I do not own any Naruto characters or settings.  I only own my OC, Musei Shiro.

This chapter does not contain any contents of blood.

I hope you enjoy the story of Shiro, the Weeping Samurai of the Land of Iron!

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The massacre of the first village spread like wildfire throughout the Land of Iron; the few who had survived and witnessed the encounter were quick to call up the main squad of samurai who ran the country to hunt down the new “Shidare no Bushi.” Unfortunately, Shiro was already long gone when the samurai even heard of the crime, and there was nothing left but the blood soaked village and the vague descriptions of a white-haired girl the traumatized citizens bombarded the police with.

The Land of Iron was filled with people with white hair, so that trait was very common among the citizens. The one thing that caught the samurai police force's ears were the two distinct white katana that hung at her side, or so the remaining people of the town had described. Along with the lead of twin white blades was the young girl's life as a drifter and her unusual thinness.

For many years that came after the incident, Shiro had tried to take back the terrible mistake she had inflicted upon the helpless village, but the people of the small Iron village, along with the rest of the Iron, could never forgive her for the ruthlessness she had portrayed. Her madness, already beginning to bud since the murder of her parents, blossomed to dominate over her mind and became as infamous as her dreaded title; her wailing at the end of every massacre was witnessed by those who were too frightened to stand up against the bloody samurai. This was the notorious Shidare no Bushi.

The strong icy wind ruffled her long white hair, her narrowed onyx eyes skimming over the woods in a cutthroat manner. Her white katana sheaths hung loosely from her hips, her dark cloak rippling in the breeze as she brushed her feet ever so slightly across the powdery surface. Her pale face was still as a frozen lake, relentless as the wind that bit her cheeks, and harsh as the cold that numbed her body. Her whole attire was once again pure white, as she had scrubbed off the pesky crusting blood off back in the Iron Snow; her white linen dress that had been soiled in the massacre as replaced with a plain white kimono.

Her eyes gazed forward into the barren emptiness, her journey and destination unknown as it had always been. She was a wanderer, and as a result, ended up where the wind desired to take her.

She traveled for miles on end, never breaking her porcelain mask she always plastered to her features, so emotionless and bleak some mistaken it for hostility. The freezing numbing in her feet helped, as she couldn't feel the aching that penetrated the soles of her feet, or the soreness of the blisters that erupted from the bottoms. At the very end of the day, her feet were raw from travel and from cold.

She decided to take shelter inside a cave in the side of the mountain range that separated the Land of Iron from the rest of the world; after twelve years of aimless traveling, she would finally make it past the boarders of the Land of Iron.

The white haired girl took a seat after a few branches had been chopped off from the frozen trees into small logs. She struck two rocks together, making sparks flutter from the stones and caught a bundle of tinder on fire. The wood shavings slowly started to smother before Shiro brought her pink lips to blow on the flames, making the golden fire roar to life. She quickly stuck in a few branches and let the fire consume the fuel, basking in its warmth with full internal enthusiasm.

She shed her heavy cloak and unbuckled the belt that held up her two blades, taking out her bamboo sheath to finally eat some dinner.

She took the steamed lotus leaves, still moist, from the top of the tube and set them to the side, revealing beautifully preserved, but stone cold, balls of onigiri. The white haired girl set one onigiri on a damp leaf and shoved it near the blazing flames that crackled and hissed; brilliant orange sparks flew everywhere as it popped.

As she waited for her dinner to warm up, Shiro curled up her knees to her chest and wrapped her skinny arms around her legs, resting her pointed chin on her kneecaps. Her long white hair barely reached the ground, damp from the day's trek through the snow; though there wasn't that much, there was still slush and moisture brimming the land. Her blank eyes bore into the fire, its magnificent golden flames reflecting off of her obsidian orbs. Her chilled skin began to tingle as the warmth of the fire thawed out the numbness, Shiro sighing as she closed her already lowered eyes.

The thoughts of countless battles played again in her head, the screams of innocent people echoing in the empty abyss. She remembered the bounty hunters who tried to take her down, but ended with their brutal demise due to their extreme underestimation of her abilities. She remembered all of those times training in the middle of the woods, her cold sweat mingling with the freezing snow that fluttered down from the ashy gray skies. Ever since her parents' deaths, a certain spark of determination inside of her ignited into a small flame.

She was known as the mad samurai; that cursed name branded into her image at such a young age. Shiro recalled where she actually met some people who were still oblivious to the myth of a white-bladed killer. Those times were very peaceful, but they lasted no longer than a few months at most, as a few travelers would recognize her and she would be forced to be on the run once more. She lived on the road, and she shielded herself from any eyes until an isolated village would creep up into her vision again.

