Ninth Stroke – Frozen Truth

Treadersberg was doing better these days than it had been when Sylvia had last passed this way, a few years previous. There was a great deal of hustle and bustle of people surrounding the town and its outskirts. Idly Sylvia wondered what had happened to revitalize the formerly sleepy and degraded place. Possibly she'd ask someone when coming back through the city, or perhaps Tyrin would have the answer after spending some time there.

"Darn, its bigger than I'd heard," Tyrin muttered from Sylvia's left, her voice somewhat raw, the only obvious sign of the toll the hard march had taken on tough but all-too-human flesh. "How are we going to find the meeting place? I'd really rather not walk all around the town at this point."

"I suspect the residents could quickly point the way," Sylvia responded. "But even that is not necessary. Half-human half-yoma can be sensed just as true yoma can. By the time we reach the gates I should have a good idea. We won't have to walk much."

"Thanks be for small blessings," Tyrin managed a weak smile. "Well let's finish this march then."

It was mid-afternoon. Tradition dictated that a week and a half would be up at sunset on the relevant day, so they had only a few hours to spare. Not bad, really, Sylvia considered. Tyrin bore up extremely well; to keep a Claymore's hard pace is no easy thing.

Sylvia too looked forward to ending the march. It would give her a chance to shake or rinse the dust out of her still bloodstained uniform, which was becoming something of an annoyance in places. Further, she wished to meet with her teammates. It was always interesting to meet up with others and a rare enough experience when it happened. There might be some enlightening news available.

It was not hard to sense the yoki from the edge of town, and even with a little work discern two different presences. It would perhaps have been more difficult if one had not been much greater than the other, a potent yoki indeed. A single digit, Sylvia suspected. Is that good luck or bad? She couldn't be certain. Nest hunts were led by a single digit about half the time, and the rest of the time someone in the low teens took care of it. Does this mean the nest is larger, or was it just based on proximity? She did not know.

Sylvia led Tyrin through the streets, not wasting any time, since neither had the energy remaining to support a sightseeing urge.

The yoki emanations led to a modest inn, which was slightly unusual. "Someone has been here for a while." Sylvia noted aloud.

"What makes you say that?" Tyrin asked.

"I doubt they would have bothered to secure an inn if they didn't want to stay for at least a few days," Sylvia explained. "You've seen how much of a hassle it can be otherwise."

"Point," the soldier noted. "Well, let's not stand around in the street, we are still getting looks."

Sylvia responded by wrapping on the door. An elderly innkeeper opened it a few moments later. "My lady!" he gasped suddenly. "I thought you were…" he stopped, and his eyes filled with a harried look on the edge of panic. "Oh I'm terribly, horribly sorry, I thought you were someone else. Clearly you haven't been staying here, and they told me to expect others, but I just…"

"Please think nothing of it," Sylvia returned evenly, not wishing to make a scene or cause disruption. "I believe there are others in residence, so if you could point the way I would be grateful."

"Yes, yes, of course," the man moved about in a timid fashion uncharacteristic in an innkeeper. Sylvia suspected one of her soon-to-be teammates had something of a short temper. Well, at least it means he won't make a big deal about the blood. "It's the small dining room, this way," he gestured with both arms.

Sylvia nodded, and headed in, Tyrin following. The Claymore had warned the soldier that she shouldn't say much in the coming discussion. Hopefully that advice would be followed.

The innkeeper pushed open the stout door but avoided looking in beyond. Sylvia strode through without fear, but carefully alert, she wished to make the most of her first chance to examine the others. Tyrin followed, somewhat more cautiously than usual by the sound of her steps.

The first glimpse was limited, Sylvia noted only that three people waited in the room, around a fairly nice table; doubtless the room was usually used for the meetings of traders with decent funds. Two were her fellow warriors; the other was a gaunt-faced man in black with lidded eyes and an empty gaze. Sylvia ignored him for present, focusing on the other two of her own kind.

