Leif approached the back door, once more possessed of the calm inscrutable manner he'd always exhibited – excluding certain federal agents that surpassed mortal tolerance. Behind he heard multiple footsteps, more than one set of centaur hooves crunching through long grass and dead leaves from the nearest tree belt. The light patter of elven feet made less noise, but he could still hear it if he paid attention.
As agreed, he walked in first. Wesson stood at the dividing point between kitchen and living room, a group of black-suited specialists arranged around him like an honor guard. One had her face-plate open, slit-pupiled eyes widening at the sight of Leif's approach. She snapped the visor shut leaving him to shake off the surprise, confident his poker face remained stable.
"Earl, Gramps," he ignored the features invisible behind smoked poly-carbide plates. He also ignored the half-eaten tray of kuchen, a missing dozen cinnamon rolls, and what appeared to be a nearly depleted five gallon jug of heavy cream sitting on the living room's drum table, covered in part by a shuffling soldier's hasty movement. "We have an hour to get ready. Got some folks for you to meet."
The federal agent stirred, but stopped almost before he moved.
"Oh?" Earl spun his chair, moving with the same ease he'd displayed on horseback. "Who?"
Leif clicked his fingers at the open window. "You remember Alynette, right?"
The younger man's eyes widened, pupils jumping between Leif and the opening door. They grew wider still as the red-headed centauride stepped inside, ducking a little under the jamb. She'd spent a few frantic minutes brushing her hair, straightening clothes and making a general panic about meeting someone in person. Roanette had attempted to calm her down, fishing out a few baubles from side pouches, including a necklace of dark stone in silver settings and an elegant snake-hide belt. Why the two felt the need to engage in an impromptu primping session was beyond Leif – but he filed it away for future reference. It might be useful someday, improbable though it was.
"I'll let you two catch up in a minute," Leif kept a stoic look on his face as the two stared at each other. Inside he was laughing at their dumbstruck expressions. He waited another handful of seconds, before clearing his throat. Getting no response he coughed into one hand. "If you could clear the doorway, Miss Yidderman?"
With a start, the centauride sidestepped. She started to back away when she realized her movements brought her closer to Earl, but by then Roanette had entered the door frame, blocking the centauride's hasty retreat by force. Roanette gave Leif a quiet nod. "Milord."
He returned the nod. "This is Roanette, Alynette's sister. There's a third, Sophette, but she's prepping I guess, haven't seen her in a while." Leif motioned at the red-haired centauride. "Aly will be staying here with Earl to keep the lines clear. If the rustlers hit elsewhere, I've got a few neighbors keepin' an eye out, an' they'll call here. Capiche?"
Earl seemed afraid to move, but gave a tentative nod.
"Good, 'cause we're not done. Aredhel here," the elf stepped in the door, hips swaying in a model's catwalk. "Is doing a little scouting for us. She's an elf, works with the dryads."
"Milord." Aredhel sank in a graceful curtsy, the form-fitting denim jeans somehow conveying elegance. "I bring news: The dryads have chosen to remain in cover. If you desire their presence, they will come, but only if you deem it necessary."
Leif glanced around at the two. Gramps was staring at the elf with a strange expression, Earl was still looking at Alynette. "We're good. Any movement at the Zakapenko's?"
"None," she shook her head, and brushed back her hair behind a long ear. "But I can confirm there are tracks, signs of vehicles in the barnyard area within the past few days."
"Damn," he frowned. "Afraid of that. Wesson?"
The man somehow managed to look dapper, even when surrounded by combat-geared figures. "Good. We're ready to move when you are. For the duration of this event, I am Alpha Lead, and this is Alpha Squad. Bravo and Charlie squads are in the field, looking for holding facilities and watching the roads. There have been no reports, which leads me to believe this is either for the cattle, or a transfer."
He paused as Gramps popped open a gallon-size thermos, and started pouring coffee into its innards. "Mister Larsen will be Principle. I would say that Bravo Squad should be focused on protecting him, but I believe the centaurs and elves have that covered?"
Leif staggered as Roanette's hand clamped on his shoulder. "We do, Agent. But additional support would not be amiss."
"Indeed," Aredhel interjected, gliding into place on Leif's other side. "We do not wish to deprive our new countrymen of his presence before his time."
