was crashing in his ears -- applause, and Umeka cheering -- and he could smell someone nearby, watching him with fascination and hope.

"Fox," he said, but couldn't have said how he knew it. And then it was gone.

~

Prince had a dream, curled up at the foot of Umeka's bunk, and she nudged him awake. He rolled away and was silent, panting hard.

She found a card and looked at it. "Four of coins," she said, and yawned. "Reverse."

Prince scoffed quietly.

"You know what it means?"

"Of course not."

"Loss. Ruin." Umeka turned onto her side, shifting as one of the piercings in her throat poked her shoulder. "What did you dream about?"

"It was . . . ." Prince was silent. She could almost hear his voice rolling around inside of him, fighting to get out. He was so quiet, so stern. Already half of the acrobats and dancers were in love with him. "A man that I don't remember. With white skin and weird green eyes. Torturing me."

His voice was rough, but not broken. Umeka said nothing, bringing an inventory of Prince's scars to mind -- she'd seen them when she helped him change, buttoning him into one of her old shirts and a pair of pants from one of the dancers. Which ones were fresh? she wondered, wishing she'd paid more attention. Which ones brought about the amnesia? What happened to him?

Who is he, really?

He must have been curious, too. The circus was full of orphans and criminals and magic-users, killers and pacifists, the unwanted and the hunted, but few were like him, a strange blend of royalty and orphan. Only Vengeur, really. She wondered what would happen when they met.

Prince was silent for a long time, and eventually fell back to sleep.

~

Backflip, flip, handstand, spin duck twirl and some complicated thing that looked like it hurt, but it obviously didn't because he landed on both feet, panting hard and smirking.

"Faster," Umeka urged.

Flip flip, in the air, somersaulting, back on the wires, forward, backward, fast fastfastfast --

-- he was a blur when he finally came to a halt, and there were inch-deep imprints in the dirt, his feet. When Prince and his trainer were gone, a blond-haired boy touched his fingers to them.

"Cat," he said loudly, and he was smiling. Grinning, really, a wide wild thing that couldn't be contained. He jumped into the rafters and was gone.

~

It was after the first performance in Elehalkirai that everyone discovered Prince didn't like to be disturbed, when he disappeared so smoothly from a crowd of admirers that it took everyone an hour to find him.

But there was the parade, and the celebrations, and he didn't have a choice, of course. Naina agreed that he was talented ("You know he's the best we've got," Umeka said, but Naina just shook her head and said, "One should not get attached to strays.") but she insisted that he walk through the city with everyone else, with the elephants and the tigers and the pack of white wolves, glittering with diamonds and silver.

One of the wolves had adopted Prince and sat at his feet as everyone else milled, packing up the tent and singing a song. It was missing it's left eye, covered by a simple black patch, and there were strings of silver and diamond chains wrapped around it's snout. Prince attempted briefly to pry them off, wondering how he managed to eat around them, but then realized that they were embedded in his skull. The wolf was patient under his hands, calm, and laid down when Prince drew away, ashamed of his trespass.

"You gotta feed him," a male voice said, deceptively rough. He was a singer -- Prince had heard him, chanting in some strange language as he worked the tightrope and the crowd shrieked. "The last wolftamer would shred the meat and give it to him, but he met a grisly death, didn't he?"

"One 'a Umeka's tigers ripped out 'is throat," another voice said.

"Bastard had it coming!" Umeka bellowed, from quite a distance away.

"Yeah, no one liked him much," the singer, Canzone, said. "Weird silver-haired guy with glasses. Crippled, though." He set something on the ground, panting, and Prince resisted the urge to shy away. "You feed him, Prince, and he'll look out for you."

"I don't need anyone to look out for me," Prince said, but he scratched the wolf's heavy mane and silently promised that he would. That was when he fingers found the patch and he fell silent, dark brows furrowing together.

"The parade is starting," Umeka said, nearly startling him half to death.

"I don't want to go," he said mulishly.

Umeka was silent. Prince recognized the sound of her reaching for a card and sighed. "The Hermit," she finally said, amused. "Well, it's no fun for you, but there's not a choice. Let's go, Prince. All the girls want to see you."

Prince sighed and stood, stretching out his hands. The wolf guided him well, so well that he didn't need Umeka's help. But he could still sense her just ahead, watching over him.

~

The air was cold but not sharp, chilly he should say, and he liked it -- the feel of it, the sound of it. It reminded him of a place where the night was clean and brought sleep, temporary forgetfulness. A time when he craved forgetfulness. Something brushed his face and he turned towards it blindly.

"Fireflies," Canzone said. "Look how they cluster, Umeka."

"It's like they're trying to light your way," she admitted. One of her tigers rumbled and she said, "Oh, shush, he's allowed to be special, too."

Special.

"Special?" he said quietly, but no one answered. He was speaking to the air.

The parade started to move and Prince followed, the wolf at his side, Umeka and her tigers just up ahead. Canzone came and went, calling out a song in the language of the town, until all the crowd was singing, too. Prince followed, head bowed, struggling to understand the noise and the people, the wind and the darkness, but it was all nonsensical, beyond him. He just followed, and when he would have gone off-track, the wolf would usher him back in line.

Someone touched his arm and he yanked away. A female voice babbled, shoving a cold hardness into his palm.

"What is it?" he asked Umeka as they walked along, leaving the woman behind.

"A necklace," the tigertamer said, taking it from him and putting it around his neck. It was cold, heavy against his throat. "Silver and ruby, pretty unusual."

"Real rubies?" Prince said doubtfully.

"Real," she affirmed. "All the jewels are real. When the armies moved in, the soldiers traded the pretties for the weapons, the silverware, and anything else with a sharp edge. Now there's plenty of jewelry and not enough knives, so they give the trinkets to us -- there are so many that they aren't valuable anymore."

She moved away to make sure her tigers didn't eat any of the villagers. Prince touched his new necklace and murmured, "I am a knife. A weapon . . . ."

The wolf whined, but Prince could think of nothing reassuring to say.

Someone else caught his wrist and pushed a ring into his hand, and then a bracelet. He took them without saying thanks, putting them on silently and wondering what their colors were. Someone touched his arm but didn't give him anything -- his feet slowed and he recognized a scent, light but distinctive on the thick air.

"You --"

Prince recognized that voice. He turned towards it, the fireflies tangling in his hair, and warm fingers touched his -- and then the fox was gone, yanked away by the jostling, noisy crowd.

Prince went blindly ahead. He didn't tell Umeka.

~

It was the entrance parade to another town, one on the coast. Unlike the leaving parade, they stole in during the early hours of morning, cloaked and hooded. The heavy footsteps of the elephants drew some to the streets, and they stared.

