Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the reviews! I mean wow =P Lol, I'm so bad . . . as I'm writing right now, I'm still undecided of when to reveal Rinoa's secret. Hey, maybe if I get enough people yelling at me…lol, we'll see.

To Angel of the Lion: Thanks for the reviews first off. Second, I must warn you, it's a dynamic fic, meaning the characters will most likely change. 'Evil' will not always be and 'pure/true' will not always last.

"So . . ." Rinoa began to fidget as she spotted the village just out of the clearing. Squall stopped and Rinoa instinctively knew he could go no further. She played with the tips of her fingers, looking at the ground. She was shy, innocent in the art of friendship and men. Although her heart was stained with the weight of immeasurable guilt, she managed to keep her warm, caring and open-hearted personality. She was the type to help everyone else besides herself. It was easier to fix problems when they weren't yours.

Squall arched an eyebrow inquisitively at Rinoa while maintaining a stoic and stern posture. He was rigid – partially from training, but mostly from being alone.

"Thank you," Rinoa burst out suddenly very shy and afraid of her feelings toward the hunter in front of her. He was bred to be a killer but that fact held no weight with her as she dared to look into his grey-blue eyes for brief seconds. Her courage faded, she quickly looked down towards the ground, but her eyes focused upon his hands. Black leather gloves covered what must have been pure, soft white hands. She wondered but never dared to even consider the thought for long.

Squall studied Rinoa as he also kept an awareness of the surroundings. A warrior must always be alert, ever ready for any danger or circumstance. He wondered if there was any real danger besides the mercenaries. Squall was a fast learner and he sensed a shift in Rinoa's attitude. She wanted to tell him something, but was afraid. Her body language – the tense hands, fidgeting, not meeting his gaze – all hinted at some greater secret that the owner feared to betray. What price? What consequence could this secret hold? Then he realized what she feared – she was afraid of losing him.

The candle-light dusk splayed out across their surroundings, igniting the ice covered trees, and the two people standing in the outskirts of the forest. Warmth touched the last of the earth before leaving it to the frost night would bring.

Squall was a patient man, but even this silence was too great a burden to wait through. "Tell me," he prodded and urged her while maintaining the five foot distance between them. Human contact was still something he was unaccustomed to, as well her kindness and spirit. A little company was the least he could offer, despite the protests of his lone wolf nature.

"Squall – I," Rinoa trailed off, unsure of where to start or how to finish. Then an idea formed in her gentle mind. She spoke softly, raising her eyes to meet his, gazes never wavering, never breaking. "How many people have you killed?" she asked softly. She knew the burden he carried and only wished to find a way to tell him. If only there was a way to avoid what she had to say, had to tell him. Rinoa tucked a wild strand of her jet black hair behind her ear as she folded her arms across her chest. The winter night and its ethereal coldness were returning to claim its territory as the moon began to rise.

Squall winced involuntarily, ashamed, guilt spilling into his consciousness. Of all the Hyne damned questions . . . He cut off his thoughts. He sensed a reason as he searched for her purpose in her eyes. Squall narrowed his eyes and sighed. "I killed perhaps hundreds of mercenaries in our civil wars. You understand every Garden fights to have control over the rest. Each is controlled by a Headmistress, or Sorceress if you will." Squall spat the term sorceress. He hated her, he hated their kind. They only brought evil and sought to control all life forms. However, he would not let his hate destroy him. Squall felt it was the Sorceress's way of life to dominate. That was their purpose, their reason for living.

Rinoa flinched and tears threatened to escape from her eyes. He wasn't making this easy. "Squall. I know. I'm asking how many humans – civilians – did you kill."

Squall's eyes betrayed his confusion. Why in Hyne's name . . . whatever. He gave up trying to question a woman's reasons.

"None," came the honest and almost proud response. In all his life as a mercenary, he had never killed a civilian. He had not been ready to undergo such missions as Ultimecia saw fit. Had he stayed any longer, he would have had civilian blood stained on his hands. Squall knew the price of innocent blood. It took away a mercenary's humanity, slowly, almost agonizingly in the form of nightmares, guilt, and torment. Squall had nightmares from the training for such missions. He had been ordered to go along with his older teammates – to watch and learn from them. Squall remembered the screams, the pleas for mercy, but all in vain. His teammates had slaughtered an entire village as an example for the rest of the neighboring villages. It was for the good of the mercenaries Ultimecia had said. She said that civilians would betray them, wanted to kill and murder them. The civilians were the evil ones, she had told them.

"How noble, how lucky you are," Rinoa replied with envy apparent in her tone. She bowed her head down, ashamed of her jealousy. "Squall, before I tell you . . . I want to thank you for being my friend. It was more than I ever had from anyone. I've always been everyone's friend . . . but no one was ever my friend. Quistis wouldn't allow it. She called it being protective of me." Rinoa began to ramble and realized how she must have been boring Squall.

She looked up at him, and her eyes . . . her innocent eyes begged with him for any kind of understanding, or forgiveness.

"Squall," she paused, locking her eyes onto his. "I'm the reason I'm an orphan." Squall looked confused and Rinoa continued. ". . . I killed my parents Squall." With that, she ran for the second time that day, letting her tears reclaim her face. She saw the shock, the horror registered in Squall's eyes. She knew he would reject her as Quistis promised her everyone who knew would.

Angelo, meanwhile had been trailing behind the two the entire time and saw his mistress sprint to the village. He looked up at Squall with puppy-dog eyes as if to say: What did you do this time?

Squall was indeed shocked but knew there must be more to the story than Rinoa told. He reached into his cape to pull out a Snow Rose. The luscious dewy white flower was surrounded with a blue edge to every petal. Its fragrance mocked the winter that borne it. It hinted of spring, of purity and of warmth. The flower was thought to be extinct, but Squall had found a plant that offered its single innocence to him. He was waiting of the right time to somehow give it to Rinoa without her knowing he had. Squall was unsure of himself and how to properly present a flower. This was definitely something he had never learned or even remotely interested in. But he knew. Instinct claimed him and romance inspired him.

"Angelo." Squall said to the dog who was about to run after Rinoa. "Give this to your mistress." The warrior knelt down and uncharacteristically laid the stem of the flower gently in the dog's open mouth.

Angelo softly clamped down on the flower as if not to lose it and ran after Rinoa.

Author's Note #2: I decided to write this chapter solely about this scene. I felt it was a good way to hint at the friction/attraction between the two as well as Rinoa's secret – the thing most people wanted to know. Lol, although I think you hate me for not explaining . . . but that's for the next chapter! =P