"Done." Wesson motioned at one of the helmeted figures. The soldier backed out of sight, reaching for a clunky-looking satellite phone. "But we'll also need Mister Larsen present for identification. Where do you want to set up?"
Gently disengaging his arm, Leif tried to make a little space for himself. Proximity to both the dark-haired centauride and the light-haired elf was a little close for his taste. "There's an old deer stand in the trees, not far from the Zakapenko's. Gramps'll set up there. I'll go a bit further, act as spotter for him. Right Gramps?"
A coffee pot slammed on the table with more force than necessary. Cold eyes met Leif's own, betraying nothing except frigid control. Men, and most women, had it; no one survived the rural lifestyle without a deep determination. But they kept it under wraps, hiding the terrifying view under a guise of humor or laconic speech. Here, the old man hid nothing, letting the caustic durability of the Plains show to everyone.
"Yah," he screwed the thermos lid back on. "Sounds fine."
Leif held back a frown. The garrulous old man had his issues from time to time, but the abrupt, cool method of speech was uncharacteristic.
Leaving it alone, Leif opted to fill a plate with food. Farmer's meals, by and large, were an exercise in strategy: eat as much as possible in fear of missing later, or skip meals entirely in favor of getting work done. Breakfast was a large affair when possible; the rest of the day depended on its nutritional strength. But the meal before a hunt, that counted for much as well. Better to eat and prepare.
"Mister Larsen," the respectful tones were new in Wesson's vocal pattern. The city man waited until Leif had turned to face him, plate in hand, before continuing. "Agent Seneca is in position with the elves. Bravo squad here," he gestured at the dark-armored individuals surrounding the two of them, "Requested the position of protecting you. They wanted to apologize for their earlier … attempt."
Leif washed down his filled mouth with a large gulp of coffee. "I'll take your word for it."
Eyebrows rose on the agent's forehead. "You do not object?"
"Well," Leif paused to inhale another bite, buying time to think. Speeches were not his strength, and after the show he'd had to put on, his brain felt frazzled. "Can't say as I'm jumping for joy, but second chances are only fair. Keep it decent, do the job. That's all I care about."
"You will find Milord Leif a generous liege," Roanette stepped in, addressing the silent group. "He will not punish you for errors in judgement. Work hard and prove your intentions, and his rewards will transcend your greatest dreams."
He threw a startled look in the centauride's direction. She gave a smile in return, redirecting it back to the helmeted figures, who were now angling helmets toward each other, as if speaking outside hearing range. Despite their closeness no sound escaped their synthetic material coverings, but he could see little movements of shoulders and head, with an odd twitch in the hips thrown in from time to time.
"Ach," Gramps stumped past, picking up his rifle. The formidable weight failed to bow his aged shoulders. "I'm headed for the stand. Still got the shutters on it? Chair set up?"
Leif nodded, checking the older man's face. It looked stressed, something he'd seen on rare occasions, when they'd discussed the past. Not fear, he decided, or even anger. It was more of an ancient sadness, hidden behind decades of hard, sun-filled labor. Something in the past few minutes had reminded his neighbor of memories locked away.
"Key's on the ladder," he caught Gramps's eye. It was a small gesture, but he knew immediately that the intention was clear. The side of the older man's mouth twitched, a miniscule cue, but a sure sign he'd be fine. "Lunch box?"
"Bah." Wooden floorboards thumped under solid leather boots again. Gramps ignored his query, pulling on his hat and stalking into the reduced sunlight.
"Earl," Leif changed directions. Another mouthful of high-calorie perfection shoveled into his mouth, caught and swallowed in moments through years of hurried mealtime experience. "You good?"
The younger man glanced over at him, still resembling a clubbed trout in part. Alynette didn't look much better, standing a few feet away from the wheelchair, tension pulling her shoulders forward as if worried it would bite her. Earl shook his head, then again like a wet dog. "Huh, yeah. Yeah I'll be fine. Just a lot to take in, y'know?"
One of Leif's shoulders lifted, a Gallic shrug, courtesy of a rather forceful personality a long-gone uncle had bequeathed the family. "Happens."
The rest of the plate's contents disappeared into Leif's gullet in short order. Around him the armed folk consumed their own portions with equal rapidity, some electing to turn away as they ate, others lifting their head coverings, almost daring Leif to react. He ignored them as usual, wolfing down another brace of sausages; it would've been better with the tempting sauce sitting next to the plate, but the sun was getting lower.