Prince, stumbling with weariness, gripped the reins of one of the packhorses. Umeka was with the tigers, keeping a stern eye on them -- it was night and they were excited, longing to prowl. Canzone was humming to himself, some faintly ominous melody that Prince didn't understand. Everyone spoke a different language here, a slick gliding singing thing.

He heard a soft noise, some instruments and a song, and turned towards it. The wolf, dragging after him sleepily, darted instantly to his side.

"Gypsies," a quiet, lilting voice murmured. The birdtamer, a small woman named Amiani, was leading the horses, and thus Prince. "Dancers, singers, pickpockets. Keep your money close to your skin."

Prince scoffed quietly. "I don't have any money," he said, his usual silky drawl gone raspy with tiredness. Amiani said nothing, apparently busy hiding the small shells that the circus people used as money.

The wolf gave a short bark, a far cry from the loud bay of the bloodhounds that the hunters kept, but Prince recognized it as a warning. The music had gotten closer, the sound of fingers plucking strings, the pitter patter of footsteps, and the hushed whoosh! of fabric arcing through the air.

"Get ready," Amiani warned. "They like to surround people."

Prince bit back a snarl. "Stupid fuckers," he muttered, and gripped the reins even tighter. If they surrounded him and cut him off from the circus and the wolf, he'd be hard-pressed to find either one again.

As if sensing his animosity, the gypsies surrounded him instantly, knocking his hand from the reins and draping silk around his shoulders, whisking it away seconds later. Clever fingers skimmed over his body, plainly seeking his pockets. He blocked them easily even though he had nothing to steal, and was startled when they laughed melodically, in tune with the strumming music.

"Impressive," a low voice murmured, wrapping a perfumed scarf around his shoulders and moving quickly away. Another hand moved for the pouch that he kept his food in and he caught it, gracefully side-stepping the dancer and, he hoped, the rest of gypsies.

No good. He bumped into one who tossed a scarf over his face, laughing. He batted it away frantically, still attempting to escape -- someone gripped his shoulder and spun him, other hands sought his pockets. He blocked them and struggled to keep his balance, clamping his mouth shut to keep from crying out. The entire thing was silent and unreal, silk and hands as quiet as the mist.

The scarf covering his face was removed, only to join the scarf around his shoulders. "Very nice," a warm voice said, right next to him. Prince jerked, startled, but the speaker was already moving away, to his other side.

It was a male voice. "Are you a spellcaster? A ninja?"

Prince pushed away from the gypsy. "Fuck off," he snarled.

Hands pushed him back into the speaker's arms. "Just a compliment," the voice murmured. A warm pair of lips brushed the nape of his neck, barely exposed by the scarfs he'd been given. He rammed his elbow backwards, intending to hit the bastard in the ribs, but he was already gone. His mocking laugh rang in Prince's ears.

He checked his pockets. He still had everything -- he'd escaped unscathed -- but as he'd feared, he'd been parted from from parade. Even the wolf was gone.

He started walking cautiously, hands outstretched. Dammit, he hated this helplessness -- ! Fuck all the gypsies to hell!

Someone caught him when he would have stumbled, only to turn immediately and go. Prince recognized the smell, leaves and wind and sunshine, and grabbed a handful of jacket. Water-resistant, some part of his brain noted, and thick. Probably some lurid color -- orange, he thought, and could even picture the shade.

"Let me go!" the fox snapped. "Now -- let me go --" Hands batted at him ineffectually, trying to knock him away without hurting him. "Hurry! If they see you with me -- you'll be in trouble --"

Prince held on stubbornly. "They?"

"The soldiers!" His hands were finally removed from the jacket, and the speaker vanished. Too quickly, Prince thought coldly. He could feel the breeze from his departure.

"What's this?" a brash voice demanded. Prince turned immediately, heart pounding. He was hopelessly lost. "A blind kid? You're with the circus, aincha? Those damn gypsies."

"Yes," Prince said slowly, warily. "I'm with the circus --"

A hand gripped his arm, yanking him right off the ground. He swore and fought but for nothing: without his sight, he was no match for a trained fighter. He was drug along for a while before he heard the elephants and a ruckus of voices.

"Prince!" someone called. It was one of the kids who helped bring in customers, picking pockets at the same time. "Hey, hey! Umeka! It's Prince, I found 'im!"

"I found 'im, brat," Prince's captor said. "How much'll you give me for 'im, eh?"

A small hand pried Prince free. "Here," Amiani's voice said, even as some of the children clustered around them. "Now let us be. We have no wish to become entangled with the soldiers."

So that had been a soldier? Prince heard a familiar rumble, and then a low, canine snarl. The kids parted and allowed his wolf to re-join him.

He reached down, gripping the thick ruff. "You're late," he muttered. The wolf whined in apology. "I'm going to skin you," he added half-heartedly, heart still pounding.

"Amiani, what's this?" Umeka had joined them, adding to the chaos. "Where was Prince?"

"I got separated by the fucking gypsies," Prince snapped, tired of being spoken over. He was blind, not deaf. "The soldier found me and decided to sell me back. Is everyone finished pawing at me?"

The children scattered, giggling and oooooh-ing obnoxiously. Umeka's large, familiar hand tugged gently on his new scarves. "See you got a present," she said, amused. "You must've been pretty impressive."

Prince snarled wordlessly, rather like his wolf.

"There're shells in there," one of the kids piped. Prince reached up, and sure enough, there was a necklace of shells hidden in one of the scarves. Prince remembered the warm lips on his throat and shuddered, disgusted.

"You're rich," Umeka said, laughing. "What on earth did you do?"

"Yeah, yeah, what did you --"

"Cool!"

"Prince, Prince, can I have one? Please?"

"Fucking gypsies," Prince muttered.

~

"What're you going to buy, huh?"

"Buy an elephant!"

"Silly, the elephants aren't for sale."

"I'd buy an elephant! I'd buy an elephant and I'd stomp the stupid soldiers!"

"That's more like what Veng would do, innit Veng?" There was a moment of giggly silence. Prince could envision all of the young faces turned in Veng's direction, waiting for a response.

"Shut up," Veng said quietly. She had been at Prince's side for some time, not touching him but acting as his guardian. The other children had tried to steal his scarves and shells half-heartedly, only to be scared off by the wolf. Prince didn't really want the stupid things -- they smelled like the gypsies -- but the scarves were warm and the shells were valuable. They would be useful later on.

"Aw, don't be mean to Veng," an older, more reasonable voice said. Seulement, Prince thought his name was. He'd been trying to get along with Veng but she would have none of it. "We've all got reason to hate the soldiers, don't we?"

"Yeah!"

"Whatever," Veng said.

"Veng's crazy," someone said frankly. "All she does is work with Gamba and find ways to fight."

"Shut up," Veng said, so coldly and seriously that everyone did, in fact, shut up. Prince listened with only half of his attention, part of his mind caught up in a strange feeling of humiliation -- why did this feel so familiar, why did he think he'd heard all of this before? What did Umeka call it? Deja vu, that was it.

