The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, casting warm light over the bustling streets of Sunagakure.

But in the quiet shade of an old workshop nestled between sandstone walls, the world seemed to slow down.

Inside, Kankuro’s voice filled the air—half serious, half teasing—as he guided you through the intricate art of puppet-making, a craft that had been his family’s legacy for generations.

The workbench was cluttered with tools and scraps of wood, wires, and cloth—materials that, in Kankuro’s skilled hands, would soon come alive.

You sat across from him, fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to follow his steady instructions.

Your eyes darted between the pieces in front of you and his patient expression, trying to absorb every detail.

“First thing you gotta remember,” Kankuro said, lifting a small wooden frame and showing it to you, “is that every joint needs to move smoothly. Like the puppet’s gotta have its own flow, you know? Otherwise, it’s just a useless doll.”

You nodded, gripping the tiny wooden limb you were supposed to attach.

Kankuro’s eyes gleamed with a spark of pride as he watched your determined efforts. When you hesitated, he reached over and guided your hand, steadying your fingers around the small tool.

“Hey, don’t be so stiff,” he joked. “Puppetry isn’t just about muscles; it’s about rhythm. Feel the puppet breathe beneath your hands.”

As the afternoon wore on, the puppet began to take shape—a rough figure, limbs connected with fine threads, its wooden face blank but full of potential.

Kankuro demonstrated how to thread the strings through the tiny pulleys, his fingers deft and sure, weaving an invisible web that would soon command the puppet’s every motion.

“See? It’s like controlling your own shadow,” he said, pulling the strings gently to make the puppet’s arm rise and fall. “You’ve gotta think ahead—how it moves, how it reacts. It’s all strategy.”

You tried it yourself, hesitating at first, then slowly coaxing the puppet’s limbs into motion.

The wooden figure twitched, then moved a little more fluidly, and a small grin tugged at your lips. Kankuro clapped once, clearly impressed.

“Not bad! You’re getting it. Soon, you’ll be dancing with your puppet like a true master.”

The workshop was filled with the quiet sounds of wood tapping, string tightening, and your growing confidence.

Under Kankuro’s watchful eye and steady encouragement, the ancient art of puppetry wasn’t just a craft—it was a bond, a dance of trust between you, the puppet, and the master guiding your hands.