Archive of Our Own

Shikadai had gotten accustomed to his family being together when he arrived home from the academy. He would remove his shoes at the door and run up the stairs to shower off the grit from the day’s training. When he came down and stepped into the kitchen, his parents would already be seated at the table, waiting for him to eat dinner. After they’d placed the dishes in the sink, Shikadai would forgo his handheld game to sit and play a round of Shogi with his father. His mother would sit beside them on the porch, occasionally whispering into Shikamaru’s ear, trying to distract him and give her son a fighting chance at victory.

It had become a routine: go to school, come home, eat dinner, and relax as a family.

But the past few weeks, the routine had begun to change.

Shikadai would walk across the threshold to take off his sandals and would find only one other pair of shoes by the front door. He’d walk past his father’s office on the way to the bathroom and it would be devoid of the towering stacks of paperwork usually covering every surface. Refreshed and clean from a hot shower, he would walk into the kitchen and find only his mother sitting on the opposite side of the table. After they ate, he would find himself on the couch instead of the porch defeating level after level of his video game as the nighttime hours ticked by.

Some nights his father would come through the door while Shikadai was still awake, but be too tired to do anything more than crawl up the stairs and pass out in bed. Other nights Shikadai would run into Shikamaru in their kitchen while searching for a midnight snack. But most nights Shikadai would wake up to the sound of his alarm with his father having never made it home at all.

Even though they had seemed to swap one mundane pattern for another, Shikadai was getting bored with their current evening routine. There were only so many times he could defeat the final boss before his fingers began to go numb. So when Temari told Shikadai to come with her to gather antlers, a chore he usually avoided at all costs, he was happy to get a change of scenery.

Shikadai was very familiar with the layout of the Nara forest. There was a lake located a few klicks behind their house that he would frequent after particularly long training sessions so Temari wouldn’t yell at him for bringing excess dirt into the house. His grandmother Yoshino would bring him to the strip of elderberry tress along the village’s border, lifting him up so he could pick the fruit and collect it for use in various medicines and antidotes. One of Shikadai’s favorite spots was a little clearing just past the Nara family shrine. His parents would take him there for picnics in the spring, and he would bring his team there for leaf jumping in the fall.

Today him and Temari were headed towards the eastern edge of the compound. The forest there was lined with apple trees, making it the perfect place for the deer to gather and shed their antlers.

As they padded through the worn-down footpaths, the pair passed by the one spot that Shikadai had never ventured into. Both of his parents seemed to steer clear of it every time they came this way, and if Shikadai ever wandered towards it, a deer would come out to block him off and nudge him back onto the dirt covered trails.

That deer was currently standing in front of the path. Shikadai recognized him by the scruff of white on his chin and the bald spot on his rear from a burn long since healed. His name was Yama, and he was one of the oldest bucks that lived in the Nara forest. Shikadai offered a shy wave to the deer but noticed his attention was elsewhere. He followed the direction of Yama’s head and saw he had locked eyes with Temari. Shikadai watched as his mother gave a silent nod before they continued walking towards the apple trees.

Shikadai had always wondered what the silent agreement between his parents and the deer was. Why did they avoid the forest there? Why did Yama block him from entering? What could be so bad in there that even Temari of the Sand was afraid to go in?

Shikadai had never brought it up before, but for some reason today he felt the need to ask.

“Does Yama ever shed his antlers?”

Shikadai noticed how Temari’s eyes opened the slightest bit wider at the question. She looked down at her son for a split second before returning her gaze to the path in front of them.

“He does.”

“Well then shouldn’t we go back there and get them?”

Shikadai heard the slightest crunching noise as Temari tightened her grip on the basket she was carrying.

“Shikamaru will go and collect them later.”

They continued to walk for a moment in silence until Temari bent down to pick up a stray antler from the ground. Shikadai’s curiosity once again got the best of him.

“Does anyone else but dad go in there?”

Temari clenched her hand so tight that Shikadai was surprised it didn’t snap the antler in half. She placed it in the basket before standing up again, her back still facing her son.

“You’re being especially nosy today.”

Temari began walking away after that, leaving Shikadai no choice but to run after her and drop the subject.

They soon made it to the small apple orchard. Temari decided to start on the left where the older deer had gathered while Shikadai made his way towards the younglings on their right. When Shikadai was a baby, he would marvel at how all the deer would tower over him in the same way Hokage Rock overlooked the village. Now having grown a few years older, he was closer in eye level to the fawns. They trotted up to sniff at his hair and lick his neck as he walked towards them.

