He needed a better hat. It was a mantra in his mind, and he mourned that his own wide brimmed, shoulder shading rice hat had been destroyed in a sandstorm on his trip to this area, and all he had left was a highly inadequate little thing that left his face to burn in weird places, and his neck to itch like mad with the heat of sunburn. It was miserable, but he was almost to the desert village, and he could deliver what he'd been sent with, the long way, always the long way because his oh so gracious leader preferred to let his shinobi fly under the radar as much as possible. But then he could patch his supplies and get out of the desert. He would be so happy to be out of the desert.

But apparently there was going to be a person between him and that goal and he sincerely hoped she was friendly as he refused to halt his slog past her.