The children went a short distance away, carrying on their conversation about elephants. Prince and Veng walked in silence. Veng finally said, "I have a knife, you know."

Prince felt his heart leap, his eyelids flutter against their restraints. "You do?" he demanded.

"Yeah," she said nervously. "But it's not sharp. Naina checked. So I can't cut the threads on your eyes, you know?"

Prince turned his face away, irritated with the false hope. "Yeah," he said, wondering how she'd gotten the knife. They carried on for a while, neither of them speaking, before Prince, perhaps in a misguided attempt to repay her for her help, said, "Don't be an idiot. Don't spend all of your time training."

Veng said nothing.

"You'll just regret it later," he added, somewhat mysteriously.

"Stupid," she hissed. "You and all the others -- you couldn't possibly know!" She stomped off, leaving him behind. The children called after her, some of them jeering, some of them genuinely concerned. Seulement was one of the latter. Prince told them to knock if off and they did.

Maybe she was right and he didn't know. He didn't remember. But why did something desperate and sad inside of him insist that he did, in fact, understand? Why did something inside of him want to help?

The wolf urged him to stop, and Prince realized that they had reached camp. He could finally rest.

As he sought Umeka in the crowd, he could hear someone urging her to draw cards. She drew two. "The Hanging Man in reverse," she called, "and the Chariot."

"What's that mean?" Amiani asked, laughing as the children started to dance, relieved that the tents were going up.

"I don't think I'll tell her," Umeka muttered to Prince, leading him aside where he could stay out of everyone's way. "I was looking at you and Veng when I drew them. Too personal."

"Veng wasn't anywhere near me," Prince pointed out wearily, patronizingly.

"She was watching you," Umeka said, amused. "Like a lost little puppy."

Prince felt too battered and weary to respond. He put his back to a fencepost and laid his head on the wolf's side, drifting in and out of sleep. His scarves still smelled like gypsies.

~

"I know you're there."

The quiet, fox-scented presence grew still. A rusty, familiar voice asked, "Sasuke?"

Prince rolled over, careful not to disturb Umeka (sprawled over her bedroll like one of her tigers, large and languid and utterly arrogant), twisted to his feet and hissed, "What did you call me?"

The fox was silent. Prince wondered where his wolf was and realized that it was still sleeping peacefully, apparently unaware of the intruder. That was no good.

"I've been looking for you," the voice said, male, young, and light, with the sort of scratchiness that would never go away. It was familiar, it tugged at every part of him, but Prince could not place it.

"You're the one who healed me," he said cautiously, dredging up those blurry memories before Umeka found him.

"You remember?" the fox demanded, voice leaping with hope.

Prince snorted. "Obviously. But I don't remember anything before that, if that's what you're asking."

The fox cursed quietly.

"What were you expecting?"

A moment of silence. Prince could hear him pacing, restless and nervous. "I saw you on the wires," he blurted finally. "Using some of your old techniques. I thought . . . it seemed . . . I guess Granny was right." Any hope or light had quietly leaked from the voice, leaving behind quiet despondence. "You don't remember. And maybe you never will."

It annoyed him. "Quit being such an idiot," Prince snapped. He wanted to grab the stupid fox by his hair and punch him hard, get him back for the strange feeling in his gut, the strange tightness around his heart. He felt like he'd failed, somehow, and he didn't like it. "I'm going to remember, so if you're going to be useful, then hurry up, or get out."

The fox was quiet again, pacing, muttering to himself. Finally he said, "What about her? Umeka?"

"What about her?"

"What if she wakes up?"

Prince smirked. "She'll probably think you're an intruder and kill you. Why?"

"Great," the fox muttered. "And the wolf?"

"Same."

"Even better." A thoughtful pause. Prince could feel the fox's eyes on him and fought not to squirm. "What do they call you, anyway?"

"Prince," Prince said, with some reluctance. The name felt natural in the circus, but he sensed that this boy wouldn't feel the same way.

The fox started to snicker. "Prince?" he demanded. "Prince?"

"Go ahead," Prince said grimly. "Laugh all you want. Wake up Umeka."

The fox shut up.

"What's your name?" Prince demanded. "And what did you call me before?"

"My name is Naruto Uzumaki," the fox said, with determined pride. Prince said nothing. "And, uh. I called you . . . by your name."

Prince waited.

"I'm not supposed to say it very often," Naruto admitted. "Someone's looking for you. They can hear your name anytime that it's used, if they're in range . . . and I'm pretty sure they are."

"I see."

Naruto was moving further and further away. "I shouldn't be here," he added. "They really are looking -- they might have followed me -- I could be putting you in danger."

"I can look after myself," Prince said defiantly, standing carefully. He kept his hands slightly out so that he wouldn't bump into anything. "I want to know my name!"

"You're still such a brat!" Naruto snapped. "Shut up or you'll wake her up!"

"I -- tell me!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Prince lashed out blindly. Naruto caught his hand easily and kept him from falling -- for a moment, they were close, and there was a whole surge of memories just beneath the surface of Prince's skin, waiting to explode.

"What's my name?" he demanded softly.

Naruto disentangled himself, warm wet breath rushing over Prince's skin, and left. He trembled and shook for a moment, wracking his brain -- what did he call me, what did he call me -- when the wolf woke with a snort. It went to his side and nudged him towards the bedroll.

"You're late," he muttered sullenly, and went. When he reached the crate Umeka used as a nightstand, he leaned against it and felt the slickness of a card beneath his hand. He asked her in the morning what it was.

"The Empress," she said around a yawn, "in reverse. Did you sleep at all?"

"No," he admitted.

~

After Prince's performance on the tightrope, Canzone sang a song with Amiani, the birdtamer -- she chirped and whistled and summoned an entire flock, hundreds strong. Hidden from the crowd, Prince could feel the breeze of a thousand wings, and the sound reminded him of something. The wolf at his side had his head up, listening.

And then the birds started to sing, along with Canzone and Amiani, and it reminded him of something else, a cage and dark hair. He listened hard, searching for the meaning, and when the song reached it's crescendo -- it's human crescendo -- and the birds flew away into the night, he thought he'd maybe found it.

The sound echoed in his ears for some time, a baritone and a soprano and a rush of wind, a great outpouring of freedom.

~

"Hey, Prince."

Prince stopped, not bothering to turn his face towards the voice. It wasn't like he could see her face. "What?"

"D'you think I could borrow that wolf of yours?"

Amiani sounded worried. Carefully, Prince sat down the bundle of cloth that he was carrying, the wolf flopping down at his feet and resting. "Why do you need him?" he asked.

"Just a . . . a feeling."

Prince turned towards her, brow furrowed. "Explain," he ordered coldly. "I don't have time for this."