One of the baby bucks that came up to say hello was Toge. Shikadai had originally named him that because of the small nubs on the top of his head that had not yet grown into antlers. They reminded him of the thorns on the rose bushes in front of the Yamanaka’s house. As time went on, Shikadai couldn’t help thinking he had rightfully named him so because the fawn was becoming a thorn in his side. He didn’t know how or why, but Toge had become spoiled. He refused to eat any fruit or vegetable unless it was peeled and cut for him. This was why Shikadai couldn’t help but sigh as Toge dropped an apple into his hands with a proud bleat.

Shikadai plopped himself down on the forest floor, pulled a knife from his thigh protector, and began to peel the fruit so graciously given to him. He kept one eye on the apple and the other on his mother as she continued walking along the perimeter of the clearing, steadfast to her task.

How the deer acted towards Temari was something Shikadai had taken notice of over the years. Whereas he and his father would be immediately flanked on either side once they’d stepped within ten meters of a herd, the deer seemed to give his mother a wide berth. She was always slightly hesitant to approach the deer alone, so maybe they sensed her timidness and kept away so as not to spook her? Or perhaps they remembered how Temari tore down the entire forest with one swing of her tessen and they were the ones afraid of her?

Shikadai had yet to decide which reason was true.

There were a few exceptions to this, however, and one of them was Toge. From his birth the two had been very close. There had been several times Shikadai had found the fawn in their backyard alone with Temari. Sometimes he would be laying in the grass, keeping her company as she was doing chores. Other times he would be helping her train, fetching kunai and shuriken out of the trees so she could rethrow them. Most times he’d find them on the porch together sharing a midday snack.

It suddenly dawned on him how Toge had become so spoiled.

Shikadai was pulled from his musings as the aforementioned deer became impatient, kicking his hoof into Shikadai’s side. He finished cutting the apple, tossing the peel and core into the forest brush, and lifted the pieces up for the fawn to inspect. Toge gave an approving bleat before snatching up his meal and trotting away with it. Shikadai’s stomach then decided it also wanted food and let out a growl so loud that Temari could apparently hear it from across the way.

“Come on, kid. Let’s head back. I’ll make us something to eat.”

She continued to chuckle as Shikadai pushed himself off the ground and followed her out of the orchard and back towards their house.

It took about fifteen seconds until he noticed something was off.

“We’re not taking the same path back.”

It wasn’t a question, but Temari still answered with an affirmative hum.

“You’re avoiding that part of the forest. Aren’t you?”

Shikadai watched her posture tense up as her shoulders became even more rigid.

“I want to know what’s in there.”

Temari’s free hand flexed at her side before balling into a tight fist.

“It doesn’t concern you, Shikadai. Drop it.”

He knew better than to challenge his mother, but for some reason today his brain felt like throwing all reason to the wind.

“I am just as much a Nara as everyone else in this clan. I deserve to know what’s in my forest.”

Temari came to an abrupt stop and practically threw the basket of antlers onto the ground.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. This is your last warning. Let it go, Shikadai. Now.”

Shikadai squared his shoulders, gulped down his nerves, and dared to say to Temari what most would never dream to:

“No.”

He closed his eyes in preparation for the verbal beating he expected to receive, but no yelling ever came. Only silence. When Shikadai dared to finally look at what stopped her, he was met with the same burn scar devoid of fur he’d seen earlier. Yama had wedged himself between the two and had once again locked eyes with Temari.

They continued to stare at each other, neither one moving an inch. Shikadai watched them for so long he wondered if his mother was secretly a Yamanaka and able to communicate telepathically with the deer. Both Temari and Yama stood their ground until finally, after what felt like years, the buck let out an exasperated grunt through his nostrils. He stomped his hooves a few times before standing upright again even taller than before.

It was then that Shikadai witnessed his mother do something he’d never expected her to do:

She conceded.

Temari let out a deep sigh as her shoulders dropped and then took a few steps closer to Yama. She touched his cheek before leaning in to press their foreheads together. They both stood there with their eyes closed, not quite as long as before, but close to. Their breathing seemed to sync up as the rise and fall of their chests fell into rhythm together. Shikadai could have sworn he heard her mumble a “I know, you’re right”, but he was too far away to be sure.

