Dilandau slowly paced back and forth on the cool hard floor of a conference room. He was becoming impatient. It had been a while since he had a worthy opponent to fight with, otherwise spar with.
"Folken, I'm bored. Let's go burn something, or at least attack another village," he told the strategist.
"Dilandau, you should spend less time complaining and more time planning the next step to improving the Dragon Slayers."
Dilandau stopped pacing at this comment. "They don't need IMPROVING!!" he yelled.
He continued pacing the room. As he looked around he started to think. The dragon slayers themselves needed no improvement, yet they had still failed to capture Van and Escaflowne. Thinking of Van made him. Maybe they did need some change.
"What do you have in mind?" Dilandau asked, his head turned, not wanting to look at Folken, who he was sure had an I-told-you-so look.
"Well," Folken responded, thinking with a bit of contentment at proving Dilandau wrong, " What about training more boys?"
"We've tried that. We still couldn't kill the dragon." Dilandau slowly put his hand to his cheek. Running his finger along the thick scar, bringing back the memories of Van, and his strong urge to kill him. "We need something different."
Dilandau racked his brain for some idea. He searched around the boring conference room, looking for some kind of inspiration. It was a large room with high ceilings. It had a long table running down the center, which was large enough to sit 20 people. The only decoration in the whole room was a lone tapestry of a bloody battle. Not many people enjoyed this picture, but Dilandau did. It had all of his favorite things in it. Blood, fire, and killing. When he looked away, there was an obvious grin on his face, one of which told you that this young soldier lived for battle. Realizing that this room offered no help, Dilandau returned his gaze towards Folken.
"Well?" he questioned, noticing the faint smile of amusement of Folken's face. "What's so funny?"
Folken turned to face the ugly tapestry. "What do our enimies expect from us?"
"What kind of question is that? How should I know," Dilandau retorted, confused at the sudden turn of questioning that his superior had taken.
Ignoring Dilandau's comment, Folken continued, " they expect a bunch of young, skillful soldiers who are looking for blood," flashing a quick look of disgust at Dilandau, " so we have a good chance of winning if we surprise them."
"You mean a surprise attack then.." Dilandau started to say.
"No, we have tried that and it is no more effective. What I mean is that we change what we fight with." Folken turned to look at Dilandau, trying to find understanding in his face. When he saw that there wasn't any, he continued to explain. "You see, the enemy expects to fight against men, but what if they don't fight against men."
Dilandau finally understood, " Are you suggesting that we train and fight with GIRLS??!" he yelled in disgust.
"That is exactly what I am suggesting. I will clear it with Emperor Dornkirk."
Before Dilandau could yell any more, to say what a horrible idea that was, Folken left the room.
I can't BELIEVE this! Girls! In the dragon slayers! That is the most obscene thing I have ever heard. Oohh, Folken I'll get you for this.
- - - - - - - - - -
Pavati slowly opened her eyes. She sat up, relishing the half-asleep half-dazed feeling she had. Looking around, she watched the sun filter into her bedroom onto the plain walls. It had been a while since she had lived in a nice house. The shack that she was in now was dark and damp, but it was all she had.
She stood up and started her small morning routine. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, trying to wipe away the sleepiness. Then she slowly arched her back, stretching out the stiffness that had collected in her muscles over night.
Feeling a bit more awake, Pavati walked over to a small dresser at the end of the bed. She had made it herself from old pieces of wood out of abandoned houses. The one large drawer didn't work very well, but well enough to hold the few clothes she owned.
Pavati decides to run to Adanac, the closest trading post. She put on a black shirt and pair of auburn pants. For a lack of people around her, Pavati wore what was comfortable, not what was proper for a young girl. Besides, she would choose pants over a dress any day.
Pavati stumbled into the kitchen. There were only two rooms in her house. A small bedroom barely large enough to fit a bed, and a kitchen with and attached bathroom separated by a curtain.
"Dammit," Pavati said to herself, " I have to meet with Se'toe this morning."
Stuffing a piece of fruit into her mouth, Pavati stepped outside into the fresh, crisp air. She stumbles a few feet trying to swallow the fruit, not choke on it then takes off for the 10 km run ahead of her.