Amiani was silent for a minute. Prince waited, impatient in his darkness. Finally she said, "Not here."

He rolled his eyes automatically, wincing as the stitches strained, and picked up the cloth he'd been carrying. The wolf stood, gripping a handful of Prince's shirt and tugging him along. The world grew somewhat as they stepped inside one of the tents -- Prince caught the smell of paint and figured it was one of the craft shops.

"After our meeting with the gypsies," Amiani murmured, uneasy, "that soldier . . . I've been seeing him around, and I'm worried."

"You think he's going to attack you?" Prince demanded.

"Why not? The soldiers can do whatever they want, and if anyone from the circus retaliated, all of us would be punished. But if he saw me with a wolf . . . he might reconsider whatever he's thinking."

Prince thought that over, acutely conscious of the wolf pressed against his calves and the breeze blowing through the exit. "His mouth is chained shut," he reminded her, laying his hand on the wolf's back in apology. "He won't be able to fight."

"You can't tell, from a distance." Amiani sounded truly nervous. If what he'd overheard was any indication, she was quite a beauty. Prince's stomach churned at a thought: she wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for him, him and his stupid blindness.

And the fucking gypsies, of course. Prince tucked his chin behind their scarves, scowling.

Giving up his guide . . . he'd be lost without the wolf. But this was his responsibility. "The soldier might think that they can be removed," Amiani added, a little desperate. "It would just be for a little while, until he loses interest."

Prince nodded. "Fine. Keep him with you at all times, look after him, feed him. When you're safe, send him back." He stood, gathering up his burden and wondering how in the hell he was going to get around. The wolf whimpered and stood as well -- he didn't try to stop Prince, but he seemed unhappy.

Amiani stood and held open the flap. "You could take Veng as a guide," she said, joining him in the noisy sunlight. "So you don't have to worry about getting lost."

"I'm sure she has responsibilities," Prince said coolly.

"She does, but she finishes them quickly. She spends most of her time training with Gamba. I know that you know some fighting, so you could teach her some moves in return . . . plus, she likes you." Prince could hear the smile in her voice -- she'd grown much calmer after Prince agreed to lend her his wolf -- and snorted. "There's nothing else for her to do, Prince. She doesn't have any family."

For some reason Amiani's words tugged at him in a way few things did, pulling at some deep thread of memory. He didn't want to encourage a little girl with a crush, but he didn't want to leave her alone -- that desire, strangely enough, was the strongest thing he'd felt since joining the circus.

"All right," he heard himself say.

"Thank you," she said, sighing, and called for Veng.

The girl held his hand and guided him for the rest of the day, silent but not unfriendly. Once he was finished practicing on the tightrope, he gathered his fractured memories of his battle with the gypsies and trained her the best he could. She was already quick, surprisingly strong, but still so small. He knew that she was about twelve, and yet . . . her wrists in his hands, her slim shoulders, her chickdown-soft hair . . . she was so young. He wondered why she hated the soldiers.

"These moves you're teaching me," she said, accented voice rough with weariness, "what are they called?"

"Taijutsu," he said. Immediately he stopped, trying to remember more, but it was gone.

"Taijutsu," she repeated carefully, and led him back home.

"Where's your wolf?" Umeka wondered. Prince told her about his conversation with Amiani, feeling his way to the bedroll, and curled up at the foot as he always did. There weren't enough tents for everyone to have their own, but Umeka was skilled enough with the cards and tigers to have earned one. Prince chose to bunk with her instead of outside or with a stranger.

There was the sound of a card being drawn. "The Five of Cups, reverse." Umeka said tensely, putting the card away. "When something happens, send for me and my tigers."

'When', not 'if'. Prince nodded, troubled, and laid down to sleep.

~

It was early in the morning of the next day, after Veng had left him in a small grove of trees to get them lunch, when he caught the familiar scent.

"Naruto," he demanded.

Sighing, the boy jumped from his perch in the trees and landed beside Prince. "How'd you know I was there?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Prince said, sitting very still, and waiting until Naruto was within reaching distance. Prince grabbed a handful of his jacket and yanked him close. "Tell me my name," he ordered, "or I'll break your neck."

Naruto scoffed. "Bastard, like you could. You don't have any weapons, you can't see, and you don't remember how to fight."

Prince let him go, somewhat embarrassed. "I remember a little," he muttered sullenly.

Naruto perked up. "Really?"

"Yes."

Naruto settled down next to him, a short distance away but quite relaxed. It was clear that he trusted Prince a lot -- was it a throwback to the relationship they had before Prince lost his memory? He ached to ask, but he didn't know if Naruto would give an honest answer, and he wasn't sure he'd like it, anyway.

"What else do you remember?"

Prince hissed quietly, irritated at the question. "None of your business."

"Hey, hey, jerk! Sure it is! I saved you, didn't I? And I'm here now! C'mon, tell me."

"I don't have to tell you anything, idiot."

"Well, no, but . . . ." Prince could hear Naruto fidgeting in confusion. "But don't you want to?" he finally asked.

"No," Prince said coldly.

There was a pause. Naruto laid back and said, stubbornly, "Fine. Then I'll tell you some stuff."

Prince felt his stomach clench. Here it was, the answer that he was afraid of -- he held his breath and stayed rigidly still, hoping that his emotions were hidden. He ached to open his eyes and see Naruto's face, to see if he recognized him -- after all, this could be a trick -- but of course, he couldn't. He couldn't see, and his blindness was a suffocating weight on his chest. He couldn't see. God, he hated it.

"We grew up in Konoha, a hidden village in Fire Country in the Far East." Prince had already guessed that he was from the Eastern continent; several people had mentioned that his looks were foreign. "You're a ninja, like me."

"A ninja," Prince interrupted. He was still sitting as Naruto sprawled comfortably, and turned slightly so that Naruto would know he was listening. "Ninjas aren't allowed in this country."

"I know." Naruto sounded worried. "Someone -- a man named Orochimaru, a real bastard -- he ran here when his village was beaten in battle. He brought you with him, he's the one that -- you know -- that, um. Did that to your eyes." Naruto's voice fell. "And he hurt you real bad, I dunno why. I followed you with Granny -- this old lady -- so we could kill him, and she left, but I stayed here."

Prince looked away so that Naruto couldn't see his expression. "For me?"

"Yeah."

They didn't say anything. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the distant circus, preparing for the opening act that night. Veng would be coming back soon, Prince figured -- she had to do her part to set up, of course, and get them food. He could smell it from even this distance.

He really wanted to punch Naruto again. The pressure was back, wrapping itself around his heart and squeezing hard. He hated it.