Seated at the end of the table, face to the door, was one very much like Sylvia in appearance. They shared all the common features of half-human half-yoma woman, the narrow chin, sharp eyes, small mouth, and angled nose, though the other's was perhaps slightly less pronounced than Sylvia's own. Between the two the only obvious visual difference was in their hairstyles. Where Sylvia's hair hung in loose evenly spaced strands this woman's was mostly pulled back in an upright ponytail stretching down to her shoulders. Two longer strands hung down the sides of her face, in front of the ears, framing it carefully. Her build resembled Sylvia's almost exactly, maybe a fraction less busty, but otherwise nearly a perfect match. Only one standout feature marked her different: her terribly focused and fierce eyes. Looking at those, without bothering to examine the currents of yoki in the room, it was clear that this was the single digit.

To her left sat the other, and the contrast between the pair was great. She is beautiful, Sylvia thought first upon seeing her second teammate to be. Unlike the pale blond hair of most of them, hers was silvery, all but drained of tone and shining with gloss, practically iridescent. It framed her face much as the others, but was worn free and not bound, flowing down to between the shoulder blades. Her face was softer than most, and held a certain warmth as well, providing greater appeal and delicacy. The flow of her body, trim as always, was possessed of greater curves than either of the others, and if she had been a human woman Sylvia would have perhaps been jealous. Beyond this allure was something else, a sense of youth. Though they would never show signs of age, half-human half-yoma did mature, and to her eyes this one was not completely there. She may still be in her late teens, Sylvia suspected.

This youthful warrior was the first to speak. "What happened to your clothes? And who's the lady?" she asked in a smooth and light voice, one to match her appearance.

"Save the questions," the single digit admonished, her voice not severe, but terse, conveying a strong impression that she did not waste words or talk excessively. "We are still one short."

This shut the other's mouth immediately.

Sylvia nodded by way of greeting to the others, and to the man in black as well, and then took a seat. Neither of these three was known to her, a fact not really surprising, especially considering the one's youth. A good opportunity to get to know new associates then, Sylvia decided, as much as she might have wished to reminisce with those few others she knew well.

The silence that stretched on was uncomfortable, five people seated together with questions hanging unspoken and unanswered. Tyrin, not patient like a Claymore or their impassive handlers, took to polishing her helmet on the table as a means to while away the time. At some point, without ever intending it as far as Sylvia was aware, all three ended up watching the soldier at her work. When she noticed this she stared back at them all, pettily, as if they were being hideously rude. Sylvia turned to watching the sun fall slowly out the slender window of the dining room.

With less than an hour left before sunset the last of the four arrived.

Sylvia recognized her the moment she walked in the door. Split bangs and a headband to hold high her hair in a wide flaring bun behind her skull, accompanied by a fierce, arrogant method of motion and condescending smile all marked her out. She nodded to her in recognition, and caught it in the silver eyes. Their meeting two years before had not been forgotten.

"Well, everyone's here, and thankfully on time," the man in black pronounced, his voice grubby and disinterested. "The rest of it's yours." He gestured passively to the single digit and then rose to leave.

Passing Sylvia he turned and took a bundle from his robes. "Replacement," was all he indicated. "Don't wear it until the task is done, there won't be another."

"Of course," Sylvia bowed her head. "I understand." It was a shame though; she had no desire to endure the bloodstains any longer.

The single digit's eyes followed the man in black out of the room, but did nothing more than mark his exit. When the door closed she spoke. "So, we are assembled," her words were even, purely functional, it reminded Sylvia of the tone Tyrin took when lecturing about technical points of swordplay. "The mission is simple, eradication of a nest to the northwest of here. I need names, numbers, and your number of nest missions." She offered her own first. "I'm Jessica, number eight. This is my seventh nest hunt."

"I'm Racquel," the youthful Claymore spoke up first. "I'm number twenty-six, and this will be my first time cleansing a nest." This last confirmed to Sylvia that she was indeed a youth, inevitably all Claymores served nest missions, and mid-twenties tended to serve numerous ones. That she had not meant she had not been active for long.

