There was a part of Sasuke that wanted to say: it's sunk in plenty, because it had. There was literal blood on his hands, a fire growing bright in the clearing they'd left, a local counter to the sun over the horizon. If there was more to sink in, he didn't want any part of it.

But at the same time he knew, in a distant, intellectual way, that the growing desire to have the luxury of silence and quiet was itself a sign of -- of something.

That meant that Obito probably needed to discuss the finer details of their cover story now, before it would be suspicious for them to meet more frequently, which meant Sasuke tightened his lips and looked ahead, waiting to hear what the next step would be. Whatever it was. He'd already lost track of his hands and feet more than once in the last twenty-four hours; following orders would be the easier option now.