Crash and Bang.
Noin struggled forward, pushing her way over a jagged broken wagon, and called to her men,
"Forward! Again! Again!"
She turned back to the battle before her, feeling sluggish, and saw the slow seep of a charging mercenary's sword striking for her.
That's what her old tutor had told her battle was.
Crash and Bang.
Scrambling back, she put a shoulder to the broken wagon and threw it on its side for a makeshift shield. She crouched into the rotten mud and heard the thunk of the sword biting into the hard wood of the wagon. She scrambled up and around, throwing herself into his stomach before he could pull the blade from the greedy wagon wood. His face showed surprise as he hit the ground, but it didn't matter, as the next second she threw her whole weight into pushing her sword through his gut until it bit the mud beneath him. She stumbled forward, bringing the blade out without a second thought.
It had begun to rain on the battlefield, making the miserable more miserable yet. The only happy sight was the dying of the flames that gutted the homes of Calais, and even that sight made one sick to heart. Noin had felt the break in the fight not an hour ago, when suddenly pushing forward was not just a desire but a order that could be given and followed through.
"On!" She cried, but her voice broke and wavered.
He sword tip dragged in the mud. She was tired. The men rallied themselves, but the fighting was pocketed across the grey fields. She could see her men gathered in clumps, hacking away at the bits of the rebel army that were left in Calais. She wiped her face with her tired forearm, but only felt gritty ash stick to her face. The rain had created a dark wind filled with choking clumps of ash that soon stuck to faces and weapons and armor. It was hardly a time to recognize a nobleman's standard when one had to stare into the face of his enemy before he was certain he had not killed a friend. In fact, she had seen that most of her men had gone into a frenzy so they would not have to look into the faces of dead men anymore.
The rain beat down hard on her, but not hard enough to clear the ash and blood from her face.
"Forward." She cried, and the weary clumps of men marched ever on.
She propped her sword into the thick mud and watched as the battlefield cleared. A dark shadow pulled itself to stand beside her, "General."
A young man, one of her prized Lieutenants, and he straightened and pulled himself into a somber salute. She watched him a moment in quiet admiration, and wondered what god made men generals and soldiers. She stood slowly and saluted him in return,
"Ease."
He let his arm fall, and it seemed as if his uniform had suddenly lost the man inside it. Dead on his feet, he just managed to stand beside her, sword at ready. All her men were exhausted thanks to this god-bedamned rebel and her idiotic ideas. A peaceful township had been burned to dust. She had sent hundreds of young men to their deaths on this stupid, bloody battlefield. She pulled her sword from the ground and began to trudge ever forward, with him after her. Her anger seethed, and she hoped with a passion that just one more enemy would cross her sights before she declared this battle over.
_
She dragged herself to the township, and as one lieutenant flocked to her, so came the straggling lonely fighters of her army after him, until a small force had built behind her. She now hacked her way through the bunches of flesh and meat that guarded the entrance to Calais from the field they had fought over. She growled with every hit, throwing aside each man she hacked away to be trampled and finished by her soldiers.
The haggard cries of her men were lukewarm remnants of and anger that had barely burned longer than the fires that sputtered in children's beds in the town. Never fight stupid, her teachers had told her over the years, even if you are tired, you must use your sword skills, dodge and attack; be tactical. She grimaced to herself and banged her sword into someone's rusting armor. Well, she could tell them now where to shove their advice. She trust him to the side and stabbed into the armpit opening of his armor. She grimaced a bit and swung her sword in a lazy semi-circle in front of her.
Like Yuy.
Be tactical.
She could only pray that little boy didn't get into an real battle. That was what she and her boys were for.
"Rally! Rally! Tear them apart!"
She cried and gave a banshee whoop, charging into the next line of enemies that blocked her way. Her men cried after her, and fear was put into their enemies again. She barreled into the first man's armor and shoved, jostling and elbowing until her sword arm was free and then hacking again and again. She slipped and hit her knee, gasping in pain, but kneeling put her into position to thrust her sword under the plating of the armor of the man in front of her, and create a gaping hole in his stomach that bled silently back into the armor. She thrust him aside and smiled. The second good sign of the night had come, and she couldn't begrudge it a sore knee. Her feet had slipped on cobblestone.
_
"Ten hundred men have gone before and ten hunnerd men go yet! I'll die no' yet by blade an' sword, nor with a bandit's collar moored, but with lassies and lovely chord, a-tied up to my bed!"
A rowdy group of soldiers passed through the torch lit street, all swinging their makeshift canteen mugs.