After a few more moments passed, Temari took a step back, much calmer than before, and scratched the white beard on Yama’s chin. They shared one more silent nod between them before the buck began to walk away, back towards the place that was his to guard and protect.

Once Yama had disappeared through the trees, Temari let her gaze fall towards her son’s feet. Shikadai could still see some level of worry in her eyes, but not as much as he had anticipated. She turned and made her way towards a moss-covered stump to sit, patting the spot beside her. Shikadai accepted the silent invitation and joined her.

They stayed quiet for a long while, the only sounds being their lungs and the wind. Shikadai tilted his heard back to look at the rustling leaves, wondering if he should be the one to break the silence. He had been bold in speaking up earlier, but that need for bravado had died down after watching the exchange between Temari and Yama. They had seemed to come to an agreement of sorts, and Shikadai felt he no longer had to push to get the answers to his questions.

Temari finally removed her death grip from the edge of her dress and placed her hand on Shikadai’s knee instead.

“You know we are in times of peace, right? It wasn’t always like this.”

Shikadai slowly nodded his head, still a bit hesitant to open his big mouth again.

“A ninja’s job used to be very different. Nowadays, most missions are about maintaining this peace. But back then, before the war and before the alliance was formed, to go a day without having to kill was a rare occurrence.”

Shikadai thought back to his history textbooks. The academy had taught them all about the more “traumatic” events of the past: the Great Shinobi Wars, the Konoha Crush, the Pain Attack, etc. There didn’t seem to be a lot of focus on the happier times, which he had always just chalked up to there being only so many hours in a school day. Now he was starting to wonder if there just wasn’t as much good as there was bad.

“I’m sure they’ve taught you all the facts, but the facts don’t always cut it. Reading about it is not the same as living it.”

Temari’s eyes glossed over as if she was watching back a scene from her own memory.

“Death is still a part of being a ninja. None of us can escape it. People die every day, both by natural causes and by the hands of others. It may be much less than before, but it still happens. That darkness still exists in the world.”

In that moment, Shikadai was thankful to be wearing pants because otherwise Temari’s nails, which were currently digging into his leg, would have surely drawn blood.

“You haven’t yet had to witness it yourself, but sometimes it becomes too much. You become numb to the amount of lives you’ve taken.”

Temari looked over her shoulder to once again stare in the direction that Yama had gone. She took a deep weighty breath before finally speaking once again.

“Sometimes the kill is less about the mission and more about personal feelings.”

Shikadai could hear the quiver in Temari’s voice and placed his hand on top of her own.

“But even then, you’re still left feeling numb because nothing can ever bring back those that are gone and passed.”

She turned back around towards Shikadai, but still did not look at his face.

“You deserve to know what’s out there. It’s not a secret we want to keep from you. But that’s your father’s story to tell when he’s ready. So, I need you to be patient.”

Temari squeezed his knee once more before finally meeting Shikadai’s eyes.

“Can you do that for me?”

Shikadai nodded. There was no way he was going to tempt fate and defy his mother twice in one day.

The tension in Temari’s shoulders seemed to melt away at his response.

“He wants to tell you the truth. Believe me. But it’s not as simple as just coming out and saying it.”

She tilted her head as if the weight of her words made it too heavy to keep upright.

“It can be hard to come to terms with the number of lives we’ve had to end. There are a lot of deaths Shikamaru was the cause of that still haunt him to this day.”

Her eyes flickered to the side so quick that Shikadai almost didn’t catch it.

“He struggles everyday with trying to keep those thoughts in the back of his mind.”

A light bulb went off in Shikadai’s brain.

“That must be why dad likes to play Shogi all the time.”

Temari raised one of her eyebrows at him, instructing Shikadai to explain his statement.

“Well, I mean it makes sense, doesn’t it? Shogi takes a lot of planning and concentration. You can’t really think about anything else when you’re trying to decide which pieces to move. So, it doesn’t necessarily clear your mind, but it helps to occupy your thoughts with something else. Right?”

Temari looked at him as if he had said the most profound thing ever to be uttered. Shikadai didn’t understand why; he was just talking common sense, no?

Her expression finally changed from shock to her usual smirk as she took her hand from his leg and ruffled his hair.

“Come on, kid. I’ll make us dinner.”

She got off the stump and started heading back towards their house. Shikadai scrambled to pick up the basket of antlers she’d dropped before catching up to her. They walked side by side in silence until Shikadai once again couldn’t help asking the questions plaguing his mind.

