Miku wrung her hands together, pink points reflecting the anxiety that such a gesture mirrored. Although she fought back a grimace with dignity, she failed to notice the abnormal pace of her breast, which rose and fell as her pulse quickened. Again and again, she laced and unlaced her slender fingers together, entwining them before breaking the mass of churning digits and nails. She parted her mouth to allow her teeth room to press down on her bottom lip; softly at first, but as the minutes crept by the young woman sub-consciously allowed more pressure to fall, until a thin line of blood splashed down from the corner of her mouth. She took no heed, only concerned with the thoughts that flitted across her mind.

"Takehiko-kun~~" She silently pined for her apprentice, no longer able to suppress her worry of where he had gone off to. It wasn't that she was particularly fond of him, but he was her charge, and so it was instinctive for her to fret. And besides, she depended on him - if she produced a good student, capable of being an Akatsuki ring-bearer, she would no longer hold the shame of being the weakest link. Well, that's what she had convinced herself, anyway.

Evening had already set in, and night was beginning to make it's presence known; she needed him here before the sun completely faded, for her own peace of mind. She was more than happy to wait - her patience couldn't ever be stretched too far - but the fact that she had scheduled a training session was not to be ignored. Perhaps he had lost track of time in Hakumei? The jungle was dangerous like that - unable to clearly define what time it was, or how many days one had spent wandering in its twilit depths. Pushing the sleeves of her kimono up, positioning once more on her narrow shoulders, she glanced down at the black cloak folded carelessly over a log, which acted as her seat. A kindling fire illuminated the edges of the red clouds patterned on the material, reminding her of the blood she'd shed in order to wear that cloak. She felt the need to vomit.

Miku glanced away, out of shame; a deep flush had set itself on her cheeks, ravaging the last patch of pale flesh with pink. Instead, her orbs sought out the smouldering flame, taking in its unpredictable shape - its grace, its ferocity, transfixed by the element that possessed such savage beauty; it reminded her of kunoichi. She pondered over their likeness, briefly wondering whether she too was like a flame - but decided against it. There was something wrong with her being a writhing inferno - it just didn't fit. Regardless, having a fire lit within Hakumei was not the brightest idea - at least, not literally. The alien heat and light would gain the interest of beings that were not human in the least; teeth bared from within a snarling maw, talons raking earth and flesh.

Miku was only ever interested in high-risk training.