Embers snap, and artillery rings in the distance. Here they have a fire, they are concealed by trees, safe in the camp. Her bones ache from days of battle. Still, she refuses to go to sleep, even as the copper moon hangs high in the sky. She wil not rest until the Major does.
He lays propped against a crate of medical supplies, a ratty blanket tucked around his shoulders. His eyes reflect the firelight, like pools of jade nicked with gold. They are still intent on the paper in his lap, on whatever he is scrawling out in an ink darker than the sky.
The girl tips her head back to gaze at the velvet smoke pierced by starlight. A small hand, numbed from the night's chill hold, travels to her throat, where a dull ache is spreading from her heart. She knows the feeling she gets whenever she looks into the Major's eyes is the same as when she looks at the glittering celestials.
Sometimes it is a greater burden than she can bare.
"Major?"
He shifts, body stiff, and for the first time in a good while, he looks at her. "Yes, Violet?"
"Will you not rest tonight?" Her voice is like a wisp in the air. "Are you not tired?"
"I'll go to sleep when I've finished," he says gently. "But you should go lay down."
"No," she rushes. "I will stay with you."
Something she doesn't understand enters his eyes. It is something she doesn't understand, but is beginning to see more and more. She doesn't know how to ask what it means.
"Okay." He stares into the licking flames a moment, then back to her. "Are you cold?"
"It is not a problem."
The Major is already removing the blanket from around him. "Come over here."
Violet rolls onto tired feet, but nothing could keep her from obeying. She crouches at his side, longing to be close to him. Perhaps he knows. She doesn't have to tell him. He drapes the tattered cloth around her frame, along with his left arm. The ache in her heart swells as he pulls her to his side, and warmth fizzles through her numb body like embers in ash.
Her eyes trail his hand as he goes back to his task, letters, words she has not learned to read yet blooming across the page. One of her hands finds its way out of her cocoon, and before she can think, her pale, dirty fingers are trailing across the snowy sheet of paper.
The Major stops writing. "Yes, Violet?"
"May I ask what you are doing?"
"I'm writing a letter."
"What is a letter?"
His left hand finds its way into her mangled hair. "It's a way to communicate with others. You can say whatever you want in one."
"Who do you wish to communicate with?"
The Major hesitates before he replies. "I'm writing to my mother."
"Sir, what is a mother?"
His fingers comb through her long hair, silvery in the starlit night. "A mother. . . a mother is someone that cares for you. They clothe you and feed you." He works through tangles and dirt. She wants to know why his eyes have begun to shine with tears. "They teach you and protect you, and look after you."
"I see."
An explosion across the hilltops turns both their heads. The battle has not stilled since dawn. Their camp will be smaller after this. She is used to faces disappearing. To the constant shuffle of troops around her. All but one. There is one who is constant. Always there, as dependable as the stars that peek out every night. Someone who has taught her, protected her, and looked after her.
"Are you my mother, Major?"
His hand stills, and his eyes blink down at her. "No," he says. "No, Violet. I'm not your mother."
Violet's eyes simply swivel back to the fire. Exhaustion eats at her mind, fed by the soothing fingers working through her locks. She has told the Major before, her hair would be easier to manage if it were short, like his. He tells her he likes it longer. That's it's pretty this way.
She'd never heard that word before she met the Major, either. Now, she's not sure how he could ever look at her hair, nesting so much grime, smoke, and blood, and think it pretty.
The heat that travels through his uniform through her own makes her drowsy, and she burrows closer to him, eyelids heavy. She draws a weighty breath, and for a moment she pretends she is an animal who has found a safe place to hibernate for the winter. Maybe she will pretend, just for a moment, that she can hibernate through the war.
"Major Gilbert?" Her voice is muffled against his coat, garbled through a yawn. "Do I have a mother?"
His voice is hushed, just above the batter of gunfire in the distance. It seems so far away now. Almost like a dream. Sleep is close for the young girl. "You don't have a mother." Strong arms tighten around her wiry shoulders. "But you have me."
Finally. Something she understands.