By rights Sylvia should have spoken next, as the third to arrive, but she was preempted, something she had duly anticipated, knowing this one. "It's Lynne," she had a forceful, amused voice to match her expression. "Number thirty-two and this will be my second nest mission."

Three pairs of eyes turned to Sylvia as the one to speak last. "My name is Sylvia," she told the others. "I am number thirty-eight, and this marks my fifth time cleansing a nest."

"Five?" Jessica spoke unexpectedly, and looked directly at Sylvia, measuring the truth there. "Voracious eaters?" it was a highly direct question, and Sylvia made a note of the other's wits, though she found the lack of elaboration somewhat curt.

"Twice," she answered, eliciting a sharp turn of the head from the young Racquel and a steady examination from Jessica. Lynne, having already known about this, and clearly not much caring anyway, ignored them. "Not powerful ones," she made certain to note, for there was no reason to attempt to overstate her abilities. "It was simply a matter of circumstances."

"Was it?" Jessica wondered aloud. "How many years then?"

"Almost ten," Sylvia answered, understanding the unspoken portions of the question easily. She kept her eyes on the single digit, interested in her reaction.

The other Claymore's control over her own expression was very good, and Sylvia gleaned little from attempting to read it. "Six and a half," she spoke, obviously referring to herself. Sylvia had a strong sense that Jessica was not one for talking much. "You two?"

"Five, give or take a month," Lynne replied jauntily.

"Well, I'll have the first year finished very soon," Racquel spoke somewhat humbly, obviously feeling somewhat awkward at her comparative youth, perhaps exacerbated by her ranking. For herself, Sylvia was used to being outranked by younger fellows, but it might be hard for a new Claymore to fit herself to her ranking in the face of more experienced warriors, especially if, as Sylvia suspected, this was her first team mission.

"Do you know what the average is?" Jessica queried, catching Sylvia off guard with the surprisingly intellectual question. Perhaps she is more insightful than her speech indicates, she considered.

"I have asked," Sylvia began. "But the organization claims they do not bother keeping track of such things," That fact Sylvia did not believe in the slightest, it was merely a polite euphemism for 'we're not going to tell you.' "By my best guess, based on those I have met, would be between seven and nine, but I would caution that it is very random and erratic."

Jessica nodded slightly, revealing nothing, but Sylvia noted Lynne's eyes were filled with defiance, while Racquel appeared quite somber, as might be expected.

"So, who's the human?" Lynne asked, forcibly changing the subject.

Watching Tyrin, Sylvia could recognize the woman bristling at being referred to as simply 'human.'

"Tyrin," she growled back at Lynne, gray eyes not budging before sharp silver. "I'm a soldier."

"Why is she with you?" Jessica interjected, directing her question straight at Sylvia.

"We are traveling together," Sylvia answered carefully. "I owe her a great debt." She did not want to explain the full circumstances to the others now, it would be rather embarrassing.

"That is your choice," Jessica acknowledged, and then turned to Tyrin. "But you will not come with us during this mission."

"What gives you the say so!" Tyrin shot back.

"Tyrin, please," Sylvia admonished carefully. "She has the command of the rest of us, and it is her mission. Besides as much as I acknowledge your skills, a town filled with yoma is no place for any human to tread. There is a good deal of risk in this mission for us, never mind you."

"You're an officer?" Tyrin asked Jessica.

"Effectively," the single-digit replied.

"Then sorry," Tyrin appeared surprisingly contrite. "I didn't think you all had a chain of command or anything."

Lynne laughed briefly, darkly amused, but did not say anything. Tyrin avoided looking at the impetuous Claymore.

"Enough," Jessica silenced everyone. "We will leave at dawn, there are rooms reserved for all of you, though I suppose you two will have to share."

Lynne looked as if she wanted to add some other cutting remark, but Sylvia preempted her. "That is no problem."