“So, what helps you?”

Temari glanced at her side to once again raise an eyebrow at her son and waited for him to continue.

“I mean, dad asks me to play Shogi all the time, but you never do. So, there must be something else that clears your mind. What is it?”

She took barely half a second before answering:

“Training.”

Shikadai snorted. Of course she would give an answer like that.

“No, I mean something fun.”

“Training is fun.”

Shikadai couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Come on. There’s gotta be something else. Dad always says that grandpa and Asuma Sensei were the ones who taught him to play as a kid. Wasn’t there anything you had like that back in Suna? Something your dad taught you, maybe?”

Temari pondered his question for a long time. Her face seemed to grow more solemn with every step they took. Perhaps asking about her childhood was the wrong approach.

Suddenly there was a rustle to their right and they both looked to see Toge bounding towards them. He was carrying three carrots in his mouth which he happily brought over to Shikadai and dropped into the basket with the antlers.

“Toge! What did I tell you? You can’t keep stealing vegetables from my grandma’s garden. I’ll be the one who gets in trouble.”

The fawn didn’t seem to care as he nuzzled his snout into Shikadai’s neck.

“No, come on. Go put these back before she notices.”

Toge didn’t like that answer apparently as he stomped his way around to block Shikadai and Temari’s path. He grunted, causing his lips to flap from the pressure and leaving Shikadai to wipe a glob of spit from his cheek.

“Ugh, gross. Toge, I said no. Bring these back to where you got them.”

Shikadai held out the carrots in front of him, trying to be as defiant as possible. He found it hard to stand his ground however because Temari was incessantly chuckling at the whole exchange.

“Glad someone is enjoying this.”

He rolled his eyes before taking a few steps closer to Toge, urging him to take the stolen produce. But every time Shikadai was about to give them back, the deer would turn his head and snap his jaw shut.

Shikadai could hear his mother’s laughs behind him increase in volume with every attempt.

“You could, I don’t know, help your son instead of being a drag and taking pleasure in his misery. Just a suggestion.”

Temari walked up beside him and took the carrots from his hand. However, instead of handing them to the deer, she pulled a kunai out from her own thigh protector and began to peel the vegetable.

“Ma! What are you doing? You know how grandma gets. She’s gonna be so mad—”

“Yes, she will. But at you, not me.”

Shikadai gawked at the smirk on Temari’s face as she fed the carrot to Toge before patting him on the rump and watching him happily trot away.

“Ugh, I can’t believe this.”

He kicked the ground out of frustration and watched as a pebble flew across the dirt before knocking into another small rock. Shikadai made to repeat the motion but was stopped when Temari placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked at his mother’s face to see a light bulb of her own had gone off.

“You know, I just remembered something. A game me and your uncles played back in Suna.”

Shikadai’s eyes lit up as he forgot all about the lecture he was sure to hear from Yoshino later.

“You did? Can you teach it to me?”

Temari turned to her son and gave him a smile she only reserved for her boys.

When Shikamaru stepped through the front door that night, he came home to two things he wasn’t expecting. First, he was surprised to find Temari still awake, sitting on their porch and fiddling with something in her hand. But what was more concerning was the perfect circle devoid of any grass now in the middle of their backyard.

“There’s leftovers if you’re hungry.”

He waked out onto the porch and stood next to his wife.

“Was grass on tonight’s menu? Or have the deer gotten more precise in their eating patterns?”

Temari snorted, once again shuffling the item in her hand before tossing it at the bare patch of land. As it flew through the air, Shikamaru noticed the smoothness of the orb and finally put the pieces together himself. He watched it collide with a similar sphere in the circle’s center, knocking it outside of the perimeter.

“Marbles, huh? We haven’t played that since—”

“Our wedding night. I know.”

A small smile crept its way onto Shikamaru’s face, one he hoped was mirrored on hers.

“Feeling nostalgic? Or just tired of always losing to me—”

He was cut off as Temari slammed her fist down on his bare foot.

“Jeez, woman. Take it easy. What’s got you so riled—”

“Shikadai asked me about Hidan today.”

Shikamaru froze. How had his son found out about that?

“Not by name. We walked past Yama while collecting antlers and he wanted to know why only you go in there.”

She procured another marble from the pocket of her dress and threw it with much more force than the last.

“He was being a nosy brat if you ask me.”

Shikamaru let out a small chuckle as he sat down beside her, reaching out his hand to rest it on her thigh.