"Konoha -- it's a really good place." Naruto stretched, squeaking a little. Prince scoffed to himself. "It's warmer than this place, doesn't snow very much, and there aren't as many people. I mean, the village, it's crowded all the time, but outside of it there are forests for miles and miles." Prince leaned slightly forward, like he could hide from Naruto's words. "Our village . . . right now they're having the spring festival and cleaning up from the war . . . everyone's gathered in the streets, crowded together and laughing, talking. There's this giddy feeling, you know . . . ."

Prince tried to picture it, he did. But he couldn't -- what was a spring festival, what did they celebrate, what did they wear and look like? He knew that his looks were 'foriegn' but he didn't know what that meant. He had only the vaguest memory of what anyone looked like at all, where their eyes and noses and mouths were. Once he'd considered asking Umeka if he could touch her face, but he'd been too nervous.

He'd touched Naruto's face, though, in that brief period before Umeka found him. He thought of Naruto's scars and hunched further into himself, yearning to feel them again.

"Our friend, Sakura, she's with this guy named Lee . . . she writes me letters talking about him." Naruto sounded wistful. Prince realized, suddenly, that Naruto loved her, their friend Sakura, and felt a strange twinge. He chased after it but there was nothing there, just a feeling of loneliness.

"She said she thought he was going to propose to her at the festival, but she hasn't written me back yet. He probably did." Naruto forced a short laugh. "Lee's not very good at hiding things, like me."

"So he's an idiot," Prince murmured.

Naruto nudged him lightly with his foot. "Hey!"

The wind blew hard from the west, bringing with it the scent of cooking food and the sound of Canzone singing. Naruto's stomach rumbled loudly and Prince snickered.

"It's not funny, jerk! I'm really hungry!"

Prince looked away so that Naruto couldn't see his face. Eventually he calmed himself and summoned his usual frown -- Naruto had sunk back into silence, still lying on his back and looking at the trees.

"Also," Naruto started, voice gone serious, "in Konoha --"

"Stop it," Prince interrupted. He was tired and depressed, he didn't remember what Naruto was talking about, and it hurt to know that there was a whole other life he couldn't recall. "I don't want to hear it."

Naruto sat up carefully. "I'm not trying to force you --"

"Then stop."

"I'm trying to help!"

"I don't need your help."

"Yeah, you do." Naruto sounded surly, and there came a ripping sound, like he was yanking up the grass in his frustration. "You know, you know, that old lady who came this way with me? She's the Fifth Hokage, Godaime. I know you don't remember," Naruto added hurriedly when Prince would have interrupted, "and maybe you don't give a damn -- you never cared about me, you bastard -- but she told me that when I came back to Konoha, whether I tried to save you or not, you jerk, she told me that I would be Rokudaime. The Sixth Hokage."

You never cared about me. Prince doubted that, he doubted that very much. There was such an ugly twisting pain in his stomach that he didn't think he'd done much else besides.

Prince didn't know. He didn't remember.

"I always wanted to be the Hokage," Naruto said, getting to his feet. "That was my most important dream. But I'll put it off forever if I have to, so appreciate it, you asshole."

He left.

Prince waited until he was sure that Naruto was gone before he pulled his knees up, pillowing his head in his arms and breathing slowly. He felt like he was unraveling, bit by bit in the unending darkness, but he had to be calm by the time Veng came back.

~

Prince and Veng were almost done for the night, walking through the dark tent city, when Veng gasped. "Your wolf!" she exclaimed, tugging him forward. "He's bleeding --"

Prince shoved her towards the tents. "Get Umeka," he ordered, voice gone frosty, "or Gamba -- run!"

She ran. He let the wolf grab a mouthful of his sleeve and tug him along, heart pounding, until the wolf stopped and Prince skidded to a halt. A muffled voice screamed his name.

"Amiani!" He stood, helpless and blind. The wolf rumbled at his side, a warning. Prince smelled the soldier just before he heard a knife slicing the air. He ducked --

-- his body remembered how to fight. Prince let it take over, rolling forward, all his focus trained on his hearing, and kicked, his foot catching the soldier in the throat. Gagging, the man fell aside.

A raspy warning from the wolf and a shriek from Amiani. More than one? Prince backflipped away, the breeze of several knives washing over him. His back fetched up against a wall and he felt his throat tighten -- dammit, dammit, dammit --

"Kill 'im," one of them said, voice choked. The one he'd kicked.

"Stupid fucker," another snarled. Prince ducked and heard a knife scraping over stone, felt the sparks jump up. He somersaulted between someone's legs and kicked the middle of his back, snapping his spine.

But he wasn't fast enough. There were too many scents and sounds, too much happening, and he couldn't dodge the next knife. A line of fire spread from his shoulder to his elbow and he staggered.

Amiani screamed, unmuffled this time, and Prince could hear her struggling, fists raining blows and feet scrabbling for purchase. There came a great racket of birds from some nearby trees. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP! Prince, look out!"

Something crashed into the soldier at his left, sending him into the wall. The wolf, Prince thought coldly, and threw another attacker aside. Something clattered to the ground and he snatched it up -- he grabbed the wrong end at first and cut himself, but then he had the hilt. It was a knife. He was armed.

"He killed 'im!" a voice said suddenly. "Ay, Dooley, he's dead, his back's broke! That boy killt 'im!"

What might have happened next, Prince never found out. He heard pounding footsteps and a war cry and then --

He hit the ground automatically, covering his ears. It was an utterly primal reaction, basic human fear -- one of Umeka's tigers jumped over him and landed, still roaring, roaring, so loudly that Prince shouted and couldn't hear his own voice. The roar ended but Prince didn't move, shuddering as a horrendous ripping sound filled the air. Amiani let out a shriek.

Someone picked Prince up, carrying him away from the battle. A deep, powerful voice said something -- Prince didn't understand a word, but he recognized it as Français, the language that Veng spoke sometimes.

Veng's light voice answered, almost drowned out by the tigers' feasting and Umeka's shouts. Prince struggled to get free. "Let me go!" he snapped.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Veng caught one of his thrashing hands and held it still. "It's Gamba." She said something to Gamba, who clearly didn't speak Common.

"I don't care," Prince snarled. "I can stand. Put me down, dammit!"

Veng translated.

The ground came up beneath his feet and Prince stood thankfully, realizing with a sense of chagrin that Gamba was huge, even taller than Umeka, almost seven feet. He must have looked like a miffed little kitten, being picked up by that man.

The tigers had fallen mostly silent, and were feasting. Umeka approached the humans. "Here," she said. "Amiani and Prince need medical attention -- take them to Naina. Veng, guide Prince. Prince, keep an eye on your wolf -- he's hurt."

Prince nodded, holding out his hand. The wolf was there in a heartbeat, leaning against Prince wearily. Warm wetness seeped against his leg and he flinched.

"C'mon," Veng said roughly, taking his hand. "Let's go."

~

The circus left early, Amiani resting beside Naina in her wagon, the rest of them cloaked and walking. Unlike before, everyone was utterly silent, even the elephants. No one so much as noticed them.