Noin sat back in her chair, a well deserved bucked of warm water under her feet and a bandaged and bloodied knee. He other, however, worked just fine as a brace for her own tired mug. She sighed as they went into the fifth verse, and shut her eyes, aware that one of her generals approached her.
"Are you sure it's appropriate for them to sing bawdy drinking songs at a time like this?"
Noin smiled just barely, "More than ever. Would it be kind to shut them up in a burned out hole and tell them to be somber and quiet after we ordered them to run into a field and die?"
The general bowed his head as an excuse to keep from looking at her. He was a rather small man, and young, with pale skin and blue eyes. His hands were fine and she imagined that his coat used to be, though now it was covered in blood and ash, he seemed to have let it go. He had made some attempt at cleaning himself, but his fine blonde hair had clumps of dried blood in it that he had not managed to comb out. He threaded his fingers together, and she wondered how many new blistered he had developed from actually using them for the first time. She sighed to herself. She could play on his ignorance of battle and court appointed position all she wanted, but it would make neither of them feel better.
"Have a seat and pull up a drink, man," she sighed, "let them sing to ease their weary hearts."
He nodded and dragged over a chair they had salvaged for a poorly arranged council meeting in the center square of Calais. Surprisingly, the middle of town had remained most intact, and in addition to the road supplies and ale barrels of the rebels, they had lucked across some intact pieces of furniture. Their pieces were all mismatched, one of her field generals suffered the indignity of peering up at the table from a child's chair, while another perched forlornly on a high stool from a chandler's shop.
She smiled and swung over a mug, managing to stay mindful of the spilling as he took hold of it and thanked her. They watched the torches burn, casting ghostly shadows over the husks of buildings and celebrating soldiers. The dicers diced with each other under the flickering light more hectically than usual. The drinkers swayed from side to side with the swaying, uneasy light. And those that walked passed from shadow to shadow, each appearing as temporary and unsettled as the little patches of darkness that threatened every corner. She took another sip and flexed her knee with much pain.
The general finally spoke, "that injury will take you out of battle, ma'am. It is best left alone."
She shook her head, "It's not as bad as they want to think it is, they're just being protective."
Two soldiers greeted each other in her sight. She imagined that each of them must be cold.
The general made a small sound in his throat, "well, yes, the men do feel an attachment to you. Now more than ever. But I have not seen the doctors quite that concerned about other injuries..."
"They're my men too."
He stopped and nodded, leaning on his knees. She wondered if he'd understand. She watched the two soldiers talk hesitatingly.
"The men that...rallied with you into town. They're all drinking together, they're the ones singing."
She glanced over and saw that the petit nobleman was right. She recognized the grimy faces and drunken shouts and hysterical laughter. She looked back at her quiet soldiers talking in the torchlight. They had moved closer together.
"Yes. That's good, they need to work it out of themselves, and they deserve a congratulations for their bravery."
"What about yours?"
His voice was quiet, but sincere. She took another sip and did not look back,
"I did what I had to do. Those men acted bravely."
The nobleman shifted in his seat, his delicate little face troubled by her answer.
"Surely, though...your own behavior was brave enough..."
The two soldiers now stood close, their conversation still quiet, but much more personal and friendly. They spoke tensely. One of the was wiry and strong, while the other was bigger, but soft. She saw the wiry one tremble, his eyes wide with the remains of delayed battle shock.
"Are you going to yap to me all night about bravery, soldier, or did you come to be useful on the field?"
The nobleman halted mid sentence, affronted, but he bit his courtly tongue. His voice was assured, business like as he spoke, "I came here to be useful, ma'am." S
he nodded and twisted her mug in her hands. The two soldiers...they recounted stories together now, stood in the firelight and comforted each other.
"Then tell me something, soldier..."
She turned from them and a new figure walked into her sight. A young boy, looking over the torchlight and tents and gazing on the ruined houses and stores. His clothes hung nearly off his shoulders, his dark hair was flung into his eyes, and his mouth hung slightly open as he wandered slowly through the camp, as out of place as a puppy among wolves.
"Ma'am?"
Noin's hands twisted the mug, "Tell me where the rebel general's tent was."
_
Twisted, ransacked wreckage was all that was left of the enemy tents. Hatred, want, or greed had led her men to destroy the camp in their search for some comfort. All six of her field generals tore through the remains, looking frantically through the odds and ends of the former campsite as she barked orders at them. Her petite general stood at her side, protesting,
"We looked, the men say they saw no distinctive tent, that they saw nothing out of the ordinary when they came here..."
