They had been travelling for almost two days. Mulan was tired, and she ached, but she made no protest, no complaint. The men had ridden around her for the first part of the journey, congratulating her on her triumph, and thanking her for her bravery. She had withstood their cheer and goodwill as long as she was able. But it soon began to chafe against her weary spirit. Her recent exposure brought home the desolate fact that while they respected and admired her as a man, they would condemn her without remorse for being a woman. So she became withdrawn, quiet, and they eventually returned to their march, leaving her to travel in relative peace.
Shang noticed her paleness, the almost translucent quality to her skin. Yao watched the concern coat his general's face, wondered at the man's interest in Ping. Or Mulan. Yao turned his gaze then to the girl sitting atop the huge horse, seeing the features that set her apart from the rest of them. He shrugged. He didn't see it. She was too skinny, too plain. He appreciated her courage and mind, really. The fact that she was a woman served only to compound that fact. He envied her, yes: he had even when he'd thought she was Ping, but it wasn't a raging emotion. He could, after all, do things she never could, so it all balanced out. He grinned gruffly. New experience, this, comparing himself to a woman.
Shang struggled to quell his battling emotions. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, to make sure her wounds were healing, give her something that might ease the pain. But at the same time, he adamantly refused to give Mulan any indication of the strange compassion he felt.
Ling saw the expressions flicker across Shang's face. Saw the scowl, and the uncertainty, and against every inch of the man's better judgement, there was concern. Ling hid a smile. Poor Shang.
Night fell and this time the company stopped to set up camp. Mulan nearly fell off her horse in utter exhaustion and stumbled to where she was supposed to set up her tent.
"Here, Ping, let me do it."
She looked up into Chien-Po's face. His eyes were kind and gentle. It was so nice to have someone not pass judgement. Nice to see something other than the stern, unforgiving glare so familiar to Shang. She didn't want to have to rely on someone else for help, though. Mulan was desperate to not give Shang any more reason to hate her.
"No, Chien-Po..." she began to protest weakly.
He ignored her objections and picked up her things. The tent was up in less than five minutes and Chien-Po patted her on the back before moving away to set up his own. Mulan began dragging her bedding off Kahn's back and lugging it into her newly erected house. Shang walked by as she was coming out, and she tossed him a hesitant smile. He didn't return it, continuing, instead, as though she didn't exist.
Mulan tried not to care, she told herself that she didn't need him to like her, that he had kept her from getting killed and, really, she didn't want anything else from the bastard. But she didn't believe herself. And it hurt.
She lay awake in her bed that night for a long time. Thinking. She thought about her family, back in the village, probably worried sick about the daughter so absurdly abnormal as to dress up as a man and join the army. Thought of her father, and what might have happened to him if she hadn't gone slightly mad that night. She saw him then, moving with a quiet dignity across the plains of her mind, and she brushed back sudden tears. She missed him so much. What would she say to him when she got home? Would he want her still? Or would he see her actions as a betrayal of the highest magnitude, and turn her away? Her breath caught in her throat and fear washed over her in ice cold waves.
Mulan closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught, hating the trembling in her stomach. She pushed herself out of bed and into the night, hoping a saunter under the moon might help ease her apprehensions.
Her footsteps fell softly outside the tents of sleeping soldiers. Shang watched, strangely enthralled as her lithe form swept across fields of grass in the dark. He sat, quietly contemplating in the embrace of a huge willow. He, like her, had his own demons to contend with, and left Mulan to her own devices, biting back the instinct to bark at her and have her return to her tent. Shang watched her, though, and found himself contemplating things that had very little to do with bad memories and everything to do with the slim, shadowy silhouette roaming the meadow and suddenly his mind.
Shang noticed her paleness, the almost translucent quality to her skin. Yao watched the concern coat his general's face, wondered at the man's interest in Ping. Or Mulan. Yao turned his gaze then to the girl sitting atop the huge horse, seeing the features that set her apart from the rest of them. He shrugged. He didn't see it. She was too skinny, too plain. He appreciated her courage and mind, really. The fact that she was a woman served only to compound that fact. He envied her, yes: he had even when he'd thought she was Ping, but it wasn't a raging emotion. He could, after all, do things she never could, so it all balanced out. He grinned gruffly. New experience, this, comparing himself to a woman.
Shang struggled to quell his battling emotions. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, to make sure her wounds were healing, give her something that might ease the pain. But at the same time, he adamantly refused to give Mulan any indication of the strange compassion he felt.
Ling saw the expressions flicker across Shang's face. Saw the scowl, and the uncertainty, and against every inch of the man's better judgement, there was concern. Ling hid a smile. Poor Shang.
Night fell and this time the company stopped to set up camp. Mulan nearly fell off her horse in utter exhaustion and stumbled to where she was supposed to set up her tent.
"Here, Ping, let me do it."
She looked up into Chien-Po's face. His eyes were kind and gentle. It was so nice to have someone not pass judgement. Nice to see something other than the stern, unforgiving glare so familiar to Shang. She didn't want to have to rely on someone else for help, though. Mulan was desperate to not give Shang any more reason to hate her.
"No, Chien-Po..." she began to protest weakly.
He ignored her objections and picked up her things. The tent was up in less than five minutes and Chien-Po patted her on the back before moving away to set up his own. Mulan began dragging her bedding off Kahn's back and lugging it into her newly erected house. Shang walked by as she was coming out, and she tossed him a hesitant smile. He didn't return it, continuing, instead, as though she didn't exist.
Mulan tried not to care, she told herself that she didn't need him to like her, that he had kept her from getting killed and, really, she didn't want anything else from the bastard. But she didn't believe herself. And it hurt.
She lay awake in her bed that night for a long time. Thinking. She thought about her family, back in the village, probably worried sick about the daughter so absurdly abnormal as to dress up as a man and join the army. Thought of her father, and what might have happened to him if she hadn't gone slightly mad that night. She saw him then, moving with a quiet dignity across the plains of her mind, and she brushed back sudden tears. She missed him so much. What would she say to him when she got home? Would he want her still? Or would he see her actions as a betrayal of the highest magnitude, and turn her away? Her breath caught in her throat and fear washed over her in ice cold waves.
Mulan closed her eyes against the sudden onslaught, hating the trembling in her stomach. She pushed herself out of bed and into the night, hoping a saunter under the moon might help ease her apprehensions.
Her footsteps fell softly outside the tents of sleeping soldiers. Shang watched, strangely enthralled as her lithe form swept across fields of grass in the dark. He sat, quietly contemplating in the embrace of a huge willow. He, like her, had his own demons to contend with, and left Mulan to her own devices, biting back the instinct to bark at her and have her return to her tent. Shang watched her, though, and found himself contemplating things that had very little to do with bad memories and everything to do with the slim, shadowy silhouette roaming the meadow and suddenly his mind.