Hayate coughed a little as he headed through the villages gates. Fresh back from a mission, he was dusty with travel and sore from the fight: he really hoped his ribs weren't broken. They were tender and ached with every coughing fit. Hayate cursed his allergies and hefted his pack higher. Mission debrief, paperwork, then home where he could shower and clean his katana and sit in the sun and not do anything remotely involved with guarding, petty provincal polotics, or fighting with bandits on his way home.

Really. Bandits. It was almost insulting and nearly embarrassing.

Then again, low on chakra and tired in the early-morning twilight, he'd had to rely on very little but his own fast footwork and fighting instincts. He was fast, but ten to one just weren't good odds, even for a tired ninja. The one with the naginata had been very good, too.

Hayate walked down the village street and smiled, because he was home and it was good to be home.