"Argh!" She growled, "well keep looking until you find it, soldier!"
He frowned but went to direct the search among the debris. She wanted to howl and scream and kick something, but howling and screaming would bring the doctors and kicking something with her bad knee would give them a reason to be there. She stood stoically, relying heavily on her left leg for support because of the now constant ache and splintering shocks of pain. She knew the General had been there, she had seen the jackal's face, laughing at her from the front lines, but she could find no trace of her in the territory she had taken.
"Lady Noin! Lady Noin! I've found a pot!"
An excited general enthusiastically held up a pot, standing so quickly the he swayed and went cross-eyed from the rush of blood to his head. She forgave him the slip in protocol of not calling her general, but his stupidity seemed to make her knee ache more. She grimaced and shut her eyes,
"Is it a -special- pot, soldier!?"
The petit general walked over to man and slapped the back of his head,
"That could be from anywhere, soldier. They could have swiped it from the town for all we know. Now get back down there, look for some real proof and stop bothering her with stupid ideas."
The general whimpered and dropped his precious pot quickly as the petit general went back to yelling at the assembly. Noin couldn't help but smile through all the headache of it. It seemed as if he was learning how to be a leader in the army. She monitored the search quietly for a moment, unwilling to give in to her weakness and sit down. Where could the general have gotten to? They had checked the dead, and found no blonde women among them, and they had checked the prisoners, what few of them there were, and found no information. IT seemed that all her soldiers assumed that any woman's voice on the battlefield had been their hired general's and had not bothered to check. The few of them that had any idea what she looked like or sounded like had held her in superstitious awe, and spoke of her only in vague terms of rumor that seemed to place her as a shape-shifting jackal-woman with a demon for a lover and trained snakes to do her bidding.
It seemed to be impossible that she had left the battle safely, but It was beginning to feel like she had not been there at all. Noin rubbed her temples. It was just impossible that she had escaped the field. But Noin could find no answers. She heard a soft rustle beside her and looked to see the orphan boy wading through the junk to stand next to her. He looked around curiously, dark eyes wide and observing and unafraid. She looked at him, but he only surveyed the surroundings,
"You know, this is pretty weird, that she's disappeared and all."
Noin's immediate thought was of biting him viciously in irritation. He glanced at her,
"But what about the sword? You know, I hadn't thought of that, but why not. The guy just didn't seem like an ordinary soldier."
The sword? Noin's eyes went wide and she turned back to the wreckage her generals were confusing on the ground.
"What will happen, will happen without you..."
The world came together in her head, and she cursed the sign that had been given to her.
"Stop looking you morons! They're not here,"
She barked, turning and stumbling , putting too much sudden pressure on her knees. She stood, shoving off the unoffered help of the orphan boy and cursed everything she could curse as loudly as she could,
"They're gone and we've been had!"
"Ma'am?"
"General!"
"Lady?"
She growled at the orphan lad who followed beside her as she stormed towards her conference table,
"We've been left behind. And I've a nasty feeling that we've missed our only opportunity."
*************
Somewhere in the dark, she imagined, they traveled. Absolute black flowed around them, and image of it pleased her. Her eyes were still a little to wide, her heart a little fast from the battle hunger that had overtake her, but now, it was only she and her lover. There was only candlelight between them now.
"Lover," she purred, content with the irony of using that word, "where is your other sword?"
His dark eyes rose and he slowly surveyed the area around them. He looked back to her with the candlelight glittering in his eyes and lifted his shoulders in languid response. She made a small noise and he went back to whatever it was that occupied his strange and quiet, passionate mind. If it didn't concern him, it really didn't concern her, but something made her uneasy. She could live with a lover she did not trust, but a soldier, she needed to watch. These were dangerous times. And things were going too well to have them ruined.
_*_*_*_*_*__*_*_*_*_*_**
Er..
*comes out of hiding*
Hello.
*cowers away from stones flung at her*
I'm so sorry for the long wait. erm, I realize it's been a long time since the last update, but I hope you guys didn't give up on me. *smiles and taps forehead* I remember that it takes -updates- to get -reviews- *winks* it's all a system I'm coming to understand. Anyway, I promise there will be anew part soon, becuase I need to compliment this with some Heero/Duo stuff. Anyway, thanks to you guys who stuck with me, and I hope you like this new chapter, I put some hard work into it for you *smiles*
Don't hate me yet, spirits,
Kitten
Noin struggled forward, pushing her way over a jagged broken wagon, and called to her men,
"Forward! Again! Again!"