“I do want to tell him. And I will. But you know. It’s just complicated and…”

A sigh left his mouth as his free hand began to scratch at the back of his scalp. Shikamaru felt a squeeze to his other palm, but when he turned to meet Temari’s gaze, she was still staring out into the woods.

“I would like to play marbles again. I’ve only just taught him, but Shikadai is a quick learner. And I think playing will—”

“Did you teach him how to cheat, too?”

Suddenly the light squeeze on his hand turned into a near death drip.

“We didn’t cheat. It was a training exercise.”

Now it was Shikamaru’s turn to snort as he remembered back to long nights of playing with her siblings. Between Temari’s wind, Gaara’s sand, and Kankuro’s puppet strings, they had each found a way to manipulate the marbles to their advantage. Most games for that reason ended in an argument (or a screaming match when alcohol was involved) and the real winner was never agreed upon. Despite that, Shikamaru couldn’t deny that those nights out in the desert were some of his fondest memories.

Shikamaru also couldn’t deny that he too had been “training”, using his shadows every time they played.

Temari removed her hold from his hand to pull three more marbles out from her pocket. They sat in her open palm, reflecting the light from the moon up above.

“When you play Shogi, what do you think about?”

Shikamaru was puzzled by her sudden question, thinking the answer was obvious.

“Nothing. I mean except the game, of course. But other than that, nothing. That’s why I like to play it so much.”

For the first time since he had come home, Temari finally turned to look at him. He shrugged.

“Shogi takes a lot of planning and concentration. You can’t really think about anything else when you’re trying to decide which pieces to move. So, it doesn’t necessarily clear your mind, but it helps to occupy your thoughts with something else.”

Temari looked at him as if he had said the most profound thing ever to be uttered. Shikamaru didn’t understand why; he was just talking common sense, no?

Temari’s expression eventually changed from shocked to wistful as she moved her gaze back to the marbles in her palm. She slowly closed her fist around them before bringing the hand up to rest against her chest.

“I think this game could be like that for me. Something to help clear my mind when the past becomes too much.”

Shikamaru placed his palm on top of Temari’s fist, feeling her quickened heartbeat beneath their joined hands.

“I know it’s not as complex as Shogi. And it’s certainly not as boring either.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the brief smirk that flashed across his wife’s lips.

“But it’s fun. And I’m good at it.”

Another snort escaped his mouth as he moved his arm to wrap around her waist.

“Plus, it just…”

She paused. Shikamaru placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder, silently urging her to continue.

“It reminds me of home.”

Temari had never asked for anything from him. She had given up so much to be with Shikamaru, and he has asked her many times what he could provide to make her life here more like Suna. The answer had always been the same until today. Today she requested a change in their routine. She wished to take something that was once solely hers and make it a part of all their lives.

And Shikamaru wouldn’t hesitate to give that to her.

He pulled Temari closer, resting his forehead on her hair and whispered an “of course” into her ear. After a few moments of silence, just sitting and enjoying the embrace, Shikamaru heard a mumbled “thank you” in response.

Placing a kiss on the top of her head, Shikamaru then proceeded to stand up. He extended his arm out to her, an invitation to join him in bed, but Temari shook her head and refused the gesture.

“You go on ahead. I’ll be up in a minute. Someone needs my help first.”

Shikamaru looked around for their son, assuming the nosy kid was eavesdropping, but there was no one else besides himself and Temari downstairs. Suddenly there was a rustle in the bushes lining the backyard, and out trotted a young fawn he knew very well with an entire stem from a tomato plant in his mouth. Shikamaru couldn’t help but shake his head in amusement. His mother would be furious come morning.

Toge continued to prance towards the house, seemingly without a care in the world. He stopped however when he reached the marble circle. He bent down to sniff at it, perhaps searching for more food he could pilfer, before coming back up. He proceeded to stand on his hind legs, dropping the branch in his excitement, and then galloped straight towards Temari to nuzzle into her lap.

Toge seemed to be giving his approval for the new game, and Shikamaru couldn’t agree more. Temari was strong and fearless; there wasn’t a challenge she’d ever back down from. But she too needed a distraction every once in a while.

“You know what, Tem. I think this will be good for you. And I think it’ll be good for Shikadai, too.”

Temari continued to pet the deer in her lap, scratching at the nubs on the top of his head. She looked at her husband with an eyebrow raised. Shikamaru couldn’t help but snicker as he continued on.