Prince and his wolf were in the middle of the crowd, hidden from sight by the large bodies of their companions. Umeka had wrapped one of her shawls -- she called them sari -- around him, hiding his face. The gypsies scarves were still around his throat, like a large collar.

Prince caught a familiar scent and turned towards it. "My name," he demanded.

Naruto snickered. "Damn, you're persistent."

"How in the hell did you find me in this crowd?" Prince muttered, impressed despite himself. Was it a ninja thing? "And why didn't anyone stop you? I don't want to talk to you."

"A few people saw me, but no one tried to stop me." Naruto was silent, apparently patting the wolf that trotted at Prince's side, and then he added, "I'm sorry."

"What the fuck are you apologizing for?" Prince snarled, already fairly certain of the answer. His arm hurt like hell.

"I don't know," Naruto said quietly. "I should have helped you, I guess. And I'm going to have to go away for a while. Um." He took a quick breath, leaning closer to Prince so that no one else would overhear. Prince kept his ears attuned. "If anyone attacks you . . . not soldiers, but any ninjas . . . then I'm probably dead."

His hand had come to rest on Prince's arm during their brief conversation -- it lingered there a moment longer, and then Naruto was gone.

~

"It won't work if you don't have the talent," Umeka said, amused, but she held out her cards and let Prince draw one anyway. "What's it for, anyway? Nine of Cups."

"What's the Nine of Cups?" Prince asked, giving her back the card.

"Kindness."

"Hmph." Prince felt his way to the bedroll as Umeka blew out her candle -- he curled up and held out his hand for the wolf, who always slept at his side. When things were quiet, he took a quick breath. "Umeka?"

"Yeah?"

"Where . . . ." He unwrapped the scarves from his throat and threaded them through his fingers nervously. "Where are you from?"

Umeka shifted slightly. "A place called Nihon," she said, voice changing subtly on the strange word. "A place in the East, to the North. That's where I was born. But my father was from India, also in the East, but the South." Prince, who had no recollection of geography whatsoever, just listened. "I left Nihon and joined the circus as a card reader, but when we visited India . . . ." She took a deep breath.

Prince half-smiled, turned away so that Umeka wouldn't see. "The tigers?" he asked.

"The tigers," she affirmed. She gave a low, rich laugh. "So I stopped reading the cards and trained them."

Prince nodded to himself, still fingering his scarves. The wolf's tail pounded the ground lazily, sometimes slapping Prince's knee. "What was it like?" he asked finally. "What was . . . India like? Or Nihon?"

"India was . . . ." The wolf stood and paced briefly, only to lay back down and tuck himself into a circle. Prince patted him on the side, knotting his fingers in the luxurious fur. A cold nose pressed fondly against his scalp.

"It was green," Umeka said finally. "There were ponds in the middle of the forests -- the leaves were green, the trees were covered in moss, the water was blue-green, everything. Just a thousand kinds of green."

That struck something inside of him, even though he didn't remember the color. Perhaps it was the tone of her voice, or perhaps he, too, was used to a thousand kinds of green.

"And there was the sound," Umeka said, recalling the visual state of her audience, "constant wind. There are mountains everywhere and the wind gets caught in the valleys, blowing in your ears and tugging at your clothes. You get used to shouting," and here she laughed again, "just to be heard. Water is never still, the trees are never still. And at night . . . ."

Prince was smirking and he could hear her grin. "At night, it's black. Completely black, and that's when it comes alive, all of India. The villagers build fires and the tigers hunt and the wind is just . . . ."

Her voice grew sad, suddenly, and Prince's smile faded. "The wind is always there. Bringing sounds and smells and then taking them away . . . always there."

The wolf sighed against Prince's hair, as if moved, and pulled slightly away. Prince mastered his emotions and asked, "If you could go back, would you?"

"Yes," she said, and shifted again. "Why are you asking, Prince?"

Prince didn't answer.

She would go home if she could, to a home that she hadn't grown up in but loved nonetheless. Surely Naruto would do the same -- but he hadn't, and Prince knew that he wouldn't. Even though it hurt, Naruto would stay.

It was incredibly unfair. What was Prince doing here? Why had he come here? Had he done something wrong? Had he been a good friend, a bad friend, had he been like Umeka, unwanted, or like Veng, a hunter? Why was he in this place so far from his home, with his eyes sewed shut and his memory gone?

Was this just something he was supposed to work his way out of? Was there a reason?

He simply didn't know. There were some answers that he didn't remember, and some that he suspected no one had. The only thing left for him now -- and maybe the only thing he'd ever had -- was to crawl his way through this darkness, somehow, this deep unending darkness, towards the only light he could see.

Prince slept, and dreamt of Naruto.

~

They entered a small rural town, the children running around and shrieking, nearby sheep in a field fleeing at the scent of tigers and wolves.

Veng was walking alongside Prince. She thought it was fun to watch the villagers notice him, especially the girls. They would see his dark hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones and his paleness, and immediately crane their necks to see more. If they were far away they might look confused, wondering why he walked with his eyes shut, but if they were close by they recoiled, apparently horrified.

But Veng didn't mind the stitches on his eyes, or his surliness, or anything. She didn't have a crush on him, the way everyone thought, she just thought he was cool. He didn't baby her like the other adults did. She wondered if he knew how it felt to see your family die, while you hid, while you ran. Maybe that was why his eyes were sewed shut.

"Prince?" she asked.

He turned his face slightly towards her. "Yes?"

"Can you train with me after I help set up?"

Prince faced forward again. The wolf at his side glanced at Veng with his single eye, almost pleadingly. "I don't think so," Prince finally said, and came to a halt.

So did Veng, puzzled. "Why not?" she asked.

His head was bowed, and his hands came up, fiddling with the scarves around his neck. He finally found what he was looking for and drew it over his head.

Veng's breath caught. His shells! More shells than she'd ever seen.

"Here," he said, and held them in her direction. "I'm not going to be training you because you're going to take these -- you're going to take these and do something other than train."

He'd already told her once not to waste her life training, and she'd gotten mad. But she was surprised, now, too surprised to be angry.

She touched Prince's hand, staring at the shells, but drew away at the last minute. "No, I can't --"

Prince caught her wrist carefully and forced her fist open, laid the necklace against her palm, folded her fingers around it. She watched him, his pale hands against her tan fingers, and felt like crying. It was more money than she'd ever seen, and he was giving it to her, and she didn't know why.

Someone came up behind them and stopped, watching. Seulement, Veng thought, irritated. He was always following her around.

"Take these," Prince ordered, voice oddly rough, "and take Seulement --" the boy started, glancing about skittishly "-- and do something other than train, until you've spent them all. I mean it, Veng. It's important."