"Then that's all," the single-digit rose from her chair, already heading for the door. The others began to mirror her.

Sylvia would have followed, but she had conceived of something that might be meaningful, and it was best to ask now, while Tyrin was present, as the human warrior might never actually see them again. "Racquel, a question, do you happen to know a warrior named Celeca? She would be a trainee, around ten years old now."

Tyrin's eyes widened and she pinned the young Claymore with a withering stare the other was lucky to not be paying much attention toward. "Celeca?" Racquel mused, and spent a moment in obvious recollection. "Oh, I do remember, she was next on the list to undergo the transformation when I was called up, pretty energetic. I didn't know her much, but I seem to recall there was something about her…" Racquel paused, and then shook her head as she figured it out from her memory. "That's right, there was this rumor that she claimed to have a sister, but the men in black ordered her not to talk about it."

"Is that true?" the longing in Tyrin's voice was heartbreaking to here.

Racquel turned her head at the sudden comment, and then her eyes went wide. Sylvia upped her estimation of the young Claymore's wits.

"It can't be…" Racquel muttered, shaking her head. "I mean, that kind of mistake shouldn't happen, but you look so like her."

Jessica and Lynne, both already at the door, stopped in a moment of pure synchronicity.

"Explain," the single-digit told the soldier, her voice filled with sudden impatience.

Tyrin's countenance took on some reluctance, which Sylvia understood, for it was a highly personal thing to demand, especially when the other three clearly did not look on Tyrin very kindly, but more as a piece of baggage.

The woman took a deep breath, and then spoke. "Two years ago my parents died in a fire, or so I am told, I was not present and the house was torn down by the time I returned home. My sister, she would have been seven years old then, supposedly survived and was taken by your organization, because there had been a yoma killed in the neighboring town the day before. I know only what the other villagers told me when I returned home last year. I have not seen her since she was five years old."

"Seven?" Lynne questioned. "Awfully far apart aren't you?"

"Fourteen years separate us," Tyrin said somberly. "My mother, she, well, she suffered many miscarriages. Celeca is my only sibling."

"A tragedy," Jessica spoke bluntly. "Everything about half-human half-yoma is." With that comment, sad, but jaded in its sympathies, the single-digit walked out of the dining room.

"It's not fair that your life gets to be more interesting than mine, you know, Sylvia," Lynne commented sardonically as she left as well.

Racquel was somewhat more genuine. "Your sister was well when I last saw her, I'm sure you'll get the chance to see her again." Then the young warrior was gone as well, leaving the two alone again.

"Are you sorry I brought it up in front of them all?" Sylvia asked. "I could have broached it more privately, but I wanted the others to hear. If that was the wrong choice, I apologize."

"No, it's alright," Tyrin was slightly misty-eyed. "I would rather hear it directly, there are no doubts anymore. My sister lives, it is a great thing to know. I was always so doubtful, there were so few clues, but now I am as sure as I can be without seeing her face to face. It is a very happy day." She spoke through her tears now, and Sylvia did not know what to say.

They sat silent for a while, as they had learned to do when they reached a point that neither properly understood in the other, and then Tyrin mastered herself once more. "Your comrades look a lot like you," she noted. "But they seem very different."

"Yes," Sylvia shrugged. "Well, we each must find our own way of dealing with what we have become. No one is quite the same. Besides, we are each individual woman, shouldn't we be different?"

"I guess," Tyrin smiled a little. "Maybe I just thought of you all as 'Claymores' and thought you were all the same, like swords made by the same smith."

It was an interesting analogy, though Sylvia did not like being thought of as merely a sword, though she imagined that was how Luny and the other men in black thought of them. "We share certain things in common," she admitted. "But each of us lives our own lives, has different skills and experiences, and so forth. Since we spend so much time alone our differences stand out."

"That makes sense," the warrior acknowledged. "So that one Jessica is your leader for this mission right?" the Claymore nodded in reply. "What was that she asked you for, your numbers?"