Shiro snatched the rice ball from the leaf and took a nibble from the rice, absorbed into the lifesaving fire that blazed before her. Every so often she would take another small bite from the onigiri, eventually getting down to the salty tuna filling that provided a nice pop to her palate. She didn't eat much, which contributed to her unusual thinness; she would binge whenever she could in a town, packing down the pounds before anyone would notice her scabbards and report her presence to the nearest police station. When food was scarce though, Shiro knew better than to gobble up anything so quickly as a senseless child would; she had done this for a while before she figured out that savoring the food was much better for the stomach than stuffing it when times of famine would tumble her way.

After the food was finished and her mind was cleared, Shiro curled up next to the fire, wrapping her cloak around like a protective barrier from the wind that blew bitterly outside the cavern. She stared longingly at the flames, mesmerized as the flickers of the fire danced across the walls of the cave. The long shadows cast by the golden tongues soothed her, reminding her of when she and Yoru would play outside while the magnificent sunset would slowly sink back into the shimmering purple sea, the dark waves that once peacefully swept across the rocky cliffs of Umi sending cool, refreshing wisps of ocean breeze to their cheerful faces.

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It was far before sunrise when Shiro's sleeping figure started to stir. The fire pit beside her had smothered into a cold heap of ash, leaving her wanting body chilled. Nevertheless, she heaved herself up and kicked the ash in all directions, erasing any obvious signs she had stayed the night there; scattered ash was better than a pile of it. She then strapped on her two katana on her bony hips and set off, her tiny feet just barely skimming the surface of the old snow. In any case though, slight smears of soot rubbed off on the white snow.

The skies were gray and the clouds were full and gloomy as usual; the weather in the Iron wasn't the most charming thing a person has ever seen. Around her, the trees lay bare and covered in a sheet of snow, icicles hanging off of the thin branches. It wasn't much, but she treasured anything from the Iron, seeing as she wouldn't be in the country for very long.

Shiro's cold white feet brushed past the snow below, her cloak fluttering behind her gracefully as she paced. Her black hues never ceased to tear away from the dark horizon, the stars still twinkling above like thousands of fireflies. A single beam of a bright brilliant orange broke the darkness of the scene, reflecting off of the pale clouds to make it seem like the color was trapped inside the sky. She walked alongside the mountain range that separated the Iron from the rest of the world for a while, breathing in the chilled air once more through her lungs and feeling the coldness coursed through her veins like liquid nitrogen.

A scuffle in the snow behind her forced her to a sudden stop.

She stood there, frozen like a block of ice as she closed her eyes and breathed calmly through her nose. Her cloak enshrouded her like a thick shield, blocking the view of her hand that hovered above a white hilt.

There was complete silence, save the whistling of the wind in her ears, as she positioned herself there. Her face stayed clean and still like a dewdrop, her rosy lips clamped together in the slightest hint of tension. Finally, she spoke out in a menacing tone.

“Who goes there?”

Her voice echoed through the barren landscape. The snow slightly trembled as her sound dissolved into the cold morning air.

In response, the rustling of two pairs of feet came towards her and as a result, Shiro unsheathed her sword and whirled around, her eyes flashing back open. The two people before her didn't seem fazed by her rash move.

The two men stood a great distance away, maybe about three meters, as Shiro's blade sliced through the frosty air. The white metal glistened threateningly in the pale morning sunlight, reflecting the ivory snow that powdered the ground.

The taller man glared at her with a sharp, malicious smile spread across his pale blue face, chiseled and oddly handsome; his beady eyes were further apart from each other, three crescent-like black lines hung under each like gills or possibly a set of bags. His sharp cheekbones jutted out like fins, his hollowed face glowering down at her as if she was some sort of delicious prey.

The man next to him was significantly shorter, about an inch taller than Shiro. He possessed long raven black hair that was tied loosely, hanging down his back. His eyes were pitch black, orbs of a soulless, dark being not unlike herself. Creases in his face struck down his cheeks from the inner corner of his eyes and a permanent frown settled on his striking features, suggesting he had endured much hardships during his time.

Both men wore unusually large black robes, adorned with puffs of scarlet that seemed to resemble clouds. Conical bamboo hats shielded their foreheads as the tall collars of their cloaks covered their mouth and nose, leaving their intimidating eyes to only be visible. Their eyes were locked onto Shiro's, narrowed in anticipation.

“Who are you?” She glowered at them with her usual plain look of hostility or laziness. “What do you want?”

“Musei Shiro,” the blue-skinned man chuckled, his sharp triangular teeth exposed. “Shidare no Bushi of the Land of Iron.”

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Gomen'nasai, for the slow updates.  As I said earlier, I've been busy with finals!  Nevertheless, I  hope you enjoyed this short and hastily written chapter, and I hope you comment on what you think of it and also vote so I can gain more critques!  Remember to follow me to stay up-to-date with the new chapters to come!  And as always, thanks for reading!