The mountain wolves are at it again.

Akira squinted at the dusky shadows from where the howls are coming from. It's that time of the year, where a full moon graces the night sky and the wolves are alive. She sighed loudly. Another year is coming to pass.

The young girl wiped her face with the sleeve of her worn kimono before hurrying along the dusty road. At 8 years old, Akira helpd out in the market by cleaning fish and other errands to help her ill grandmother. As she jogged towards their small hut, her pockets jingled with what little money she earned. On one hand she carried a small packet of herbs and on the other, two pieces of pork trimmings the butcher was kind enough to spare her.

Akira lived in a small hut in the tiny village of Takeda, tucked behind the cold mountain pass of Koga. An orphan, Akira lived with her ailing grandmother, Inoue, and their dog, a crippled shiba inu named Yuudai. Hidden from plain view by tall bamboo and shrubbery, the small hut was a sorry sight. The thatched roof was propped by asymmetrical posts, the floor nothing but hardened earth. A small bathroom was outside, concealed by a wall of dried coconut leaves and husks while the small vegetable patch was barren.

"Obaa-san! I'm home!"

Akira's greeting was drowned by the violent coughs from the small cot by the corner. The young girl hurried to the nearby sink, took a tin cup and filled it with water. She knelt beside the cot.

"Please drink this, Obaa-san," she said, small hands trying to lift the frail old woman.

Inoue took few small sips from the cup of water before her coughing spell began again. Akira tucked the blanket tighter around her grandmother's thin form.

"Tsunade-san was very kind enough to give me some herbs today, granny," she said as she smoothed the crinkles of the worn blanket. "I'll make you some tea, okay?"

Inoue's reply was another bout of coughs, each heave harder than the first. Akira pretended not to see the blood from her grandmother's mouth.

While she ground the herbs given to her by Tsunade (the village's only pharmacist), Akira boiled water for the tea and the pork trimmings. Ever since her grandmother caught a terrible cough last year, ("It's tuberculosis," Tsunade had said. "You better have the doctor from Konoha or Suna to look at you since it seems to be a severe illness."), her health had deteriorated. Inoue began to wilt like a dry leaf during the harshest of summers. Unable to work, Akira was forced to take upon her small shoulders the burden of working for both her and her grandmother's livelihood.

The old kettle gave a sharp whistle and Akira promptly removed the kettle from the fire and dropped the herbs on the boiled water, just as Tsunade had instructed. After stirring for a minute, she poured the tea on a small porcelain cup, the last of the tea set her grandmother used to have before they sold almost all of their belongings. Blowing the steam off, she walked towards her Inoue.

"Granny? Here's the tea. Please drink this."

It took a few more gentle coaching before Inoue stirred. She opened weary eyes and in the dim candlelight, her jaded eyes met her grandchild's bright ones...and oh how she was reminded of her own daughter.

"Thank you, child," Inoue managed to croak. With Akira's assistance she was able to drink the warm tea. It soothed her heavy chest, and she exhaled in satisfaction.

Akira smiled. "Granny, do you know who I visited the village this morning? It was the master of the Hyuuga house! Oh how he looked grand in his majestic robes granny! I've never seen such wonderful clothes before!" She took the cup and knelt by the side of Inoue's cot. "He was with other well-dressed men and women. I saw a girl with him and she's the prettiest I've ever seen! Her skin looked so smooth, granny, and her kimono was the loveliest in all of Takeda! It has pictures of pretty birds and, and, it was in gold..." Akira gave a longing sigh. "She's perfect. I wish I could be as beautiful as her."

Inoue began to say that the young Akira is also beautiful in her own right--with long dark hair, pale skin, small oval face and slate-gray eyes--but her coughing had began, shaking her whole thin form with each labored breath.

Akira gently laid Inoue back to the cot to rest and in a few minutes the old woman had drifted to sleep, occasionally coughing up blood and sputum. She watched her grandmother's wrinkled face, the pain and suffering clearly etched on the weathered skin, and silently she wept--for her grandma, for herself, and for their misfortune of being born poor.

As moonlight from the slanted windows streamed in, Akira sang the old lullaby Inoue used to sing her.

"Mori mo iyagaru, Bon kara saki-nya
Yuki mo chiratsuku-shi, Ko mo naku-shi

Bon ga kita-tote, Nani ureshi-karo
Katabira wa nashi, Obi wa nashi

Kono ko you naku, Mori wo ba ijiru
Mori mo ichi-nichi, Yaseru-yara

Hayo-mo yuki-taya, Kono zaisho koete
Mukou ni mieru wa, Oya no uchi
Mukou ni mieru wa, Oya no uchi"

In the mountains, the wolf howled.