Thud! Kent's face-to-face meeting with the ground was rather less painful
than he expected in that short second, having been broken by the loosely
packed sand under his ventral side. He attempted to stand up quickly, but
it was at first foiled by the rapid sinking of his hands into the sand when
he tried to push himself against the ground. The muscles in his back
strained without the support of his hands, but he managed to get himself
into an erect position, though he was still kneeling. Carefully, first
moving one leg, he slowly returned to a standing position. Kent noted with
dismay that he was ankle deep in sand, though he was relieved that he was
not sinking further. He stopped only to allow himself a brief sigh of
relief and brushed a few pellets of sand out of his eye before he turned to
his trusty steed, which threw him out of the saddle a few moments ago.
Kent was not happy with what he saw.
His destrier, being more quintuple his weight, yet having slightly less than twice the surface area, was in an awkward position. Its front legs, having reached the sandy portion of the desert, sank knee deep into the loosely packed sand. The hind legs, resting uncomfortably in the dying belt—populated by a few stout grass—that marked the abrupt end of the oasis in which the army was resting and the beginning of the wasteland, was almost entirely above the surface. From the posture of his mount, Kent surmised that the abrupt decline of the anterior portions of the beast was the cause for his meeting with the desert of Nabata.
"Heheheh." An amused laugh resembling more a scoff than a laugh interrupted Kent's examination of his steed's plight. The sound recalled in Kent the first time he heard it, with the reverberations of the stone hallways, accompanied by the moaning of dying brigands around him and the clash of iron between Sain's sword and the brigand's axe. Now, the same laugh is distorted by the desert heat, arriving at Kent's ears as a muffled echo rather than the clear tone heard more than a year ago. Kent's face turned a slight shade of red at the thought of his rather disgraceful dismount, just as a year ago, when the same hue occupied his face after his weakened blade broke on the mercenary's sword, and Sain had to run through the swordsman to save him from being cut down.
"Sir Kent," a voice a bit above tenor reached Kent's ears. Although he had heard it plenty of times, Kent always hesitated before reminding himself that it could be none other than a tenor, despite the peculiar timbre that raised the voice closer to that of a contralto rather than the classification with which Kent was comfortable. The paladin turned his body towards the source of the voice. A brown haired man in green robes soon came into his view. It was Piter, their tactician. Kent's face turned a deeper shade of red as he saw the red-haired young man to the tactician's right. There stood Lord Eliwood of Pherae.
"Excellent work ascertaining the quality of the terrain, Sir Kent," Piter broke off the uncomfortable silence with an unexpected praise, though its recipient could not help but notice a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Thank you, sir," despite the suspicions, Kent thought words of gratitude were necessary.
"Now then, I want you to take Lord Eliwood and ride to the south," Piter resumed his business voice, which was just a tad more theatrical than his sneer.
"Wherefore, sir?" Kent inquired, seeing that there was not much cause to hurry.
"Florina reported that there was a man fighting the bandits to the south during her flight. I want you to take Lord Eliwood there, along the oasis, and meet with that man," Piter ordered.
"As you command," Kent replied, easing the sunken horse out of the sand and back onto firm ground. "By the way, sir, what of the man we spotted fighting the bandits earlier? To the southwest?"
"I've already dispatched Fiora to rescue him. Sain will be on standby at the edge of the oasis to our north when Fiora arrives. Now go to it, Kent," the tactician ordered.
Kent has managed to lead his steed to Eliwood by this time. He helped the lord get onto the back of his horse, and he mounted, with some difficulty, the saddle. With a quick motion of the foot, the horse was galloping to the south, hooves thudding against the firm earth on which the grass grew.
---------------
"Idiot!" Kent did not need to look up to identify the girl to whom the squealing voice belonged. It was Rebecca, the green haired archer from a remote village in Pherae. Although it was unnecessary, Kent raised his head. Rebecca was normally a cheerful girl who wore a smile at all times. It, Kent suspected, would take a lot to make her raise her voice and use such an insult. What he saw was a surprising sight. Rebecca was running towards the camp in the village, her head bent towards the ground rather than towards the front. In the place where she had been, a young Caelin archer was doubled in pain. Barely audible words escaped from the tenor's throat, though it was not his usual soft voice. It came out as a rasp, broken squeal. "Quite uncharacteristic of a knight in the service of Caelin," Kent thought to himself as he walked towards Wil to lend the archer a hand. "...... You... kicked me... ...in the stomach..." Kent heard these words as he approached the young man curled in a fetal position on the ground, holding his abdomen.
