The blooming leaves rustled in the calm wind, serving temporarily to camouflage his expedition through the forest. Mokuzai bounded from one tree to another forging ahead, alternating between the perennial plants. Gentle and nimble his steps were, and as he glided through the limited expanse among trees, he seemingly defied gravity. The mess of blond atop Mokuzai’s head remained still, confined by his knit cap. The Genin’s focus was beyond him, his placid orange eyes piercing through any it came across; his scope of vision encompassing as much as his eyes allowed him to. Descending, the Aburame Genin reached into his satchel and revealed his notebook.
It was apparent that the boy had a good frame of mind, an unusual occurrence. He put down into writing random lyrics, words popped into his head as he sauntered, not precisely certain of the path he walked; with his centre of attention being on the literature in his hands, more precisely the words he wrote down. Accompanied with the rapid movement of his wrist was the constant nodding of his head as the male’s skull moved in several, consecutive trend. He recited the lyrics mentally, attempting to compose a song. Contrasting to others his age, the Konohagakure Genin possessed remarkable abilities: his artistic and musical knowledge which he placed to good use. He came to a halt, sealing the book and placing it back in the bag located on his back. He stood there in the field of grass, hands restless in their pursuit for a stretch, to work out the kinks and knots. He awaited his opponent who was yet to show, in the wide open field so clear and bright and wide and so very wide, save for the forest surrounding the field only 200 meters in diameter. Guess it wasn't that wide. But it was pretty wide. His senses so sharp and ready.