“It’ll be nice for him to have things both of his parents will beat him at. Keeps him humble, don’t you think?”

After that day, the Nara family adopted several new routines. Some nights were the same as before: either shower, dinner, then Shogi on the porch, or shower, dinner, then video games on the couch.

Many nights however, Shikadai and Temari could be found playing marbles out in the backyard. Often their games would go on so late that Shikamaru would come home to find them arguing over who won and who cheated. Shikadai had managed to develop ways to “train” on his own, combining both his wind and shadow techniques to improve his accuracy. It was never enough to beat his mother, though. When Shikamaru was around to join them, Shikadai had slightly better chances as being the victor. But nine times out of ten, the boy still came in last place.

That was until he introduced them to his game of choice. Shikadai had received the tv compatible video game console as a birthday present. Though he did invite Boruto and Inojin over to play with him often, there was a certain type of joy he got when playing against his parents. Perhaps one day they would become familiar enough with the controls to win, but for now Shikadai would savor beating them every chance he got.

There were other times though where games weren’t on the agenda at all. Shikadai actually started to look forward to antler collecting because it meant spending one on one time with his mother. Walking past Yama to say hello became an integral part of that routine, as well as being bombarded by Toge with both rightfully sourced and stolen produce he wished to be prepared for him. Yoshino did eventually place a fence around her garden, but as Toge grew, so did his ambition. Therefore, the pilfering never ceased. This also meant that Shikadai being scolded by his grandmother would never stop either.

On their collecting days, Temari would open up more and more. She’d tell her son about the past: growing up in Suna; living life in the time of war; the pressures of having a leader as a father. Sometimes Shikadai would have to begin the conversations himself, either hinting at something they learned in class or by being straight up nosy and asking point blank. As time went on however, Temari would bring up the topics of her own accord and Shikadai would happily listen to his mother’s words.

After a few months’ time, Shikamaru decided to add another routine into the rotation. Shikadai and his father walked the path to where Yama always stood and instead of being blocked off, he was allowed to pass. He listened to the story of Hidan as he stared into the giant hole in the forest floor, taking it all in with both curiosity and a touch of fear.

It wasn’t a situation he could relate to himself, and neither were the accounts his mother had told him. But finally being able to hear the stories of the past, Shikadai began to understand why they were hesitant to share with him for so long. At first, he had felt left out. Now, he felt proud: proud that his parents trusted their son with these parts of their lives.

In time, Shikadai was allowed to venture into that part of the forest on his own. It went from a place that was forbidden to a place that was just another part of the routine. Which was why he walked there now, several years later, with a basket in tow.

Shikadai had gone through a growth spurt where instead of most deer towering over him, most deer were now his height. So, as he approached the path and Yama emerged from the brush, he was able to look straight into the buck’s eyes before scratching the white fluff on his chin and touching their foreheads in greeting. After stepping back from the hello, Shikadai heard footsteps as another deer he recognized came up to them.

Toge these days frequented this section of the forest because he had acquired some new routines, as well. The Naras thought it time for Yama to retire from his duties, and Toge had stepped up to take his place as protector. It would be a bit longer until the switch fully happened, but for now the two deer seemed to enjoy sharing the responsibility.

In addition to changing up the routines, Toge had gone through some physical changes, too. He now had a full set of antlers as opposed to the little nubs on the top of his head. Shikadai scratched at the base of them before pulling an apple out from his basket. Toge bleated and stomped his hooves in excitement, always happy for a midday snack.

Shikadai started to prepare the fruit so he could feed it to Toge. The repetition of an act he had done countless times throughout his life helped to clear his mind. He didn’t think about anything else. He lost himself in the monotony of the action. His focus was on this moment and this moment alone, and it was nice to forget about the rest of the world.

After Toge finished eating, he licked Shikadai’s cheek in gratitude. He then turned towards the forest, trotting happily away with a full belly. Yama started to walk along with him, following at a much slower pace.

Many new routines had been adopted in the Naras’ lives. Some were old ones once forgotten and brought back from the past. Others were created due to the growing technology of the times. But some routines had remained the same, and that stability was welcomed. Repetition, patterns, routines: they were all vital when learning to adapt in a changing world.

So, if one of those same routines was this — feeding a spoiled, hungry deer— then Shikadai was more than happy to oblige.

He ran after the two bucks as they entered through the trees, ready to face whatever challenges came next.