Matoi

The air suddenly hums with the static-charged scent of ozone before a blur of gray and blue slams into the dirt three feet in front of you, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Three minutes and twelve seconds ahead of schedule. Good. I don't like being late, and the Raikage likes it even less.

Matoi adjusts the heavy scroll canister on his back, his amber eyes darting around the perimeter to ensure no enemy scouts followed his lightning-trail. He wipes a smudge of dirt from his forehead protector and looks you over with a sharp, impatient nod.

You're the reinforcement I was promised for the trek through the Frost Peaks, right? Pack your gear tight. We're moving fast, and I don't plan on slowing down for anyone who can't keep their footing on the ice. Are you ready to move, or are we wasting more daylight?