She turned back to the battle before her, feeling sluggish, and saw the slow seep of a charging mercenary's sword striking for her.
That's what her old tutor had told her battle was.
Crash and Bang.
Scrambling back, she put a shoulder to the broken wagon and threw it on its side for a makeshift shield. She crouched into the rotten mud and heard the thunk of the sword biting into the hard wood of the wagon. She scrambled up and around, throwing herself into his stomach before he could pull the blade from the greedy wagon wood. His face showed surprise as he hit the ground, but it didn't matter, as the next second she threw her whole weight into pushing her sword through his gut until it bit the mud beneath him. She stumbled forward, bringing the blade out without a second thought.
It had begun to rain on the battlefield, making the miserable more miserable yet. The only happy sight was the dying of the flames that gutted the homes of Calais, and even that sight made one sick to heart. Noin had felt the break in the fight not an hour ago, when suddenly pushing forward was not just a desire but a order that could be given and followed through.
"On!" She cried, but her voice broke and wavered.
He sword tip dragged in the mud. She was tired. The men rallied themselves, but the fighting was pocketed across the grey fields. She could see her men gathered in clumps, hacking away at the bits of the rebel army that were left in Calais. She wiped her face with her tired forearm, but only felt gritty ash stick to her face. The rain had created a dark wind filled with choking clumps of ash that soon stuck to faces and weapons and armor. It was hardly a time to recognize a nobleman's standard when one had to stare into the face of his enemy before he was certain he had not killed a friend. In fact, she had seen that most of her men had gone into a frenzy so they would not have to look into the faces of dead men anymore.
The rain beat down hard on her, but not hard enough to clear the ash and blood from her face.
"Forward." She cried, and the weary clumps of men marched ever on.
She propped her sword into the thick mud and watched as the battlefield cleared. A dark shadow pulled itself to stand beside her, "General."
A young man, one of her prized Lieutenants, and he straightened and pulled himself into a somber salute. She watched him a moment in quiet admiration, and wondered what god made men generals and soldiers. She stood slowly and saluted him in return,
"Ease."
He let his arm fall, and it seemed as if his uniform had suddenly lost the man inside it. Dead on his feet, he just managed to stand beside her, sword at ready. All her men were exhausted thanks to this god-bedamned rebel and her idiotic ideas. A peaceful township had been burned to dust. She had sent hundreds of young men to their deaths on this stupid, bloody battlefield. She pulled her sword from the ground and began to trudge ever forward, with him after her. Her anger seethed, and she hoped with a passion that just one more enemy would cross her sights before she declared this battle over.
_
She dragged herself to the township, and as one lieutenant flocked to her, so came the straggling lonely fighters of her army after him, until a small force had built behind her. She now hacked her way through the bunches of flesh and meat that guarded the entrance to Calais from the field they had fought over. She growled with every hit, throwing aside each man she hacked away to be trampled and finished by her soldiers.
The haggard cries of her men were lukewarm remnants of and anger that had barely burned longer than the fires that sputtered in children's beds in the town. Never fight stupid, her teachers had told her over the years, even if you are tired, you must use your sword skills, dodge and attack; be tactical. She grimaced to herself and banged her sword into someone's rusting armor. Well, she could tell them now where to shove their advice. She trust him to the side and stabbed into the armpit opening of his armor. She grimaced a bit and swung her sword in a lazy semi-circle in front of her.
Like Yuy.
Be tactical.
She could only pray that little boy didn't get into an real battle. That was what she and her boys were for.
"Rally! Rally! Tear them apart!"
She cried and gave a banshee whoop, charging into the next line of enemies that blocked her way. Her men cried after her, and fear was put into their enemies again. She barreled into the first man's armor and shoved, jostling and elbowing until her sword arm was free and then hacking again and again. She slipped and hit her knee, gasping in pain, but kneeling put her into position to thrust her sword under the plating of the armor of the man in front of her, and create a gaping hole in his stomach that bled silently back into the armor. She thrust him aside and smiled. The second good sign of the night had come, and she couldn't begrudge it a sore knee. Her feet had slipped on cobblestone.
_
"Ten hundred men have gone before and ten hunnerd men go yet! I'll die no' yet by blade an' sword, nor with a bandit's collar moored, but with lassies and lovely chord, a-tied up to my bed!"
A rowdy group of soldiers passed through the torch lit street, all swinging their makeshift canteen mugs.