Washing the plate took thirty seconds, a timestamp that would've horrified his mother. Leif spent the next few minutes checking his sidearm, ending with slotting its deadly length into the holster. More magazines fit in place, leaving his arms free to don a thick leather jacket. Its lining was threadbare, but the material was dark and supple, perfect for quiet movements. His Lee-Enfield hung on the shoulder strap, its wooden parts showing their age but as sturdy as the day it had been built.
He steadied its swinging weight with a hand, and focused his attention on the nervous centauride, standing near, but not too near his neighbor. This was going to be fun. "Miss Yidderman?"
Two pairs of long ears twitched in his direction, one set in black hair, the other in a mane of fire. He rolled his eyes. "Miss Alynette Yidderman."
Roanette relaxed settling back to rub a cloth over the barrel of what appeared to be a long rifle.
"Miss Yidderman," her eyes were wider than normal. "I need you to keep an eye on my friend here."
She nodded vigorously, "Yessir, I can do that sir."
"Now he's skittish," Leif ignored an indignant exclamation from the impaired man. "He's also headstrong, loyal, smart and willing to do near anything if he thinks it's a good idea. That's a problem."
Her head tilted, a puzzled look in her eye.
"If he gets it into his fool head to try riding shotgun, or draggin' his chair out to plink some idiot with his pea-shooter, Earl'll try to do it. He's willful, got a heart of gold, and the common sense God gave a chicken."
"I wouldn't say I'm quite –"
Leif fired a glare back. "June Second."
Earl sank back into place, frowning. "Whatever, boomer."
Ignoring the non sequitur, Leif addressed the centauride again. "So keep close. If the phone rings, he answers it but you run messages out. If there's something making a noise outside, Earl stays inside. If he starts to go somewhere without you, I want you to go with him. If he keeps trying to leave, sit on his head. Do whatever you deem necessary, I'll back you up."
The centauride was blushing hard enough to heat the air, Leif believed. Before she could say a word, he spun to fix an eagle-eye on his also-blushing friend. "As for you!"
Earl froze under his look. "Um …."
"Miss Yidderman here is the Ambassador's daughter. She's been training for years how to work with a yokel like you. Aly's shy and works hard, done a great job on my land. If you want to talk to her, quit the foolin' around and just shut up and talk." He paused, letting the illogical statement set confusion in the rancher's mind, and then leaned in closer. The Lee-Enfield bumped into his hand, held back by a strap. "And if I hear you givin' her trouble? We. Will. Have. Words."
Spinning away, Leif couldn't stop the wide grin from spreading across his face. Fortunately only Roanette could see it, and she hurried to accompany him as he stamped out the door. She stayed at his side until the front door closed before breaking into giggles.
"What?" he stepped a little further away from the centauride. She was walking too close.
Roanette covered her mouth with a hand. "I haven't seen Aly that flustered, ever! She needed that, ah, Milord."
Poker face firm once more, Leif raised a questioning eyebrow. "Earl's … flighty. Aly should be able to ride herd on him."
A loud snort came from the area just behind the corner of the barn. Wesson came into view. "That's one way to put it. You two ready?"
"Almost," Roanette brought the rifle she'd been carrying around to her front, cradling it against her body with one arm. Unlike Leif's older weapon, this one boasted a matte black finish, absorbing the light hitting its surface. Metal gave off a dull sheen where polymer gave way to its presence. Extended magazines protruded from before the trigger guard, giving the feeling of aggressive intent. "Milord, I would appreciate it if you would permit Miss Aredhel to accompany you upon this venture. I am not … optimal for what you are doing."
"What he's doing?" Wesson gave him a sharp look. "Leif's staying out of sight, that's what he's doing."
Leif took the implication, and dismissed it with a shake of his head. "Like I said, spottin' for Gramps. This is my land. Contract states it's my decisions. Something goes wrong, I make the call."
"He's right," Roanette rushed to cut off the Asian federal agent's response. "We have his permission, but if there are hostages, we are by law required to verify actions with Lord Larsen."
The agent stiffened. "Generals don't need to be on the front lines. I'm sorry Mister Larsen, but I have to put my foot down on this. You stay out of the line of fire, or I'll detail a squad to ensure your safety for the entirety of the situation."
Leif froze. This was his land, his problems.