"It is a system of ranking," the Claymore told the soldier, and at her quizzical look decided to explain further. "I told you how we are divided one each across the forty-seven regions of the continent, one to each, so that there are forty-seven of us at any given time."

"Yeah, I remember."

"The numbers are our relative strengths compared to each other," Sylvia explained. "From number one, the strongest, to number forty-seven, the weakest."

"You mean who's the best, who's second best, who's third best and on down the line?" the soldier appeared more surprised than the Claymore had expected. "How do you figure that out? You all fight duels or something?"

"No," a fact for which Sylvia was rather grateful, some of her comrades were awfully aggressive, she wouldn't want to fight them even in practice. "The organization assigns us our numbers, and changes them if warranted, based on their assessment of our abilities and yoki."

"You said you were thirty-eight right?" Tyrin recalled. "Doesn't that put you rather near the bottom?"

"Yes," there was no shame in the Claymore; she had long since accepted the limits of her abilities.

"The others were thirty-two, twenty-six, and eight, how does that compare?"

"It is somewhat difficult to say," Sylvia began. "The numbers are not exactly absolute, and the differences in ability from one number to the next are usually rather small. Between me and Lynne the difference is not very large at all."

"How do you mean?" the human warrior seemed genuinely curious, as if examining some strange new puzzle.

Sylvia felt no reason no to answer, and in fact, it allowed her to give voice to some thoughts she had not yet voiced among her comrades. "I would look at it as if there were tiers of ability, like levels on a terraced field. The difference within a tier is small, but fairly large between them. Lynne and I are in the same tier, numbers thirty-one to thirty-nine, and though she is likely to beat me if we fought, perhaps two or three times in ten I could gain a draw or a victory. Forty through forty-seven would be the lowest tier, while thirty through twenty-three, where Racquel is, would be the one above. Beyond that is twenty-two to fifteen, then fourteen to ten, nine to six, and finally the top five, who are significantly stronger than any below them."

"Nice system," Tyrin commented slyly. "But you all really are incredible, if, no offense or anything your skills represent the low end, it's hard to even imagine what that Jessica must be able to do."

"Yes, the single digits, as we tend to call them, are very impressive," Sylvia recalled her two fights against Awakened Beings; it had truly left her in awe.

"Why'd she seemed so surprised about your age though?" Tyrin questioned. "I mean, since you don't age and all maybe it'd be hard to tell, but twenty-seven," she mentioned Sylvia's actual age, something the Claymore was a bit surprised the other woman had remembered. "Isn't that much older than how you look, and there's not much difference between six years and ten."

"There is perhaps more difference than you would think," Sylvia replied.

"Doesn't seem like it, I've been a soldier almost ten years myself, since I started young, and there's plenty more years to go," she sighed wistfully. "If I'm lucky I'll be out of the marching business and into the instruction business by the time I'm forty."

"Forty?" Sylvia turned the word over in her mind slowly, and without really thinking about it spoke up. "I should like to see such an age, but it seems unlikely."

"You think some yoma's going to kill you?" Tyrin wondered, her voice carrying a tint of disappointment. "That's no way to go into a fight, expecting the enemy to win."

"No, I doubt it will be a yoma, few of us die that way," Sylvia's voice went somber. "A Voracious Eater perhaps, they account for almost all the battle deaths. Would dying in battle be better? I wonder…"

"How else can you die? You don't age."

Sylvia would forever wonder what lay on her face in that moment, and regret that she had not held her melancholy back fully. She faced Tyrin, and then saw the human woman's expression drop away, all hope draining away to some bottomless pit of despair.

"Seven to nine, you said seven to nine, the average," she burbled, tears forming rapidly and clouding those gray eyes with storms of sorrow. "I didn't get it, I didn't put together the pieces, but, but you really meant that, seven to nine years, that's how long you last isn't it? That is it isn't it?"

