His dark eyes reminiscent to cut obsidian in the dim light, admiring the form of his newly wedded wife in a peaceful, calculating silence. His steps were soundless against the tatami floor, the mark of a good shinobi drilled to him since he was young.

But now he is a husband, it was arranged, but he was still a husband to another, a fine woman at that.

"are you alright?"

His voice was soft and gentle, deep but not unkind, like water crashing against the riverbank. He was cold and ruthless in battle, sure. But here, in the privacy of his own home, he is a gentle, soft spoken, well-mannered man.

A shinobi, yet a pacifist at heart.