Veng slipped the necklace over her head and tucked it beneath her shirt, against her heart. "I don't know why," she said, struggling to gather her composure.

"It just is." His voice was soft and she stared at him, but he didn't seem to notice her. "I just know it."

He turned then, and left.

Seulement, unable to keep silent for very long, asked, "What was that about?"

"Good question." Umeka had come up behind them, and was smiling. "Look after those shells, Vengeur. It'll take you a long time to spend them all."

The sun was just starting to drop, painting them all in the rich hues of sunset. Veng turned and spotted Prince ahead in the crowd, slowly but surely moving away from her. His steps seemed somewhat lighter.

~

When Prince prepared to go out, the wolf at his side, Umeka drew a card for him. "The Ten of Swords," she said. Prince turned to her impatiently, clearly awaiting an explanation. "Hope," she said simply and flashed a smile, revealing the gaps in her teeth although he couldn't see them. "Your misfortune is almost over."

The wolf pressed his cold nose into Prince's palm, effectively dragging him away. He felt more blind than usual, stumbling his way along amidst the crowd. The trip to Naina's tent took forever.

She was waiting for him when he finally found it. "I need to ask you something," he admitted, a heavy flush on his cheeks.

"This is unexpected," she said serenely. "If I'd known you were coming during your lunch, I would have brought food. Have a seat."

"Where?" he muttered, reaching out. The wolf guided him to a cushion.

"Your question?" He could hear her shuffling her cards, rummaging through a box of what sounded like chopsticks.

"The name Naruto," he said, struggling to turn his face in the right direction. "What does it mean? What can you see about it?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Naina said, "I'll answer your question if you do something in return for me." Before he could protest, she added, "It's simply a matter of curiosity. I assure you, it'll help you more than me."

Prince was suspicious, but nodded.

"Very well. The name 'naruto' is actually a kind of fish, usually eaten with noodles." Naina was still fiddling with something, although he couldn't tell what.

"Ramen," he said, unbidden.

"I suppose. Naruto Uzumaki . . . wind, water, whirlpools." There was a long pause. Prince kept still, the wolf a warm heavy presence against his leg, and finally prompted, "Whirlpools?"

"Hush," Naina murmured. "Naruto . . . wind is change, shifting fortunes, hope. Noise and motion. Water is healing, sensation, speed. Purity, light. I see . . . ." She sighed, long and low. Prince shivered, oddly stirred by the sound. "Nothing," she said abruptly. "It's gone. Now, for my experiment."

"What?" Prince drew back, startled. "That's all you're going to tell me?"

"You'll uncover the rest soon enough," she said. "Now, come over here. I'm not going to hurt you, Prince. Just ask your wolf."

The wolf wuffled, nudging Prince froward. He crawled to Naina's side carefully and sat. "Now what?"

"Tell me if you notice a change."

"A change?"

For a moment, there was nothing, just blackness and quietness. Suddenly, the blackness became slightly brown. "A light," Prince said boredly. "My eyes still work, they're just covered. I knew that, you know. You could have just asked."

"I wanted to see for myself." The light went away and her hand touched his cheek, surprisingly hot. He almost pulled away. "If only we had knives, if only we hadn't given them away, we could help you. But there's nothing. I guess healing isn't worth much if you can't fight." She sat back and Prince heard a faint sound, rings clicking against a china cup. "You can go now."

Prince scoffed at the rudeness and stood carefully, moving towards the exit. He paused in the doorway, the heavy fabric brushing his shoulder, and turned suddenly. "The light you just used," he said. "Where did it come from? You're blind, you can't have a flashlight, and you said my visit was unexpected -- ?"

He could feel Naina's smile, even if he couldn't see it, and thought of her too-warm hand against his face. "Hurry along, lad. You need to rehearse."

He might have waited for an answer, but the wolf was urging him to go, snuffling against his palm like he was trying not to laugh. Prince left.

~

"Draw another card," Prince urged Umeka suddenly. He was curled up at the foot of her bedroll as always, her heel digging into the small of his back. It was annoying but he wasn't about to complain, certainly not to this strange mountain of a woman that had rescued him.

She drew a card, yawning. "The Ten of Swords," she said. "It'll keep being the same card until the specific event comes to pass. Don't be impatient."

"I'm not impatient," he mumbled. She was already snoring.

~

Back on the tightrope, Prince caught the scent of the fox -- Naruto -- and almost slipped. He turned it into a part of his act but he had a strange moment of fearlessness: he felt, despite everything, that Naruto would have caught him if he fell.

~

Prince was standing behind the tent, hidden away from sight, surrounded by the noise of the parade. The circus would be leaving that night.

"So you're back."

"You've got a good nose," Naruto said, impressed. "That's it, right? I wasn't moving, or breathing, so it was my smell. And I just showered."

"Are you sure about that?" Prince asked. "You stink."

"Jerk."

"Idiot." Prince let the wolf lead him closer, and asked, "What's my name?"

Naruto approached him slowly, feet scuffing in the dirt, and stood right in front of him. There was a strange anticipation, as if this were a momentous occasion, but mostly there was a quiet calmness. Nothing extraordinary was about to happen, Naruto was just going to say his name. And yet . . . .

"It's Sasuke," Naruto said slowly, carefully. "Your name is Sasuke Uchiha."

Prince was silent for a moment, a strange feeling simmering beneath his skin. Nervousness? Fear? He reached out, his hand finding Naruto's arm. He noticed the tension, the rigid muscles. His fingers brushed something cold and metal, hanging at Naruto's waist, and he smiled, taking Naruto's hand in his.

"What are you doing?" Naruto asked nervously.

Prince lifted Naruto's hand to his face. Immediately, Naruto's fingers sought his eyes, touching the small stitches carefully. Small tremors quaked down Prince's spine.

"Your knives," he said. "At your waist. Cut them. The stitches."

"Kunai," Naruto corrected.

"Whatever."

"I could mess up," Naruto said, voice wavering. His fingers were moving over Prince's eyelids, almost stroking them. "I could hurt you or blind you or something. That's why Granny -- Tsunade -- she's the one that healed you, that's why she wouldn't do it . . . ."

"Do it," Prince said.

"I could blind you . . . ."

Whirlpool, Prince thought. "Do it," he repeated, voice gone soft, and heard a soft metal click, felt Naruto moving.

"Be careful," Naruto murmured, stepped closer. They were almost, but not quite, touching. Naruto's voice was still husky and light, but with such a soft edge of seriousness that Prince was shaking all over, that something inside of him was clawing and fighting and begging to get out. There was something he wanted to say, had always wanted to say, and he just couldn't remember -- "Don't move," Naruto added.

"I won't," Prince whispered.

"Trust me," Naruto said. Prince felt the cold metal touch his face.

"I do," he said.