Sylvia, unable to face that despair, started to turn away.

"Tell me Sylvia!" Tyrin's ragged demand seared to the bone and pulled her head back around. "Don't you dare hide the truth from me!"

"The truth?" It was hard to recognize. What is the truth? She wondered. There are so many things we do not know, even about ourselves. Yet she would obey the woman's command, she owed a life, and truth was part of that, no matter that she felt dammed to tell it, had hidden it for all their travels. Am I your friend if I speak now? Is this what it costs, friendship? "Then, I will say it plainly, as best I can determine, which may not be fully accurate, we usually only manage to survive for seven to nine years."

"Why?" Tyrin demanded, despondent, tears flowing freely, the strong face she usually maintained ripped apart. "Why do you die so rapidly? Why can I look forward to outliving a sister so many years younger than me? Why damn you?"

Sylvia took a deep breath, composing herself; she took refuge in her words now, in the distance they could provide. "I cannot say exactly why," she began, cautious. "And there are no guarantees, the average is seven to nine, but that is not when the majority will die. Some last only months, while others many more years, but I would be lying if I said there was a good chance to live even fifteen years. It is not the battles," she forestalled that question, knowing the soldier was surely thinking it. "It is because we are half-human half-yoma. I told you before that the yoma side is something we constantly struggle with, do you remember?"

"You said that the human mind was used to control it," Tyrin swallowed.

"Yes, but what I did not say then is that such control does not last forever," Sylvia's voice turned sour, she did not like thinking on this herself, it was so hopeless. "Eventually, and some say the more we use our yoki energy, though I am dubious as to that, the human strength can no longer contain the yoma within. So we die."

"You kill yourself?" it was bewildered, wretched.

"I have heard of it, but normally no," Sylvia reached back, undoing the pommel of her sword hilt, and pulled out the small vellum piece stored there. "We ask another to wield the sword, and we send them this card when it is to be done."

"That's horrible," Tyrin muttered. "Have you ever done it?" she demanded.

"Once," she didn't want to think about that memory, it was so sad. "Last year, it was one of the other teammates I worked with alongside Lynne two years ago. No one wishes to be chosen, but who could refuse such a request?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tyrin shook her head up and down, nodding. "Everything about half-human half-yoma is a tragedy, that Jessica was right."

"I cannot say otherwise," Much as she might wish to, desperately wish to, Sylvia could not refute the single digit's words. Such is our lot; she made herself acknowledge it once again. It is necessary; it is the way the world is. Deal with reality as it is, not as you wish it to be, Sylvia.

"To die so young, Celeca, I'm so sorry, I should have been there. I should have come to get you!"

"You mustn't blame yourself Tyrin," it began as a platitude, but Sylvia found out she meant it. "And besides, you still live, and may find her, and brighten her life, give her something to live for, something the rest of us lack. If it had not been your sister it would be some other poor child, the organization has never had trouble filling its ranks. That is our world."

"Damn it," Tyrin hissed. "Damn it all! You're right, gods damn it all you're right! Why must it be this way?"

No answer was asked, and Sylvia was glad to see Tyrin's anger reemerge, that the firm solidity of her should return. Yet, I must not stop here, she knew, and hoped the other woman would endure it. The truth was a horrendous thing, cold as ice, and just as unforgiving. "There is one other thing," she started. "To die young is a mercy, compared to the alternative."

"Alternative?" there was deep resentment in the other woman now, and suspicion brought out by sorrow.

"By rights I should not tell you, and you must not tell anyone else, but I think you deserve the truth, it is your family," Sylvia did not recall her own family, only the cold and snow, before the organization took her, but seeing what Tyrin clearly felt for a sister she had not seen in years, watching countless human families in mourning over one lost to a yoma, she recognized the right those bound together by those bonds held.

The soldier woman nodded, and Sylvia had no doubts as to her silence. "We send our black cards to accept our deaths," she explained. "But it does not always work out that way. Sometimes the fear of death is too great and the card is not sent, or the other does not arrive in time, or most commonly, even as it is still rare, we unleash too much yoki all at once, in battle, and cannot reassert control."