"If … I may suggest a compromise?" A new voice entered the conversation. Like its owner, it was graceful, a lilting tone suggesting an elegant manner, educated by deep contemplation. Aredhel came into view, a vicious longbow perched on one shoulder, at odds with her demeanor. "May I proceed, milord?"
"I'm no one's lord," Leif growled. "What do you mean?"
The elf turned to face him fully. "Milord, the endeavors of at least three peoples rests on your well-being. It is not just those that will reside here, but the hopes of liminals far beyond this place. The centaurs have proclaimed a sanctuary, where those who are injured by mankind or liminals may recuperate away from both. Centaurides fleeing unwanted advances may find safe haven here, while others will learn from you how to act in this nation. You are our protector, the shield between what laws we have, and the laws of this country. Because of you, there is safe harbor, even when the most heated emotional tempers may rage, there will be a chance for peace."
She turned to face the federal agent. "Agent, your zeal is commendable as well. But you forget this man has been born and raised on this land. He has dedicated himself to its defense – until he learned of your intentions less than two months ago, he was the only defender. Such dedication is not eradicated by heavy weapons and soft words."
The two men exchanged a look, relaxing a small amount. Wesson sighed. "What do you suggest?"
Flipping her braided hair back over a shoulder, Aredhel smiled. "The solution is simplicity itself. Agent, you will take point with your teams, and ensure the situation is resolved before any harm may come to Lord Larsen. In the meantime, milord will take every precaution to approach the situation from a distance; his weapon is adapted for long-range after all. Furthermore, my own people are ready to engage as well, reducing the potential for disaster affecting your own squads."
"If I may," Roanette flanked the shorter woman, but kept a respectful distance. "I am willing to observe from closer range, if it will please you milord."
"No! Absolutely not!" Wesson exploded. He calmed instantly, running a hand through combed hair. "There's less than a month until the Exchange Act is official, no liminals are to be seen until after it is signed."
Leif found himself liking the centauride's suggestion – if not the way she'd suggested it. Another facet had jumped out at him though. "Countries are signing this thing, without the knowledge of their populations?"
A hearty sigh billowed from the shorter man's toes. "Yeah. That … is going to be a problem. Above my pay grade. Up until now it's been a 'Top Secret'; reworked memories, alibis, bribes … the whole nine yards. But," a glare directed itself at the small group. "I will not permit my operation to be the leak beforehand."
Leif gave a sigh of his own, but of exasperation. "So put 'em in a month o' solitary. Can't blab when they got four walls for company. We're wasting time."
"Agreed." Roanette hefted the assault rifle, jacket parting slightly to reveal extra ammunition packed around her waist. "With your permission?"
He waved a hand, "Fine."
Sounds of hardware rattling accompanied the noise of heavy hoof beats, approaching with speed. To Leif's surprise, Sophette came into view. Her absence earlier was explained by the presence of many straps standing out on her pale body, a complex web winding along her entire form. What that network seemed built for however, was far more impressive.
Whatever it was, Leif hadn't seen one like it before. A high-capacity pack sat high on her withers, leading his eyes running to an oversized gun barrel she carried in both hands. Metallic belts holding hundreds of what looked to be 7.62 mm bullets snaked from the thing's side, wrapping back to the pack, passing through the hands of a small dryad, easily missed by one distracted by the literal heavy metal.
Logic clicked through Leif's brain, attempting to make sense of the youngest centauride. It was obviously a gun, but the sort of weapon found on what he supposed to be vehicles, or entrenched emplacements. Her pale features looked enthused if he was any judge, and if her motions were slowed by the construct's weight, it didn't show. Afternoon sunshine made the silvery-blonde highlights in her hair glisten, counterpoint to the weapon's dark appearance.
"I'm here!" she chirped. Both hands maneuvered the monstrosity so that it pointed skywards. "Where are we going?"
Making up for Leif's silence, Wesson stalked forwards, oriental eyes nearly invisible they were clenched so tight. "What. Is. That?"
As yet another argument started, Leif shook his head, and walked away. He glanced back at the house, and pursed his lips in a shrill whistle, piercing high into the air. Barking responded immediately, audible seconds before three Border collies charged around the corner.
Leif angled himself, taking the no-nonsense stance that accelerated the loyal canines into a dead run. They came to a halt inches from his feet, sitting at attention.