Noin sat back in her chair, a well deserved bucked of warm water under her feet and a bandaged and bloodied knee. He other, however, worked just fine as a brace for her own tired mug. She sighed as they went into the fifth verse, and shut her eyes, aware that one of her generals approached her.
"Are you sure it's appropriate for them to sing bawdy drinking songs at a time like this?"
Noin smiled just barely, "More than ever. Would it be kind to shut them up in a burned out hole and tell them to be somber and quiet after we ordered them to run into a field and die?"
The general bowed his head as an excuse to keep from looking at her. He was a rather small man, and young, with pale skin and blue eyes. His hands were fine and she imagined that his coat used to be, though now it was covered in blood and ash, he seemed to have let it go. He had made some attempt at cleaning himself, but his fine blonde hair had clumps of dried blood in it that he had not managed to comb out. He threaded his fingers together, and she wondered how many new blistered he had developed from actually using them for the first time. She sighed to herself. She could play on his ignorance of battle and court appointed position all she wanted, but it would make neither of them feel better.
"Have a seat and pull up a drink, man," she sighed, "let them sing to ease their weary hearts."
He nodded and dragged over a chair they had salvaged for a poorly arranged council meeting in the center square of Calais. Surprisingly, the middle of town had remained most intact, and in addition to the road supplies and ale barrels of the rebels, they had lucked across some intact pieces of furniture. Their pieces were all mismatched, one of her field generals suffered the indignity of peering up at the table from a child's chair, while another perched forlornly on a high stool from a chandler's shop.
She smiled and swung over a mug, managing to stay mindful of the spilling as he took hold of it and thanked her. They watched the torches burn, casting ghostly shadows over the husks of buildings and celebrating soldiers. The dicers diced with each other under the flickering light more hectically than usual. The drinkers swayed from side to side with the swaying, uneasy light. And those that walked passed from shadow to shadow, each appearing as temporary and unsettled as the little patches of darkness that threatened every corner. She took another sip and flexed her knee with much pain.
The general finally spoke, "that injury will take you out of battle, ma'am. It is best left alone."
She shook her head, "It's not as bad as they want to think it is, they're just being protective."
Two soldiers greeted each other in her sight. She imagined that each of them must be cold.
The general made a small sound in his throat, "well, yes, the men do feel an attachment to you. Now more than ever. But I have not seen the doctors quite that concerned about other injuries..."
"They're my men too."
He stopped and nodded, leaning on his knees. She wondered if he'd understand. She watched the two soldiers talk hesitatingly.
"The men that...rallied with you into town. They're all drinking together, they're the ones singing."
She glanced over and saw that the petit nobleman was right. She recognized the grimy faces and drunken shouts and hysterical laughter. She looked back at her quiet soldiers talking in the torchlight. They had moved closer together.
"Yes. That's good, they need to work it out of themselves, and they deserve a congratulations for their bravery."
"What about yours?"
His voice was quiet, but sincere. She took another sip and did not look back,
"I did what I had to do. Those men acted bravely."
The nobleman shifted in his seat, his delicate little face troubled by her answer.
"Surely, though...your own behavior was brave enough..."
The two soldiers now stood close, their conversation still quiet, but much more personal and friendly. They spoke tensely. One of the was wiry and strong, while the other was bigger, but soft. She saw the wiry one tremble, his eyes wide with the remains of delayed battle shock.
"Are you going to yap to me all night about bravery, soldier, or did you come to be useful on the field?"
The nobleman halted mid sentence, affronted, but he bit his courtly tongue. His voice was assured, business like as he spoke, "I came here to be useful, ma'am." S
he nodded and twisted her mug in her hands. The two soldiers...they recounted stories together now, stood in the firelight and comforted each other.
"Then tell me something, soldier..."
She turned from them and a new figure walked into her sight. A young boy, looking over the torchlight and tents and gazing on the ruined houses and stores. His clothes hung nearly off his shoulders, his dark hair was flung into his eyes, and his mouth hung slightly open as he wandered slowly through the camp, as out of place as a puppy among wolves.
"Ma'am?"
Noin's hands twisted the mug, "Tell me where the rebel general's tent was."
_
Twisted, ransacked wreckage was all that was left of the enemy tents. Hatred, want, or greed had led her men to destroy the camp in their search for some comfort. All six of her field generals tore through the remains, looking frantically through the odds and ends of the former campsite as she barked orders at them. Her petite general stood at her side, protesting,
"We looked, the men say they saw no distinctive tent, that they saw nothing out of the ordinary when they came here..."