"Your yoma half takes over?" Tyrin guessed. Her face twisted in hideous imagination.

"That might be one way of looking at it," Sylvia acknowledged. "I do not know what really happens, no one does who has not gone through it. We call it Awakening, but it is not as simple as turning into a yoma. Instead we become something else, a greater and more terrible kind of monster, one far more powerful than any yoma. The organization has us call such persons voracious eaters, and claims they are simply very old yoma who have gained great power over time. That may even occasionally be true," Sylvia suspected the different terms had some basis in fact. "Likely long ago, before half-human half-yoma had come into being, many yoma did accumulate great power, there are certainly differences among them even now. Now though, the Voracious Eaters are almost all former comrades, the creatures known as Awakened Beings."

"Awakened Beings…" Tyrin breathed. "What happens to them?"

"If they make trouble, we hunt them down just like other yoma," Sylvia explained. "But it is much more dangerous, almost all of those who die in battle die fighting awakened beings, nests occasionally, and solitary yoma almost never."

"To think that you could just lose control and turn into a monster," Tyrin looked straight at Sylvia, her gray eyes deep as cloud, and probing. "I can't see it, not in you."

"I'm glad," Sylvia's heart soared with this affirmation, and she felt like actually smiling for the first time in many years, though she controlled herself and dared not. "I have no plans to become an Awakened Being." Briefly she paused, and looked at the other woman, who now seemed at least decently composed. "For now though, I think that is enough dark talk. You're exhausted; I can tell, let's get some food from the innkeeper and then get some rest."

It was a long and fitful night, and Sylvia slept little, wondering what Tyrin would think of her in the morning, having digested all her words just as she voraciously consumed her dinner. Will she hate me? Or call me a monster? Sylvia could not know. For a moment she appeared to accept me, even after hearing the truth. Was that real, or my foolish imagination? Such a fate she has been dealt, I have no right to desire her kindness. She might have no right, but sitting in the dark she did so all the more desperately. Daring against truth and against fate, she hoped with all of her that the human soldier would not count the truth a betrayal, but would still want to travel with her.

In the morning Sylvia assembled with the others outside at dawn, and Tyrin came down to see them go, despite clearly bearing the signs of tiredness. "How long will you be?" she asked them.

"We'll attack them tomorrow morning, and we should be back by evening," Sylvia told her, repeating what Jessica had explained moments before.

"Then I guess I've got two days rest," the human warrior smiled, directing it at them all. "When you get back I'll pay for the beer."

Sylvia felt her spirits lift at that smile, for even if she could not see full acceptance there, Tyrin did not hate her, had not held it against her. She nodded.

"Since we may not meet after this mission, Racquel spoke suddenly from Sylvia's left. "I wish you and your sister all the best, truly."

"Yeah," Lynne muttered, not looking the human woman. "Good luck."

Jessica raised her hand to the hilt of her sword, and bowed her head ever so slightly. "A soldier endures," she said to Tyrin. "Not let's go!" she ordered the rest.

It had not been planned, Sylvia could tell that much, but it gladdened her, and she saw from Tyrin's expression that the human warrior understood the depth of sentiment behind those few phrases.

Then she turned and followed Jessica's swift march toward the yoma's den.

Notes: There's a lot in this chapter, including a few assumptions. Sylvia's estimate of Claymore ages is based on the suggestion found in a few places in the manga that Claymores are regularly recycled through by the organization, and such statements about how someone like Galatea has 'lived too long.' The slight differences in Racquel's appearance are similar to Priscilla's relative youth compared to the others in the Teresa flashback, how most Claymore's appear to mature until they look roughly twenty-something, while she appeared in her late teens.

For ease of reference the Claymores and their numbers are:

#8 Jessica

#26 Racquel

#32 Lynne

#38 Sylvia