---------------
Dull, crunching sound escaped from beneath Kent as his boots compressed the earth. It resembled the sound of sand being shuffled by his boot as he struggled to lead his horse through the desert, attempting to keep up with the pace set by Lord Pent, but it was more comfortable to Kent's ears. It was the sound of good, solid ground beneath him, one over which his destrier could run without fear of sinking. Kent was heading towards the river for a drink and to wash the blood off his sword. A few bandits were still alive when he brought Lord Eliwood to the hulking giant, the guardian of the desert named Hawkeye. He was proud of killing one more of the cutthroats than Lord Eliwood in that brief skirmish, though it marred his respect for the young lord in no way. It would give him something to do while the lords of Lycia held their conference with Athos, and it may give him some distraction.
It was at the thought of distraction that the incident concerning Wil and Rebecca came to mind. "There is too much mingling between the two sexes," Kent thought to himself. "Such a practice in the army provided unwanted distractions, and we reduce the performance of excellent soldiers such as Wil because we allow them to meet with each other too quickly." Although he was convinced that his conclusion was correct, Kent could not help but doubt it for a moment. That Lord Eliwood, Lord Hector, Lady Lyndis, and Sir Piter all did not object to the integrated army cast a shadow of doubt on Kent's resolution. He decided to seek a second opinion on the matter. Forgetting the bloodstains on his blade, he abruptly turned and headed towards the camp, his head bowed towards the ground as he thought of how to say the words.
It was in this posture that Kent nearly ran into Fiora. His disorientation did not stall a prompt apology over his lack of attention. As Fiora quickly assured him that it was of no consequence, it occurred to Kent that Fiora was just the second opinion he sought on the matter. He wasted as much time as he did delivering his apology in embarking on this new subject.
"Fiora, I must speak to you..." Kent assumed a business like voice.
"Kent, what a coincidence. I was just looking for you..." Fiora's reply was unexpected. Although it was said without any breaks, Fiora seemed out of breath. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily, yet she did not seem to have been running. These Kent attributed to the heat of the desert; an Ilian like Fiora, who grew up in the bitterest cold of Elibe, would naturally be unaccustomed to the heat of Nabata. Still, he wondered why Fiora would be looking for him.
"Actually, it's about this army... Do you ever feel like some here lack proper moral grounding?" Kent's thoughts did not stop him from continuing his subject of interest, though he decided that it was best to delay the subject of mingling of the sexes a bit to let Fiora catch her breath.
"Yes, the same thought has occurred to me. As a hired lance, I thought it not my place to speak," Fiora's reply was an assurance to Kent. Since she thought it improper for her to bring up the subject, Kent decided to stop being circumspect.
"Camaraderie in the field is one thing... But the men and women in the camp are altogether too...intimate..."
"Indeed. Their minds are not focused on their duties..." Fiora seemed to have hesitated a bit. "Choosing the most tactful way to say it," Kent thought. It now occurred to him that Fiora also observed some instance of too liberal an interaction between a male and a female of the army. He thought that the occasion indicated the fight between Wil and Rebecca. The two lacked the discretion to conduct their meeting in private. Quite a few members of the army were present in the clearing, and Fiora could have been among them.
"It is a problem," Kent concluded.
"A problem indeed," it was nearly an echo, so a bystander would have thought.
"I have decided to seek the counsel of Lady Lyndis in this matter," Kent began to reveal the details of his musing, which had caused the near collision with the Pegasus knight moments before. "Perhaps she could issue some order limiting...interactions between the sexes..."
"That is a good idea. It would be the best way to ensure the proper conduct of all," Fiora agreed with a quickness that surprised Kent. "Perhaps she is thinking of Florina's fear of men," Kent thought.
"Of course, we would still have to iron out the details of such an order... I hope you would not mind lending me your assistance..." He was glad to find another who thought in the same way. In truth, he did not know how he would've begun such a request had he been forced to write it himself.
"Oh, but of course. It might be difficult to find time to discuss this on the battlefield. Perhaps later, when we can be alone..." Fiora suggested. For reasons unknown to him at the moment, Kent's breath quickened.