"Argh!" She growled, "well keep looking until you find it, soldier!"
He frowned but went to direct the search among the debris. She wanted to howl and scream and kick something, but howling and screaming would bring the doctors and kicking something with her bad knee would give them a reason to be there. She stood stoically, relying heavily on her left leg for support because of the now constant ache and splintering shocks of pain. She knew the General had been there, she had seen the jackal's face, laughing at her from the front lines, but she could find no trace of her in the territory she had taken.
"Lady Noin! Lady Noin! I've found a pot!"
An excited general enthusiastically held up a pot, standing so quickly the he swayed and went cross-eyed from the rush of blood to his head. She forgave him the slip in protocol of not calling her general, but his stupidity seemed to make her knee ache more. She grimaced and shut her eyes,
"Is it a -special- pot, soldier!?"
The petit general walked over to man and slapped the back of his head,
"That could be from anywhere, soldier. They could have swiped it from the town for all we know. Now get back down there, look for some real proof and stop bothering her with stupid ideas."
The general whimpered and dropped his precious pot quickly as the petit general went back to yelling at the assembly. Noin couldn't help but smile through all the headache of it. It seemed as if he was learning how to be a leader in the army. She monitored the search quietly for a moment, unwilling to give in to her weakness and sit down. Where could the general have gotten to? They had checked the dead, and found no blonde women among them, and they had checked the prisoners, what few of them there were, and found no information. IT seemed that all her soldiers assumed that any woman's voice on the battlefield had been their hired general's and had not bothered to check. The few of them that had any idea what she looked like or sounded like had held her in superstitious awe, and spoke of her only in vague terms of rumor that seemed to place her as a shape-shifting jackal-woman with a demon for a lover and trained snakes to do her bidding.
It seemed to be impossible that she had left the battle safely, but It was beginning to feel like she had not been there at all. Noin rubbed her temples. It was just impossible that she had escaped the field. But Noin could find no answers. She heard a soft rustle beside her and looked to see the orphan boy wading through the junk to stand next to her. He looked around curiously, dark eyes wide and observing and unafraid. She looked at him, but he only surveyed the surroundings,
"You know, this is pretty weird, that she's disappeared and all."
Noin's immediate thought was of biting him viciously in irritation. He glanced at her,
"But what about the sword? You know, I hadn't thought of that, but why not. The guy just didn't seem like an ordinary soldier."
The sword? Noin's eyes went wide and she turned back to the wreckage her generals were confusing on the ground.
"What will happen, will happen without you..."
The world came together in her head, and she cursed the sign that had been given to her.
"Stop looking you morons! They're not here,"
She barked, turning and stumbling , putting too much sudden pressure on her knees. She stood, shoving off the unoffered help of the orphan boy and cursed everything she could curse as loudly as she could,
"They're gone and we've been had!"
"Ma'am?"
"General!"
"Lady?"
She growled at the orphan lad who followed beside her as she stormed towards her conference table,
"We've been left behind. And I've a nasty feeling that we've missed our only opportunity."
*************
Somewhere in the dark, she imagined, they traveled. Absolute black flowed around them, and image of it pleased her. Her eyes were still a little to wide, her heart a little fast from the battle hunger that had overtake her, but now, it was only she and her lover. There was only candlelight between them now.
"Lover," she purred, content with the irony of using that word, "where is your other sword?"
His dark eyes rose and he slowly surveyed the area around them. He looked back to her with the candlelight glittering in his eyes and lifted his shoulders in languid response. She made a small noise and he went back to whatever it was that occupied his strange and quiet, passionate mind. If it didn't concern him, it really didn't concern her, but something made her uneasy. She could live with a lover she did not trust, but a soldier, she needed to watch. These were dangerous times. And things were going too well to have them ruined.
_*_*_*_*_*__*_*_*_*_*_**
Er..
*comes out of hiding*
Hello.
*cowers away from stones flung at her*
I'm so sorry for the long wait. erm, I realize it's been a long time since the last update, but I hope you guys didn't give up on me. *smiles and taps forehead* I remember that it takes -updates- to get -reviews- *winks* it's all a system I'm coming to understand. Anyway, I promise there will be anew part soon, becuase I need to compliment this with some Heero/Duo stuff. Anyway, thanks to you guys who stuck with me, and I hope you like this new chapter, I put some hard work into it for you *smiles*
Don't hate me yet, spirits,
Kitten