The next morning was cold and offensively refreshing. Mulan woke up groggy, and still half-asleep. The sounds of men and horses moving out pulled her out of bed when she would have stayed longer. Quickly wrapping things up and stumbling out of her tent, she began packing things hurriedly on Kahn's back. She was aware, suddenly, of a growing silence. Looking up from the short hair on her horse's flanks, Mulan felt her cheeks turn red at the quiet attention she was receiving. Shang sat on his horse, looking down at her with a sneer on his face that exuded disgust.
"Do you suppose it would be alright if the company started out, soldier?"
It was a fierce battle to not flinch in the face of such calculated loathing.
"I do realize your sleep is very important to you, but it would be nice if you didn't cost us two hours every time we stopped somewhere."
She avoided his eyes. The emotions swirling around in them were too raw. And the tears threatening hers were not something she wanted him to see.
"The men and I have places to be. If it's not too much trouble."
Mulan looked up at the almost imperceptible stress he put on the word 'men'. She wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it.
"Someone help the boy with his horse."
With that final, veiled cut, Shang dug his heels into his horse's sides and turned away. Mulan's face burned with a shame and a fury unparalleled. Her eyes shot sparks at every man who made the mistake of turning a foot towards her and her horse.
Ten minutes later, after much fumbling and cursing on her part, she leapt up onto Kahn's back and waited, seething, for Shang to lead his army out. She burned in her indignance and let the rage course through her in angry, hot waves. No one went near her for the entire journey and she saw so much red, it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Finally, Shang called them to a halt. The sun was setting across the fields of rice, and the bright pink that adorned the skies told him it was time to stop. For the fiftieth time that day he viciously quelled the guilt that ruptured his soul. Every time he thought of what had happened, he felt like throwing up. And his head pounded like fuckingall.
"This spot is fine. We'll camp here for the night."
He watched Mulan almost fall of Kahn, watched her set up her tent and stumble into it. He worried despite every inner protest. Felt like so much shit. Shang shook his head to clear the clinging guilt and disappeared into his tent. It would do no good thinking about it.. about her. He knew that. The problem lay in how exactly he was going to stop. As he floated into clouds of sleep, the last thing Shang saw was her face.
A day passed, and two. A week almost, before Shang met Mulan walking the abandoned rice fields at midnight.
She looked up, startled at the quiet footfall. Mulan saw Shang's silhouette shadowy against the eerie black-white of the night sky and sighed. He was so harsh, so incapable of forgiveness, of simple human compassion. And yet, she remembered warmth in that gaze, laughter line that face. Mulan drew a trembling hand across her eyes; self-pity was for the weak. She hadn't left her home and joined the army to meet anyone's expectations but her own. Risking her life had everything to do with saving her father's and nothing, whatsoever, to do with the approval of a man who until only a few months ago had been a complete stranger. For the five hundred and tenth time, Mulan told herself that it really shouldn't matter how he felt. And for the five hundred and tenth time, she was forced to concede that it did.
Shang saw her stop, look up at him and turn away. She had seen him and he exhaled softly his frustration. The fates had been unkind. Sending him this woman as a man, sending with her the death of his father, this loss of his soul. God, his feelings rumbled around inside him like so many dragons clamouring to be unleashed. He felt doomed...that if he let one of them out, they would all escape, frantic and horrible in their intensity, and with such fire, leave him hollow and empty in their wake.
He thought of his father. And he cried.
"Do you suppose it would be alright if the company started out, soldier?"
It was a fierce battle to not flinch in the face of such calculated loathing.
"I do realize your sleep is very important to you, but it would be nice if you didn't cost us two hours every time we stopped somewhere."
She avoided his eyes. The emotions swirling around in them were too raw. And the tears threatening hers were not something she wanted him to see.
"The men and I have places to be. If it's not too much trouble."
Mulan looked up at the almost imperceptible stress he put on the word 'men'. She wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it.
"Someone help the boy with his horse."
With that final, veiled cut, Shang dug his heels into his horse's sides and turned away. Mulan's face burned with a shame and a fury unparalleled. Her eyes shot sparks at every man who made the mistake of turning a foot towards her and her horse.
Ten minutes later, after much fumbling and cursing on her part, she leapt up onto Kahn's back and waited, seething, for Shang to lead his army out. She burned in her indignance and let the rage course through her in angry, hot waves. No one went near her for the entire journey and she saw so much red, it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Finally, Shang called them to a halt. The sun was setting across the fields of rice, and the bright pink that adorned the skies told him it was time to stop. For the fiftieth time that day he viciously quelled the guilt that ruptured his soul. Every time he thought of what had happened, he felt like throwing up. And his head pounded like fuckingall.
"This spot is fine. We'll camp here for the night."
He watched Mulan almost fall of Kahn, watched her set up her tent and stumble into it. He worried despite every inner protest. Felt like so much shit. Shang shook his head to clear the clinging guilt and disappeared into his tent. It would do no good thinking about it.. about her. He knew that. The problem lay in how exactly he was going to stop. As he floated into clouds of sleep, the last thing Shang saw was her face.
A day passed, and two. A week almost, before Shang met Mulan walking the abandoned rice fields at midnight.
She looked up, startled at the quiet footfall. Mulan saw Shang's silhouette shadowy against the eerie black-white of the night sky and sighed. He was so harsh, so incapable of forgiveness, of simple human compassion. And yet, she remembered warmth in that gaze, laughter line that face. Mulan drew a trembling hand across her eyes; self-pity was for the weak. She hadn't left her home and joined the army to meet anyone's expectations but her own. Risking her life had everything to do with saving her father's and nothing, whatsoever, to do with the approval of a man who until only a few months ago had been a complete stranger. For the five hundred and tenth time, Mulan told herself that it really shouldn't matter how he felt. And for the five hundred and tenth time, she was forced to concede that it did.
Shang saw her stop, look up at him and turn away. She had seen him and he exhaled softly his frustration. The fates had been unkind. Sending him this woman as a man, sending with her the death of his father, this loss of his soul. God, his feelings rumbled around inside him like so many dragons clamouring to be unleashed. He felt doomed...that if he let one of them out, they would all escape, frantic and horrible in their intensity, and with such fire, leave him hollow and empty in their wake.
He thought of his father. And he cried.