"Yes, of course. I would be truly grateful to have the company of a morally pure individual like yourself..." As soon as this sentence escaped Kent's lips, he mentally chastised himself. That bit was almost like what Sain would have said.
"Indeed. I feel exactly the same," At that moment, Fiora's words were the best comfort to him. The two parted, each heading back in the direction from whence he came. "Perhaps there would be time to clean this sword after all," Kent thought as he walked away.
His destrier, being more quintuple his weight, yet having slightly less than twice the surface area, was in an awkward position. Its front legs, having reached the sandy portion of the desert, sank knee deep into the loosely packed sand. The hind legs, resting uncomfortably in the dying belt—populated by a few stout grass—that marked the abrupt end of the oasis in which the army was resting and the beginning of the wasteland, was almost entirely above the surface. From the posture of his mount, Kent surmised that the abrupt decline of the anterior portions of the beast was the cause for his meeting with the desert of Nabata.
"Heheheh." An amused laugh resembling more a scoff than a laugh interrupted Kent's examination of his steed's plight. The sound recalled in Kent the first time he heard it, with the reverberations of the stone hallways, accompanied by the moaning of dying brigands around him and the clash of iron between Sain's sword and the brigand's axe. Now, the same laugh is distorted by the desert heat, arriving at Kent's ears as a muffled echo rather than the clear tone heard more than a year ago. Kent's face turned a slight shade of red at the thought of his rather disgraceful dismount, just as a year ago, when the same hue occupied his face after his weakened blade broke on the mercenary's sword, and Sain had to run through the swordsman to save him from being cut down.
"Sir Kent," a voice a bit above tenor reached Kent's ears. Although he had heard it plenty of times, Kent always hesitated before reminding himself that it could be none other than a tenor, despite the peculiar timbre that raised the voice closer to that of a contralto rather than the classification with which Kent was comfortable. The paladin turned his body towards the source of the voice. A brown haired man in green robes soon came into his view. It was Piter, their tactician. Kent's face turned a deeper shade of red as he saw the red-haired young man to the tactician's right. There stood Lord Eliwood of Pherae.
"Excellent work ascertaining the quality of the terrain, Sir Kent," Piter broke off the uncomfortable silence with an unexpected praise, though its recipient could not help but notice a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Thank you, sir," despite the suspicions, Kent thought words of gratitude were necessary.
"Now then, I want you to take Lord Eliwood and ride to the south," Piter resumed his business voice, which was just a tad more theatrical than his sneer.
"Wherefore, sir?" Kent inquired, seeing that there was not much cause to hurry.
"Florina reported that there was a man fighting the bandits to the south during her flight. I want you to take Lord Eliwood there, along the oasis, and meet with that man," Piter ordered.
"As you command," Kent replied, easing the sunken horse out of the sand and back onto firm ground. "By the way, sir, what of the man we spotted fighting the bandits earlier? To the southwest?"
"I've already dispatched Fiora to rescue him. Sain will be on standby at the edge of the oasis to our north when Fiora arrives. Now go to it, Kent," the tactician ordered.
Kent has managed to lead his steed to Eliwood by this time. He helped the lord get onto the back of his horse, and he mounted, with some difficulty, the saddle. With a quick motion of the foot, the horse was galloping to the south, hooves thudding against the firm earth on which the grass grew.
---------------
"Idiot!" Kent did not need to look up to identify the girl to whom the squealing voice belonged. It was Rebecca, the green haired archer from a remote village in Pherae. Although it was unnecessary, Kent raised his head. Rebecca was normally a cheerful girl who wore a smile at all times. It, Kent suspected, would take a lot to make her raise her voice and use such an insult. What he saw was a surprising sight. Rebecca was running towards the camp in the village, her head bent towards the ground rather than towards the front. In the place where she had been, a young Caelin archer was doubled in pain. Barely audible words escaped from the tenor's throat, though it was not his usual soft voice. It came out as a rasp, broken squeal. "Quite uncharacteristic of a knight in the service of Caelin," Kent thought to himself as he walked towards Wil to lend the archer a hand. "...... You... kicked me... ...in the stomach..." Kent heard these words as he approached the young man curled in a fetal position on the ground, holding his abdomen.
