WARNING(S): Trauma, mentions of violence, child soldiers, child death, and war

From the age of four, hardly a day went by without a shuriken in her hands.

In such a turbulent time, any and all help was needed in the eternal power struggle between the Senju and Uchiha - and she was no different; the frail daughter of a Senju woman and a peasant from Water country, her father had immigrated to Fire country in search of a better life and had landed in the middle of a bloody standoff between the two clans.

Her father had been hesitant for their only daughter to become a kunoichi, but her mother had grown up the daughter of a ruthless shinobi and a skilled kunoichi and was determined for her to learn the skills necessary to survive in such a ruthless world.

On the evening of her fifth birthday, she found that she could manipulate plantlife with her hands. Her mother was thrilled. She had said something about studying under the famed Senju Hashirama, but little Sakura hadn't been listening - she was too busy admiring the gladiolus under her fingertips.

It was on her sixth birthday when she truly understood the gravity of the war - her cousin was slain by an Uchiha, and her mother wept bitter tears for her aunt. Sakura had been too numb to truly process the death for a few days - and when she finally recognized that her cousin was dead, she screamed herself hoarse while her father attempted to hold her back from running out the front door.

That innocent six-year-old had grown into a cold, calculating sixteen-year-old woman under the tutelage of not Hashirama, but his brother Tobirama - the man had seen the potential in her mind and was determined to expand it. Not that the man minded; she hated fighting and preferred to spend hours reading texts from beginning to end, absorbing their words. She had a certain expertise in genjutsu, and was content to let her teacher practice on her.

Everything changed when she met fifteen, soon to be sixteen-year-old Uchiha Sasuke.

The son of a high-ranking Uchiha, he was every bit as battle-hardened and ruthless as his kin; his was a name that was whispered more in fear than reverence, and her teacher found every excuse to keep her away from battle whenever word got out that he and his brother Itachi would be fighting. It was clear he didn't want them to meet, and she never questioned him.

But today, of all days, she found herself alone by the riverbed, getting water for her ill father. It was a beautiful morning, and she hummed a tune while she filled a bucket.

Suddenly she paused, sensing a presence for a split-second behind her.

Turning her head, she nearly dropped the bucket in surprise when another person emerged from the treeline, long dark hair draped over his shoulder. Deep worry lines creased his face, and despite his youth there was something remarkably aged about him.

She knew him immediately.

Freshly twenty-one-year-old Uchiha Itachi, son of the man they called Kyougan Fugaku, was calm and collected as he nonchalantly strolled up to the river, a cloth in hand.

"Good morning, kunoichi," he greeted politely, seemingly ignoring the emblem sewn into the sleeve of her kimono top as he knelt on the rocks.

Sakura stared incredulously at the man for several hesitant seconds. Why wasn't he attacking? She had heard of his tendency for small mercies - on the battlefield he was like a machine rather than a man, cutting down Senju no more coldly than he ate or drank, but supposedly there were rumors afloat that he wished for peace more than war.

Truthfully, there was a certain softness to the way he carried himself. Minutely, she relaxed her rigid stance, seeing no sharpness in his shoulders nor steel in his gaze.

"You're an Uchiha," she finally spoke up, almost accusingly.

He paused in cupping his hands around the water. "I am."

"Why aren't you attacking me?"

That finally got him to look up, and for a moment she felt a guilty chord for the way he gazed at her with mild surprise.

"Why should I attack? You've no weapon and at the moment neither have I," he pointed out, and she sheepishly looked away, feeling quite chastised. "I am merely here to wash my face, and no more."

"Forgive me, I meant no offense." She shook her head and went back to her bucket. "I'm not used to sitting near one of your kin without a sword in my hand."

Itachi was quiet for several long moments, staring at the cool water. Then, he replied, "It would be a grave offense to my honor as a man if I deigned to strike you unprovoked. You're no harm to me, and so I am not to you."

Though his words were meant in good faith, his casual admission bristled her, and she barely held back from shooting him a glare as he dipped his head near the water's surface, splashing his face.

The silence between them was awkward, and as she went to get to her feet, a sword to the side of her neck immediately raised her hackles, and she belatedly reached for her pouch.

There came a sigh, and Itachi looked up with a disapproving, "Sasuke."

"Brother," the younger Uchiha tersely greeted. "What are you doing with a Senju?"

"She was here first, and neither decided it was prudent to begin a quarrel where there is none."

"Have you forgotten how many of our number hers have callously murdered?" He demanded. "Have you forgotten how they desired to strike down Cousin?"

"You've killed just as many, if not more," she spat with a nasty glare over her shoulder. "My own cousin was murdered in cold blood by one of your kin. I was six; she was eight."

"Please." Itachi raised his hand, rising from his knees in one smooth motion. "Sasuke, sheath your sword. Do not shame our father in this manner."

For a couple of seconds, the young man looked like he would argue, but one sharp look from his brother made him reluctantly pull back, and the katana glided back into its sheath.

Itachi sent the girl an almost apologetic glance as he extended a hand. "Forgive my foolish brother - though our father has raised us with peace in mind, I fear old habits die harder than they must."

She stared at his hand before her eyes traveled up to his face. She searched it for a long moment before she sighed through her nose and accepted it, allowing his sure grip to guide her to her feet.

"All grudges forgiven, Uchiha," she answered, letting go and stooping to retrieve her full bucket. "For your sake, I do hope this feud ends soon. I too grow weary of the fight."

Itachi nodded simply, bowing at the waist before turning. "Come, Sasuke. Mother is expecting us."

Sasuke stared at her, gaze sure and dubious. He was handsome, despite his blood - a slender nose, high cheekbones, regal brow, soft dark hair - had she not been a Senju, and he not an Uchiha, she might have fancied him.

He nodded dismissively and turned, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Good day, Senju. Be cautious when you make your way back."

"And to you... Uchiha." She managed to answer, clutching her bucket to her chest.

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A/N: Let me know what you thought!