• Steel flashes in the moonlight, blade and body flowing with a liquid grace more beautiful then any spoken language. He wears the black to remind himself of the quiet memories lingering in his mind, sharp and bitting like the cold metal of his brother's sword and heart, frozen with arrogance, pride, and contempt.

    Heart bleeding with tacid sorrow, he mourns the day when he lost his brother to the flames of hate, revenge and confusion, blinding him from his purpose and consuming him with hate. Cloaked in white, his fury razes unchecked, burning those around him in sharp contrast to his brother's gentle and broken soul.

    The black shinobi recalls the days where they would spar together in playful rivalry, but those memories are faint, faded like the bonds that once held them so close and now tear them apart. They stand on opposite shores of reasoning; raging white fire reflected on a cool black river.

    The one without a voice cries out for understanding, to love and be loved instead of pushed away, dreaming the impossible and hoping for the incredible: something to heal in his injured heart while the storm shadow just prolongs the pain. Some days he wishes he could just rip out his past from his memory, yet deep down he knows that it is those memories that make him who he is.

    Some say he is mute, for he cannot speak like you and I. Silence is his song; listen and you will understand his unsounded voice, clearer then any words.