A few weeks had passed since then.
Their new genin team had scarcely known what it meant to rest.
Dawn after dawn, their genin team had been called upon before the sun had even risen high enough to burn the dunes.
At first, there had been some excitement in those summons, yet that excitement had been stripped away with every mission piled upon the last, until all that remained was endurance.
One day they were sent to escort traders through the canyon paths, where the winds howled like predators and sand filled every breath.
It had been a grueling journey that demanded every ounce of focus, their eyes stinging and throats raw from dust. Only for them to return and immediately set out the next moment to guard irrigation lines from raiders who knew the desert better than most men knew their own streets.
There were nights when their sandals had not yet shaken the dust of one task before the summons arrived for another, and they had been forced back into the desert with tired limbs and stinging eyes.
Baki and Isan that had a more information to work with, for different reasons, knew that this wasn't normal, even Daiana and Shira began to feel that something was off about all of this.
On one hand they were gainning a steady flow of money into their pockets, but the sums were pitiful, and the weight of each task far outweighed the meager reward.
Baki, their captain, knew for sure what was happening and the one behind it. There was no difference in his clothing and gear in comparison to when he was an instructor, donning the standard attire of a Suna-nin, complete with a forehead protector and flak jacket. His face was partially obscured by turban-like head gear and by a sheet hanging from it on the left side of his face. The only difference was probably the sand-scuffed, brownish backpack strapped tightly against his back, its bulk hinting at supplies he alone carried as a leader.
Daiana, following right behind Baki, was walking and reading a new book she had bought with her new earnings that boarded the subject of herbs with sections just for poisonous ones and another for ones that could be used for remedies and antidotes, although some of them mixed, in other words, appeared in both sections.
In comparison to the time in the ninja academy, she had now completely changed her look. She now wore a short, sand-colored combat kimono reinforced with leather at the shoulders, elbows and waist, cut for mobility yet sturdy enough to withstand travel. A small and flat quiver was strapped diagonally across her back, and her bow, a composite recurve bow, strung and slung over her right shoulder, its wood marked with signs of wear from regular use. She had pouches in both of her legs filled with Shurikens and Kunais, across her hips rested pouches with rolled bandages and small jars, while a weathered backpack sagged against her frame, stuffed with herbs she had either bought or collected in Suna or during their missions. Her dark hair, once neatly tied, now fell in uneven strands from a hurried braid, dust clinging to the ends. Dirt streaked her cheeks and her sleeves bore faint stains of crushed leaves and dried blood from fieldwork.
To Daiana's left side was Shira. His frame had grown broader and firmer, since the first time he had met Isan, muscle stretching his flak jacket to its limits. The vest, reinforced with internal plating, added to his already imposing bulk. He had discarded excess ornament, wearing only sand-colored wrappings over his forearms and shins, thickened from constant strikes, layered even further with weighted bands. His trousers were torn at the knees, stitched carelessly in places, evidence of training and battles too numerous to count. Scars peppered his tanned arms and peeked from the collar of his shirt, some fresh, others long faded. A large backpack weighed on his back, stuffed with rations, spare wrappings, and heavier tools. His silver hair stuck in stubborn spikes from sweat and sand, and his face, though calm, was streaked with grit, giving him the raw look of a warrior.
Isan, on the other hand, was to the right side of Daiana, and he was probably the one to change the least, without taking Baki into consideration of course. He wore a plain dark tunic reinforced with thin metal plates sewn discreetly beneath the fabric, designed to allow him to fight without discarding his gear. His backpack was smaller than Shira's but sleek, its weight distributed with care, allowing him to move swiftly even when burdened. Straps at his belt carried kunai, sealing tags, and a sword at his hip. New scars cut across the backs of his tanned hands and the right side of his jaw, faint but visible in the desert light. His dark hair was shorter now, cropped for efficiency, though the wind never allowed it to stay neat.
In these weeks that passed, they had grown, their coordination and teamwork improved greatly, their reflexes sharpened, and their instincts honed; an incredible growth but one that came at a great effort and cost.
The desert was not only their battlefield now, it was their teacher, their tormentor, and their proving ground.
"Our assignment is a patrol this time. Outskirts, towards the eastern ridge. There has been reported strange movements there.", Baki said, his tone flat, without even turning around to look at his team.
"Let's speed things up."
"Yes, sir.", the three behind him, answered in unison as they adjusted their things, with Daiana stashing away her book, before picking up the pace.
Hours bled together. The desert changed its face slowly, each dune shifting into another.
"Stop."
The silence of their march broke suddenly by the sudden stopping of Baki.
Daiana nearly bumped into him, catching herself at the last moment.
There, half-buried beneath the drifting sand, was a print. It was too deep and too wide, allowing them to quickly discard the options of it being the hoof of a trader's beast, or the tread of shinobi sandals.
"Not ours.", Isan said, as Baki was silently brushing the sand aside with gloved fingers. The outline of a heavy boot emerged, the tread uneven as though the wearer had limped.
Daiana's brows furrowed.
"Bandits?"
"Perhaps.", Isan's voice was calm, but his hand hovered near the kunai holstered at his thigh.
Baki finally stopped, his gaze turning back to them, for a moment the desert wind filled the silence between them. Then he gave a single nod.
"Keep your eyes sharp."
"Yes, sir."
The three of them nodded in response while answering in unison, as they resumed their march, although in comparison to before, the rhythm of it had changed.
Daiana, for example, was holding on her bow and adjusting the quiver so that it would be easier to reach the arrows, to the left, Shira was flexing his arms and legs lightly.
The trail of prints grew clearer as they advanced, with some were half-hidden, swallowed by shifting sand, but the remaining others were fresh, with their edges still sharp.
"At least three… maybe four.", Daiana that was observing sharply them, noticed something and called it out.
"Then we prepare for six.", Isan glanced at her briefly, his tone steady.
"Why six?", she asked, a little confused by his words.
"It's better to underestimate an enemy than overestimate."
Her mouth closed and simply nodded her head in response, although a small and soft smile graced her face.
Then they reached the patrol marker, a weathered wooden post driven into the ground, its surface carved with Suna's sigil.
It should have been upright, a beacon in the dunes, instead, it layed snapped in half, buried in the sand.
The four of them grew tense at that sight, as they carefully surveyed their surroundings.
The desert wind picked up again, carrying with it no sound but the whisper of sand sliding down the slope of the next dune.