The first time he saw her, his mind was full of stories about the Aerugo war. She stood in an open window on the second floor, glaring down at him. He thought she looked like a sniper.
The first time she smiled at him, it was tight and false. She didn't want his help; she could go buy her father's materials on her own, thank you just the same. But he insisted, because he'd seen the way she looked at him when he went to study with her father, and he wanted to make it up to her.
The first time she held him at gunpoint, he was trying to find her in the woods, but had gotten hopelessly lost and was too panicked to think of calling for her. Instead, he stumbled noisily through a bush and into the barrel of her hunting rifle. She nearly screamed at him, but the terror and subsequent relief on his face moved her to pity. She jerked her thumb at the sack in his hand, which had accumulated a number of twigs on his journey, and looked at him questioningly.
"I brought you lunch!" he said.
And that was the first time she really smiled at him.
The first time they said goodbye, he was all but bursting with his vision of a bright future, and she could not help but wish him the best, even if her father disapproved. They shook hands politely. He wanted to pull her into a hug, or kiss her cheek, or something less formal, because she had grown on him over the years. But he released her hand, saluted, and walked away from the house.
