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Nakajima Naho

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Genin
Sunagakure, while economically independent, could not be said to be the most prosperous in its entire history. Was such the philosophy? To rise and fall with the shifting sands? The phrase eluded Naho, but not the sights which refused to be ignored. The remnants of buildings collapsing inwards on themselves from decades of neglect wept dust and cement and sand as Naho walked through the outermost circles of Sunagakure's lands. Redevelopment was focused in only so many places at once with the difficulty in bringing in materials and labour from without her walls not everyone could make the hazardous trek through the parching deserts of the Land of Wind, and not all who could would.

On the usual, the streets would hide traces of the inhabitants who came out to play at night. The jobless and the poor would trade under the cold night air, a much more refreshing feel than the piercing heat of the remorseless sun. Maybe a shuffle here and there of a boy who failed to find shelter for the day, hiding under a single blanket to hide from the sun's gze. Torn clothing littered the earth at irregular intervals, worn out and full of holes from years of overuse.

Naho hadn't experienced the curse that forced people to flee to the outermost ridges of Sunagakure's reaches and economy. But she never connected with them either. There never was a need. Her passing in the area registered only for mere moments; she never associated herself too much with the Sand Dune Slums. A quick pace introduced her into the less renown part of Sunagakure, and a similar quick pace introduced her out, well on her way to whatever destination her mission demanded of her.




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