Branch I: Weeping Willow, Milkvetch, Indian Jasmine
(in mourning, I hope my presence softens your pains; I am here for you)

- in a move too casual to be considered disaffected, Fiora moved her hand. "Oh, forgive me, I didn't notice your hand was there," she said, bringing the offensive digits up to her face in sincere embarrassment. The tips of two of her fingers pressed just at the corner of her mouth and Kent had to look away, the sight provoking thoughts he had no intention of entertaining. It was the fault of Sain's presence within his life, he was sure of it.

"It was more my error," he was quick to say, as if she needed to be exonerated. "I had only just moved my hand. It would only be expected that you did not notice, so you needn't apologize."

"My lack of observation is my own error," she responded, her voice suddenly quiet. Turning away from him, she gazed up, at the half-grown moon. "My error alone."

It seemed as if everything around them was still; even the sound of the fire was muted. It troubled him to see her no more lively than a statue, such a caring woman now so withdrawn. "Fiora?" he asked - he had to ask.

As if shaking off sleep, she looked at him in a deliberate manner. "I'm...I'm sorry," she murmured, her hand now at her forehead, "it was a thought. A memory."

He watched her, his brow creasing as he tried to put together what was disturbing her so. "If I may ask, of what?"

A smile tried to form on her lips, but they both could tell that she wasn't succeeding. "My wing. By tonight's moon, I only just realized that, just one month ago, my error of judgment caused my entire wing to...to die." The last two words were almost a sigh, the ghosts of those words, but they were heard all the same.

"I," Kent started, then stopped. Really, what could he say? He was a commander, the same as her. What would he want someone to tell him if his own knights died by his order? Would he want her to tell him that it was okay, that it surely couldn't have been her fault? Would she want condolences, sentiments easier to give than they could possibly be received?

If it were him, could he want anything at all other than the chance to correct that wrong?

She reached out at him but not to him, stopping short of touching him. "Please forgive me," she said, her eyes strangely kind. "I did not mean to burden you with my own troubles."

"You shouldn't feel the need to apologize," he said, watching as curiosity crossed her face. "I don't find it a burden to listen to you, Fiora."

They sat in silence for a while. A cricket chirped, its reedy song competition for the crackle of the fire. There was singing within the center of the camp, a drinking song, followed by a sharp rebuke in a feminine voice. Kent wondered if that was Lady Lyndis; he had noticed that, due to the trauma of losing her tribe, she couldn't stand loud voices at night lest they attracted bandits to their location. It was prudent, though he wished it was a lesson she had learned due to reason and not out of fear.

"What would you have done if it had happened to you?" Fiora asked in her soft, moderate voice, and he glanced at her to confirm that it was, indeed, her speaking. "What would you do afterwards?"

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. Even thinking about it yielded no answers save a shiver that ran down his spine at the thought of losing everyone but himself, failing his mission and being forced to live through it. How anyone could remain unbowed and unbroken by what must be a harrowing experience was what he couldn't understand; how Fiora could still fight with all the vigor and precision of one untouched by tragedy impressed him. "It would be easy to say that I would fight on and avenge my soldiers, return to my lord and face his displeasure, but in the end I would think that the guilt would be overwhelming..."

She nodded, her eyes downcast. It was an affectation apparently not limited to the youngest sister, Kent saw. "Those were my thoughts," she admitted, "my very thoughts. If I had not crossed paths with this army and Florina, I believe I would have been lost."

"Lost?" he was about to say, but then, with a shiver, he remembered Lady Lyndis. Yes, he knew of the ways a soul could be lost after becoming a survivor - sorrow, loneliness, and something darker than mere anger. Instead, he chose to remark, "But you are not lost now."

"No." A small smile appeared on her face, and at the sight of it he smiled in return - not just a reflex, he found, but a sincere expression of relief for the woman beside him. "Seeing how Florina has grown, reuniting with Farina, receiving Lord Pent's assurances, spending time with you - these things taught me how valuable it is to live. Not that I did not know this before, but rather..." She made a soft humming sound as she tried to find the right word; it reminded Kent of a hummingbird hovering in the air, deciding which flower to dart to next - a strange thought of whimsy strengthened by the sight of her deceptively delicate wrist as she tucked another wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "It has been a long time since I thought about living for myself, not just as a knight. Even though we've been fighting nearly every day, I've..." she paused, giving him a sidelong glance and a smile, "I've been enjoying myself."

"It is strange, isn't it?" he mused, his gaze drifting up towards the half-moon. "Although these have been trying times as of late, I would admit the same. It is one thing to fight for a cause that is right and true, but to do it alongside so many worthwhile allies...I can only hope that these bonds of friendship will continue to hold strong even after everything is finished."

There was silence, a comforting quiet that Kent enjoyed only rarely with others. There were obvious reasons for that, what with Sain's unfortunate tendencies, Wil's talkative nature and, he had to admit, although he spent less time alone with Lady Lyndis since they joined Lord Eliwood and Lord Hector's campaign, she was a rather friendly and spirited sort of person who expected to verbally reach out to others whenever she could. But Fiora, like himself, had a more temperate and moderate personality, and from the past several days he knew that she took equal pleasure in the act of silence as he did.

He felt something being placed on the back of his hand, and when he glanced down he found her hand on top of his. Surprised, his eyes flickered up to meet hers, but otherwise he did not move.

"Thank you, Kent," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "Thank you for listening to me. When I talk to you, I have the strangest feeling that I know how you will reply, and it tends to be everything I would say in turn." She laughed; it sounded like low notes of a beloved melody. "That sounds strange, I'm sure."

"Does it?" he asked, all too aware of how distant his words sounded in his ears. How could he describe this feeling? It was as if he were drifting, perhaps, with only the pull of her clear blue eyes and the warmth of her bare fingers resting on his hand to anchor him. And yet, he did not feel discomfited; the surprise was wearing away, revealing a mild curiosity. This was the same woman who easily pulled away from him before - did she feel that comfortable with him? Did she feel it was acceptable? Was it acceptable?

His fingers twitched under hers, testing her touch. It was a nice touch, light, gentle. Having seen her with her youngest sister, that seemed appropriate. Acceptable?

Her fair complexion, pale in the moonlight, seemed to darken slightly, but she was not looking away from him any more than he could from her. "I am being impertinent," she murmured, her voice as low as the crackling from the dying fire. Despite her words, neither her gaze nor her hand moved.

"No," he said, as clearly as his voice would allow. And, because he did listen to Sain, as much as he tried not to, Kent decided that he would let actions show what his words would not and turned his hand over, their palms pressed together and her fingertips tickling the joints of his fingers. With an ease that belied the heaviness of her gaze, her fingers entwined with his, their hold on each other light, gentle. He smiled, more because of the wobbly nervousness jangling throughout his body - relief, in some strange way - than anything else before he looked away. There were less fires burning at the main camp and the fire before them was dying out, leaving the half-moon and an uncountable amount of stars dotting the night sky. "It's a nice night," he commented. "I suppose you've flown on nights like this one."

"I have," she said, the smile evident in her tone before she began to describe what it was like to fly. He listened, still contemplating the feeling of her hand in his. It was a strange feeling, something unlike anything he had felt before. It lacked the wistfulness of his feelings for his lady liege, that quiet longing of someone standing at the periphery of something great while never daring to linger any closer. This, instead, was comfortable, something completely within his reach. It was more than acceptable to hold onto that feeling with both hands, he now realized, and he was going to once he could find the proper words to express himself. It was a different sort of procedure and protocol than he was used to, but he knew she would appreciate it as much as he.

Somehow, he already knew that she would reach back.

-end-