She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, with her boots in her lap and a rag stained green with the polish, weapon placed carefully around the room, the whole place smelling of linseed oil and old leather. Sheets of paper lie around the room with her writing, all in Hebrew, scrawled across it. She glances up.

"Yes, this is my six month inventory."

"What?"

"Every six months I check all my equipment, give it the once-over, clean it, mend it, replace it if need be and write down where I store it. It makes life so much easier. I do one on my instruments, tuning them and all that, every three months. It helps keep everything nice and easy. Pass the big black box."

I do so and she opens it. Nestled in black velvet is a curved bronze sword. She grasps the handle, raises it up and gently moves it through the air.

"Still perfectly balanced. I've never used this, no matter how good it is."

"Why not?"

"It's…like…blood money. I killed an innocent man and was given this. I felt so much guilt I've never been able to use this sword."

"Etana?"

Her eyes are unfocussed, lost in the past.

"He knew. He knew when I stood in front of him why he was going to die. He just stared at me. And I just looked at him and I hardened my heart to kill him and he bowed his head and told me to do as I was ordered to and that he didn't hold my act against me, rather against the man who had sent me to kill him. And I beheaded him. As soon as I had…I knew…I knew what I had done… I wandered for days. I couldn't face going back. I'd be lauded as a hero. But I knew I was just a common murderer. It took me three weeks before I could face going back and then he presented me with this. He had it forged out of the man's armour. This sword is made with the armour of the first and only man I murdered for no real reason. I keep this, if only to remind myself of what I am. A liar, cheat and killer."

"Etana…"

She shakes her head as if she hadn't realised I was there.

"Oh…"

"Tana… You aren't all those things. You don't lie, or cheat, and yes, maybe you do kill, but you've changed. You wouldn't kill someone like that now."

She closes her eyes.

"Why me?"

"What?"

"Steve, you're everything I wish I could be. Honest, brave, truthful, merciful, kind. You could have any woman you wanted. So why me?"

I stare at her. Is she honestly asking me this?

"Because… You… Because…"

"See. You don't even know yourself."

"Then why did you choose me?"

"Because you're the sort of person it's so easy to fall in love with. You have to see this from my point of view. A young man with so much responsibility, so brave and fearless, selfless and noble. Right in the middle of one of the worst wars I have ever seen but so optimistic of the future, when I was so close to giving up and believing my people were about to be exterminated. And you cared. You cared and that gave me the strength to carry on. You stopped my story from ending 'she gave up and committed suicide by blowing up her whole village after realising there was no way for them to survive.' How couldn't I fall for you?"

"Don't I have any bad points?"

I'm half joking. But I think she's taking me seriously.

"Why yes. You're dreadfully naïve. You like to think that humanity is nice and the world would be all flowers and sunshine if everyone just got along. Unfortunately for you, that just makes me even crazier about you. It's nice to have someone who sees the glass half-full all the time."

"Thanks."

"And me?"

I smile softly.

"I was slightly afraid of you to begin with to be honest. And then I saw you with Max, a child who wasn't related to you in any way but you treated him like a son. You gave your food to him, don't lie, I saw you feeding him your rations. And… I think I may have fell for you when I saw you sitting beside him when he was in bed with that cold. You just placed your hand on his head and sang something to him so softly and I could see you cared so dearly for him. And he just caught your hand and fell asleep and you could have just got up but you stayed there beside him, humming that song. And I saw that for all you were a warrior, when Max was concerned, you were a mother first, not a fighter."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Seeing what I was blind to."