"Dunyazade," he gestured at the smallest of the three. "Guard Home. Guard."
The dog spun in place, almost a dervish and flew back towards the house, this time low and silent.
"Scheherazade," the second dog pricked her ears forwards. "Eugene. Heel."
Both dogs leapt to his side, staying just far enough back to give him room to walk. It was the most basic command trainers taught first, compelling the animal to override instinct and rush ahead. It took time and personality, but took advantage to the instinctive traits that made canines excel at cooperative hunting.
Footsteps alerted him to the elf coming to his side. "Lady Roanette spoke with you?"
"Aye," he started a light jog, dogs running as silent as shadows apart from the metallic clinking of their collars. "We talked."
"Excellent," an enthusiastic quality entered her voice. "I am available for the evaluation period at your discretion, milord. But it must wait until after this event has passed."
"Sure," he paid no attention to her words, looking for the deer hide set up some years before. Then his subconscious delivered a sharp blow to the more active portion of thought. "Wait. What?"
"After these thieves have been captured and brought to justice," the blonde elf brushed a strand that had escaped the braids behind one long ear. "You allowed the centaurs an opportunity to prove their intentions, spending several days alone with Lady Roanette. While she has kept the events under strictest confidence, I am certain my own skills will prove no less efficacious."
"I … wha … but …." Leif closed his eyes, growling to himself. "We'll see. Gotta get goin' before we blow all the plannin' to kingdom come."
The elf followed, a sly smile on her face. Leif did his best to ignore it. Life was complicated enough without bringing in conniving elves coordinating with well-intentioned centaurs and hopeless cats. His life's increased difficulty made him shudder, despite everything he could do to prevent it.
The sound of arguments receded as he moved away, taking long, purposeful strides. His two Border collies kept close, as if sensing his intent desire. Neither strayed more than a foot from Leif's side, keen eyes watching every moving shadow, ears shifting towards sounds emanating from their surroundings. He loved watching them move, obeying out of desire to please, treating him as one of their pack. Their absolute trust was humbling, a facet of his existence Leif tried to repay whenever he could.
His boots made quiet thumps against the prairie hardpan, rapid steps moving swiftly into the former neighbor's property. Less than fifteen minutes of walking reached the darkening tree belt, planted to guard crops from the desiccating influence of wind; out in the pastures, the same plantings defended herds from bone-chilling winds howling across the Plains. Here, they protected the house lot from the same, unyielding fury.
Soon he caught sight of the deer hide, technically a tree stand, but flanked with wooden slats and an awkward ladder. The dimming light made it hard to see the weathered boards, leaving the shadowed slit in even deeper darkness. Leif glanced back, checking to see the elf hanging back a dozen feet or so, and more figures even further back. Resisting the urge to sigh yet again, he reached the ladder and tapped the side.
"Wha'?" an old voice murmured.
"It's me." Leif paused to listen; no sound of vehicles could be heard, other than a tractor finishing up a harvest out to the east. One of the International Harvester's, he believed. "Alright?"
A long pause met his question. One of the seats had a loose screw, making a tiny squeaking sound whenever it shifted. Finally a gruff voice responded. "Will be."
'Fair enough.' Leif rapped his knuckles against the ladder twice, and turned away.
He looked down. "Eugene. Scheherazade. Stay."
Two pairs of soulful eyes looked up at him, pleading. It took a moment but he melted at the sight. Sighing, he crouched, ruffling their fur just the way they liked it, scratching behind their ears. "Gotta stay. Gramps is here. Keep him safe, yeah? Stay. Guard Gramps, kay? Guard."
Scheherazade slunk to one side, falling over in a slump, ears pointed. Eugene stayed, looking at Leif as if begging him to change his mind. At last the Border collie exhaled a disappointed huff, and joined his mate. Both kept their eyes on Leif, but kept their ears pointed in every other direction.
"Good boy, good girl," Leif muttered. A faint motion in the tail region of both dogs stilled as he walked away.
Aredhel came closer as they paced. "The old man is a formidable warrior. What is his name?"
"Gramps?" Leif had to think. Everyone in the area called him by the nickname, a practice the old man had adopted in good humor. "He's a Knudtsen. The last one, I think."
He'd walked on a few steps before realizing the elf had stopped. Pausing himself, he turned to look back. "Alright?"
