„The baths in the barrack is the unusual place. From disgusting, cold and wet hole it can immediately turn into the place you could not resist to hang out".

Casca slowly stand up, and move her hand over the pile of stones with pleasure. She felt the nice warmth radiating from it, and she blown into the fire once again, more to celebrate the success in stoking the furnace than to maintain the ember. The furnace was burning correctly. Finally, Casca could take a bath.

She had to plan it precisely; live her bed early enough, to have this place on her own. Her company rather preferred to hang out there at evenings, drinking and arguing, but she didn't liked to share that moments with them. Of course, she feared her boys not – she knew how to snap their heads off or scoff, even how to paste them, but she felt certain shame when she had to accompany them naked. She was quite jealous of their bigger and stronger bodies, and complete lack of complexes. She enjoyed her bath the most, when it was the tranquil moment of relax, moment only for her. When she didn't have to prove that even if she's a woman she is not worse than the rest of Hawks. She loved to being alone with her feminity to celebrate it.

Slowly, without any rush, she took off her nightgown and underwear, and she put it on the highest ledge hanging under the ceilig – this way, when she'll put them on again, she'll still feel this delightful warmth of baths. She reached for the bucket of freezing cold water, and she poured the hot pile of stones. Clouds of steam spread over the furnace and filled the whole little baths in one moment. Casca took a few deep breaths, as she grab the bucket once again. "This momet shall be the worse", she thought. She hold her breath, and tip the bucket over her head.

OOOOUCH!

Casca groaned silently, when the cold water drained down her naked body. After a moment, when she had already shook off, she started to scrub her wet skin with a soft brush. Slow strokes caressed her shoulders and back pleasantly.

"I wonder where he is".

Now, when she had a few moments only for her, she reminded of her yesterday concerns. Griffith hadn't appeared at yesterday's lunch, nor dinner. He didn't even visit the cantina, where soldiers used to gather for gossips over the pit of beer, or various games or brawls. Casca even checked out his office, by peeping through the keyhole just before she retired. It had happened sometimes, that Griffith was completely losing himself into work or reading curious-only-for-him writings, and hadn't made any signs of life for a days, only sitting near his bureau and enjoying the lecture.

But, whatever, this time Casca found his office empty, and the last idea where he could possibly been disappeared from her head. No, she wasn't terribly concerned about him – Griffith had proved many times, that no matter how bad his situation looks, he always comes out of it victorious. He had been poisoned, shot with a crossbow or kidnapped several times, but after a while he had always appear among the Hawks with no damage, with his innocent, childish smile on the face. Today Casca was quite sure that also this time he will come back soon, safe and unhurt, smiling apologetically and excusing himself. Even then she could still feel some anxiety of him.

Knock-Knock.

- Occupied! – she yelled, suddenly upset. It looked like her idea of morning bath was not only her own, ad had some amateurs also among rest of Hawks. She was disappointed when thinking that her perfect way to spend some time all alone was no longer reliable.

- Casca – the heart in girl's chest fluttered. It was Griffith! Her beloved leader came back to her safely once more. As she suspected, he hadn't disappointed her also this time – shall I join you?

- Hmm, sure, come in – respond Casca, pouring her head with water from the bucket. She wasn't ever ashamed with taking a bath in the company of Griffith, so they had often been doing. The lack of Griffith's interest into her body had certain benefits, she thought with the bitter smile.

The doors of baths creaked, and Griffith came in. Casca took a look of him and she immediately knew that Griffith were gone for that long not because of his work of commander nor his liabilities on court.

Griffith was making an impression of totally tired and battered man. His white locks of hair, usually bounded into fine ponytail, now were hanging around on all sides, and his forelock was bizarrely crooked up. Single locks was glued to his reddened cheeks and neck. His elegant, long jacket was wet and dirty with mud, so as his normally perfect polished boots. He was hunching himself, and rubbing his arms incessantly, with a slightly absent gaze and a clay cup in his hand.

- Hey- Casca moved a bit closer to him on the bench – what was happen? Why did you disappear for that long? I was worried about you. And boys did so. I was wondering, if you…

Griffith appeared not to hear her. He took off slowly his wet clothing, sat down on the bench nearby the furnace and reached in the direction of the bucket. After a moment he held his hand back anyway, and grab the cup. Casca suddenly noticed, that he's trembling.

-Hey… - she repeated, this time softer and quieter. She moved to him once again, and put the hand onto her commander's hunched shoulder – Griffith, what's wrong?

She took a stroke of his hair, pushing salient locks away from his face. When she tried to put them behind his ear, she noticed the dim stripe on his right shoulder. She put her hand there, and squeezed the place slightly. Griffith took a few sips from the cup, and put it away. He exhaled spasmodically.

- It's so tiring – he said quietly – so… frivolous. And unsure. I was thinking that I made my mind clear. That I put lucrative conditions. I was righteous, when three years ago I won that duel with him. I even facilitated it to him. I didn't want to conquer him with a deception, I was playing fair. And then, suddenly… Behind my back…

Casca realized, that Griffith's hands are continually moving for some time. She looked down, and groaned quietly. His forearms were covered with red scratches, and small spots of blood blooming among them. "Just like years ago", she thought. Just like after that night, when she found him in the brook, passionately scrubbing his body to wash down the memories of that bastard, calling himself the Baron.

She reached for his hands rapidly, and forced them to her mouth, covering them with soothing kisses. She looked into his eyes, still completely empty.

- Please, don't. – she whispered – You're hurting yourself.

Slowly and carefully, she put his hands on her waist, and pressed them down with her own elbows, to prevent him for moving them out. He wasn't struggling. He leaned his head down on Casca's shoulder, and sighed once more.

- I miss him too – whispered Casca – I saw you guys were pretty... close to each other. You trusted him, didn't you?

Griffith stayed silent for a while, and then he respond slowly with the dead voice:

- Guts was fighting under me for many years. So many years I put into training him, educating him. It was like to find a diamond in mud, and grind it with my own hands. He would be nobody without me. The Band of Hawk is a precious, gold ring to me, and Guts was the gem. But… though the years of wearing, admiration in people's eyes, and my only rights to him about which he known… The gem fell out of my ring, and rolled into the gutter. When I tried to pick it up – his body tensed, so Casca hugged him a bit tighter to sooth his trembling – it cut my finger. Tell me, why should I miss this frivolous gem if I still have my good old ring, so fit to my hand?

Casca felt hot streams running down her shoulder, and dripping from breasts. She released carefully one of Griffith's hands, and caressed his head gently.

- I must continually get injured on the way of little stones, Casca. My hands are bleeding from grasping this gravel again and again, because I know, that if I only dare to close my eyes for a second… To cross my arms, to take a rest… The gravel will come down and bury me. All these small stones, rolling from under my feet and hands... They come down so often.

- Hush, don't cry – whispered Casca, still rocking Griffith's head gently on her shoulder, and stroking his shivering arms. She realized now, and wondered for a moment, why she did that late, how small and slender Griffith's silhouette was. His fabulous, bright jackets, often trimmed with gold or silver, his white cloaks snapping in the wind, and his shining armor was making him look like an untouchable monument, but without these solicitously selected robes he looked almost like a child, a bit too thin, a bit awkward, with protruding ribs and skinny legs. Casca smiled sadly – for her, anyway, he has always been the most beautiful being in the world, regardless of anything.

- Casca – Griffith's voice was a little bit hoarse, but didn't betrayed recent tears – please, wash me. I'm too tired for it now.