---------------
Dull, crunching sound escaped from beneath Kent as his boots compressed the earth. It resembled the sound of sand being shuffled by his boot as he struggled to lead his horse through the desert, attempting to keep up with the pace set by Lord Pent, but it was more comfortable to Kent's ears. It was the sound of good, solid ground beneath him, one over which his destrier could run without fear of sinking. Kent was heading towards the river for a drink and to wash the blood off his sword. A few bandits were still alive when he brought Lord Eliwood to the hulking giant, the guardian of the desert named Hawkeye. He was proud of killing one more of the cutthroats than Lord Eliwood in that brief skirmish, though it marred his respect for the young lord in no way. It would give him something to do while the lords of Lycia held their conference with Athos, and it may give him some distraction.
It was at the thought of distraction that the incident concerning Wil and Rebecca came to mind. "There is too much mingling between the two sexes," Kent thought to himself. "Such a practice in the army provided unwanted distractions, and we reduce the performance of excellent soldiers such as Wil because we allow them to meet with each other too quickly." Although he was convinced that his conclusion was correct, Kent could not help but doubt it for a moment. That Lord Eliwood, Lord Hector, Lady Lyndis, and Sir Piter all did not object to the integrated army cast a shadow of doubt on Kent's resolution. He decided to seek a second opinion on the matter. Forgetting the bloodstains on his blade, he abruptly turned and headed towards the camp, his head bowed towards the ground as he thought of how to say the words.
It was in this posture that Kent nearly ran into Fiora. His disorientation did not stall a prompt apology over his lack of attention. As Fiora quickly assured him that it was of no consequence, it occurred to Kent that Fiora was just the second opinion he sought on the matter. He wasted as much time as he did delivering his apology in embarking on this new subject.
"Fiora, I must speak to you..." Kent assumed a business like voice.
"Kent, what a coincidence. I was just looking for you..." Fiora's reply was unexpected. Although it was said without any breaks, Fiora seemed out of breath. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily, yet she did not seem to have been running. These Kent attributed to the heat of the desert; an Ilian like Fiora, who grew up in the bitterest cold of Elibe, would naturally be unaccustomed to the heat of Nabata. Still, he wondered why Fiora would be looking for him.
"Actually, it's about this army... Do you ever feel like some here lack proper moral grounding?" Kent's thoughts did not stop him from continuing his subject of interest, though he decided that it was best to delay the subject of mingling of the sexes a bit to let Fiora catch her breath.
"Yes, the same thought has occurred to me. As a hired lance, I thought it not my place to speak," Fiora's reply was an assurance to Kent. Since she thought it improper for her to bring up the subject, Kent decided to stop being circumspect.
"Camaraderie in the field is one thing... But the men and women in the camp are altogether too...intimate..."
"Indeed. Their minds are not focused on their duties..." Fiora seemed to have hesitated a bit. "Choosing the most tactful way to say it," Kent thought. It now occurred to him that Fiora also observed some instance of too liberal an interaction between a male and a female of the army. He thought that the occasion indicated the fight between Wil and Rebecca. The two lacked the discretion to conduct their meeting in private. Quite a few members of the army were present in the clearing, and Fiora could have been among them.
"It is a problem," Kent concluded.
"A problem indeed," it was nearly an echo, so a bystander would have thought.
"I have decided to seek the counsel of Lady Lyndis in this matter," Kent began to reveal the details of his musing, which had caused the near collision with the Pegasus knight moments before. "Perhaps she could issue some order limiting...interactions between the sexes..."
"That is a good idea. It would be the best way to ensure the proper conduct of all," Fiora agreed with a quickness that surprised Kent. "Perhaps she is thinking of Florina's fear of men," Kent thought.
"Of course, we would still have to iron out the details of such an order... I hope you would not mind lending me your assistance..." He was glad to find another who thought in the same way. In truth, he did not know how he would've begun such a request had he been forced to write it himself.
"Oh, but of course. It might be difficult to find time to discuss this on the battlefield. Perhaps later, when we can be alone..." Fiora suggested. For reasons unknown to him at the moment, Kent's breath quickened.
"Yes, of course. I would be truly grateful to have the company of a morally pure individual like yourself..." As soon as this sentence escaped Kent's lips, he mentally chastised himself. That bit was almost like what Sain would have said.
"Indeed. I feel exactly the same," At that moment, Fiora's words were the best comfort to him. The two parted, each heading back in the direction from whence he came. "Perhaps there would be time to clean this sword after all," Kent thought as he walked away.