"Did you say, Knudtsen? Would he be known as … Gunnery Chief Knudtsen? Of the United States Marines, Maquis trainer in France?" She spoke as if bringing up some terrifying phrase that summoned demons, ready to consume souls and bones alike. For the first time her pale face drew a sense of concern.
"Aye, how'd you know?" Leif unshipped his rifle, checking the stock, making sure the safety was set. This was no time for distractions. "Nevermind. Talk later."
He stalked forward, listening. Behind the elf muttered about phantoms rising from the past, but he ignored it. Ahead lay the Zakapenko home, low and long against the horizon. It could've been mistaken for a hill in the dimming light, save for the straight edges and security light in the inner portions. In time that too would switch off, leaving the Zakapenko property in darkness. A windmill by the cattle yard made its rhythmic grind, filling the water tank in periodic interludes. Familiar sounds to a rancher in the Great Plains.
Finding his place, Leif settled on a rock, covered by a screen of bushes from the east and south. To the west was the windbreak, stretching northward along the property line, providing cover from that direction.
Leif reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small bag of jerky, withdrawing a piece to masticate while waiting. He held the bag out to the elf, shaking it once.
"Um, no thank you," she gave a half-hearted smile. "But it is kind of you to offer."
He shrugged, dropping the sack within reach, should she change her mind. Then he turned his attention to the yard, its large gravel circle filling the space between house and repair shed, culminating in a driveway leading out to the road.
Silence in the countryside fell. The night was warm, awakening the few crickets that yet lived. Their quiet buzzing accentuated the silence, like static coming from the introductory emanations of faint stars. Tractors in distant fields rumbled to a halt, most of the fields were sufficiently harvested to give their drivers an excuse to rest. Smoke drifted above a few places, where garbage fires burned. Everything that could be saved was saved, but there was inevitable trash that could not eke out another incarnation.
Hickory smoke drifted past too, intangible and almost indecipherable amongst all the smells. Rich, dry earth smells filled the air alongside the musty odor of dead leaves from nearby trees. Contrasting to those deciduous offerings was the drier, pungent smell of grass drying out on the ground. Even the sweet scent of silage made an appearance when the wind came in from the west, which it did often.
Leif hunched, rifle leaning on the ground, waiting. It was no different than staking out a deer one had watched all summer. Getting to know a creature's habits was no different from their being inside the fence or out. The only change in his mind was the lack of control; cattle were hauled to the butcher in a truck. Deer had to be tracked down and harvested, removing the few so that their herd would thrive.
A car's engine whined past, raising his back a moment before humming past. Leif relaxed, leaning back against the stone. It was beginning to feel too cold, but the feeling would pass. Or he'd put the tarp down as insulator. Decisions could be made later. For now, it was pleasant to sit and watch the stars come out.
More rustling sounds came from the surrounding area – noises he pointedly ignored, yet catalogued in his mental map. Even insects could make audible sounds under their miniscule weight, and the security team he was saddled with weighed much more than an insect.
"Sir?" the elf said quietly.
"Mm?" Leif tilted his head a fraction, keeping his eyes on the driveway.
Aredhel eased the string back on her bow, letting it release with a small twang. "Has Mister Knudtsen ever talked about … the war?"
"We've talked." Leif pondered the situation. Here he was on a stakeout, with the irritating cat-people on all sides, an overprotective centauride riding herd on the rest, and an elf at his side prying questions about a neighbor. Helping out Roanette's sister with Earl was one thing, they were about the same age. But an elf appearing to be in her early twenties and a neighbor he knew to be in his nineties? There was something odd about that.
"Did he mention anyone … special?" Her voice was softer than the breeze on grass, making Leif strain to hear it. "A girl maybe?"
"Nope." Leif shut her down. Then innate honesty dragged another answer, kicking and screaming. "Well … not really. Sortof."
Her long ears lifted.
"Ach." Leif sighed. "Not my place … but … long story short, he has a picture. In his pocket watch. Never shows it to anybody. Always solemn when he looks at it. Figure old memories, best left buried."
"Maybe," the blonde elf whispered. Her posture shifted, growing straight as her keen eyes flickered across the field. "Maybe not."
The pair waited in silence, watching. For a change, it seemed the moment would remain peaceful with a liminal so close. He hoped it wouldn't change too soon. Life was complicated enough.