~

When Sasuke was very young, he used to dream that he was blind and that his parents disowned him. He could see his mother's worried eyes, his father's stern disapproval, and the disappointment in all his aunts and uncles. His brother was the one to step forward, sharingan whirling, and offer him his hand. "I'll take care of you," he'd promised.

Sasuke tried to kill himself when he was nine, after Itachi had effectively cursed him: he could never have a normal life or be happy, and he was doomed to kill his best friend. Inoshi Yamanka saw his head disappear beneath the water and fished him out, forced life back into him as his daughter stood by and watched, crying. When he woke up, he couldn't see -- he'd hit his head at some point -- and thought, bizarrely, that his dream had come true at last. His family had left him and Itachi was his only companion.

He remembered a pink-haired girl, standing on a bridge at dawn, every morning, day after day. She was waiting, eyes green like some kind of determined life, and she was crying because he'd left her alone in the dark.

He remembered the first time that he really saw Naruto, after the disastrous battle at the Valley of the End. Naruto was commanding a small team, fighting with some of Orochimaru's soldiers. Sasuke remembered the way he moved, a swift orange blur, the loud yelp of his voice, his utter fearlessness. He remembered the feeling, hidden in the bushes, that Naruto was a tremendous whirlwind, powerful and bright and fearsome, and Sasuke, like everyone else, could do nothing but be caught up by it. Even if Naruto didn't care that he was there. Even if Naruto never forgave him.

With Naruto standing in front of him, trembling hand cupping the side of his face, kunai carefully, carefully cutting away his stitches, he could remember when he put them there. Just before the final battle with Konoha, when Orochimaru was determined to take his body once and for all.

Sasuke had locked himself in his room and sewn his eyes shut, quickly and calmly. He used a small jutsu to burn away the infection before it could fester, and then put his right hand carefully to his skull. He had learned, several years ago, which portions of the brain controlled memory, and which types of head trauma brought amnesia. He pushed the chakara out of his hand, hit himself in precisely the right spot, and everything went dark.

With Sasuke's eyes sewed shut, he couldn't remove Sasuke's sharingan and put them in his own head. Without Sasuke's memories, Orochimaru couldn't hope to use the sharingan anyway, and Itachi was dead, there was no one to teach him. If Kabuto had been alive he would have told his master that Sasuke would heal, but Kabuto was gone, fighting with Kakashi.

Kakashi . . . .

He reached down and found the wolf at his side, tangled his fingers in the silver chain. "That's what Kabuto did to him," Naruto murmured, warm breath ghosting over Sasuke's skin. "The chains . . . and he can't change back."

"My memories --"

"I'm fixing them," Naruto said softly.

"You're healing me."

Wind and water and Naruto was still the same, still the same, and Sasuke was just as caught up as ever -- but he'd been wrong. Hiding in the bushes, in the shadows, behind Orochimaru, he'd been wrong. Naruto was not turned away. Sasuke had been tugged into a whirlpool and given up for dead, only to look and find the whirlpool staring at him, both eyes wide, pain and breath and wild hope.

Sasuke wrapped his hands around Naruto's arms, calm and still now, and waited until the last threads were carefully cut away, until the last bit of string was tugged from his flesh. Tears were slipping down his face because everything ached, the air, his breath, the rasp of the string against his naked eye.

Naruto moved the kunai away, his hand still against Sasuke's cheek. "There," he said, satisfied.

"The light," Sasuke rasped. It hurt.

Naruto pocketed the kunai and shielded Sasuke's eyes with his hand. "Open them slowly," he ordered, and Sasuke obeyed.

The first thing that he saw was Naruto, gazing at him in perfect concern.

Sasuke ducked his head, turning away and panting hard. There wasn't enough air. He was drowning again, just like when he was nine -- God, he just wanted to grab Naruto and hold onto him, press his face against his skin and breathe him in and never, ever let him go -- never let him go.

He stared at the sky and tried to breathe.

"Hey, Sasuke." Naruto's concern melted into a playful grin. He linked his hands behind his head, stretching casually, but they were still so close. "Long time no see."

Sasuke took a quick deep breath, nearly choking on his tears. Naruto. God, Naruto.

"You idiot," he mumbled, and rubbed his itchy eyes. "I'm going to kick your ass."

~

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Umeka stepped away from her tigers, looking down at Sasuke.

Sasuke memorized the features of her face in a heartbeat, the almond-shaped black eyes, the broad cheekbones, the missing teeth, the piercing in her nose, and the plentiful, mismatched earrings. Two stripes of small sapphires were embedded in the lines of her long throat, spilling over her chest and tracing her collarbone, disappearing beneath her mannish shirt. Her large hands were devoid of decoration.

"I'm leaving," he said. He nodded once, the best goodbye that he could muster, and turned. Naruto was waiting beside the cages, Kakashi at his side. Veng stepped around a row of cages and he stopped.

He'd imagined that she was small and dark, like him. She was, in fact, small and blonde, tan. Her eyes were clear dark blue, like Naruto's, but not so pale. She wore his necklace.

"Be careful," she told him.

He nodded, and ruffled her hair as he passed. He half-expected Umeka to yell something after him, but she was silent, probably grabbing a card out of her pocket. Her tigers rumbled at him as if to say 'good riddance'. He ignored them.

Naruto turned as Sasuke approached. "Let's go home," he said, and stretched his arms happily towards the sky. "You've been gone way too long, Sasuke."

No kidding, Sasuke thought. "Whatever," he said.

Umeka held up her card as Veng joined her, face pinched and sad. "The Rebirth," she said to the girl. One of the tigers snorted, unsurprised.

"I guess the journey's over," she said, tweaking Veng's nose, and put the card away. They would go inside soon, to the circus and their people, but for now they watched Naruto and Sasuke disappear into the mist, silent and quick silhouettes, traced by some mysterious, indefinite light.

~

A/N: The cards that are used, in the order that they appear in the story:

-- The Prince of Batons, reverse: signifies recklessness, impatience, competitiveness, is often demanding and difficult to control.

-- The High Priest: travel, wisdom, progressive thinking.

-- Seven of Coins: growth, hard work, perfectionism.

-- Four of Coins, reverse: loss or ruin

-- The Hermit: solitude and detachment, or purpose and intensity of will.

-- The Queen of Swords: intelligent, detached, and objective.

-- The Hanging Man, reverse: impractical, confused, out of touch

-- The Chariot: wisdom, growth

-- The Empress, reverse: indecisive, fickle

-- Five of Cups, reverse: cruelty, aggression, domination

-- Nine of Cups: kindness and goodwill

-- Ten of Swords: a cycle of misfortune that ends, hope

-- The Rebirth: new beginnings, completed cycles, courage, competitive, assertive, adventurous

All of these definitions are what I learned several years ago. Everyone defines the cards a little bit differently, and I'm sure that I've confused things or omitted things or whatever, but this is as accurate as I can get it.

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