197S9.9.19
[Nooj]   [Gippal]   [Baralai]   [Paine]

The messenger who serves the Maesters just appeared, puffing and blowing as though he had run all the way from the first beach. It seems the Mighty Ones, the Speakers of Truth, the Guardians of the Faith want to see all four of us at mid-morning. They have set up their headquarters a mile away and will await us in their tent. To hell with them! I am going to bed with Paine; I’ll think about them later.

/////

Another hurtle leapt. We have been interviewed by our Maesters. Separately, of course. They are marginally smart enough to know they should not let us conspire together. Had I been managing the situation, I would have called the four of us in immediately after the duel was completed, before we had a chance to synchronize our stories and make them proof against any outside prying. But these idiots do not know how the minds of those bonded in battle work, how comrades cleave together against all others. Fools!

Baralai was interrogated first. He says he simply told them he was in a state of shock after the event and remembers nothing until we held him under the cold water and he collapsed with relief. I can just see the faces of the overlords hearing that disingenuous statement. The boy has a talent for subterfuge; he will go far.

Paine was next. She reports they seemed to have little interest in her, she being only a Recorder. She answered all they asked in monosyllables, volunteering nothing and they soon released her. Since she was of no further value and they were ignoring her, she casually picked up a couple of bottles of decent brandy on her way out, handing them to Baralai to conceal in his voluminous robes. Thievery was the one skill I did not suspect of her.

Then Gippal swaggered into the Presence and lied like the professional he is. Later, he spent some time regaling me with the details of the story he told the credulous numbskulls about how the pistols had been found half-buried in sand as we struggled along on the trek and how they had mysteriously vanished while everyone was ministering to the fallen man. Oh, it was quite a tale and someday I hope he will find a way to set it down for it belongs amongst the legends of these times. Yes, he and I are talking again. Things seem more of less mended between us now that I have made it so clear my allegiance is to my dependents. That appears to outweigh the fact I am a Deathseeker in matters of the trust they repose in me. In fact, at one point, the Al Bhed addressed me as ‘Taydrcaagan’ in tones of respect. I think that means ‘Deathseeker’ in his barbaric tongue. I have heard it whispered by the other three with sidelong glances in my direction.

I was the last to be summoned before the panel. As is my custom at such affairs, I was taciturn. I have been questioned by many boards of inquiry and have learned that one never gets into difficulties with what one does not say. I told them only those things they already knew. Since I had carefully preserved my ignorance of what happened to the pistols, I was able to look them in the face and swear I had no knowledge of their whereabouts. Fortunately, they did not know which questions they should be asking and which areas were worth exploring. They do not have subtle minds. In addition, I could readily tell they were in awe of me and dared not venture into any place I implied to be off limits. When I had finished telling them what I was willing to tell, they thanked me profusely, almost bowing when I turned on my heel and left. My very limp and the sound of my cane were reminders to those cowards of what I had sacrificed for their purposes and served as a reprimand for their own aversion to military duty.

/////

The brandy was a pleasant treat after this tiresome, useless pilgrimage across the tedious desert. It seems we are to stay in this location until the morrow, which is a relief. That gives us time to wash and dry our spare clothing, absorb as much water as we can and rest. Baralai is busily sorting his samples and compounding what nostrums he can while he has the leisure. The entrance to this cave is a wide, low slit so he can work near the opening and keep the living area free from his alchemical stenches. He is an earnest lad and, once he had absorbed enough brandy to stiffen his courage, came up to me and proclaimed he had made a remedy for my discomfort on the boat. If that is so, he is worth the effort I made to save him.

Gippal is sleeping off his share of the intoxicant. Like all Al Bhed I have heard of, he indulges when he can and does without when there is no source for drugs. He has been oddly respectful since the duel – a fact which makes me somewhat uncomfortable since I still do not know how much he has guessed about the situation. Paine is curled up against his back, sleeping like a kitten. I don’t think she is accustomed to strong drink and she had too much in her excitement.

I – I am trying to sort out ideas the way Baralai sorts out leaves and minerals. It is still strange to me I would make a choice like the one I did. I cannot justify it to myself and my mind shies away like a nervous mount when I try to force it to consider the ramifications. I quite literally cannot think about it. This has never happened to me before. I have always had the courage of my decisions and have never found it difficult to contemplate my own thoughts. Now I am incoherent even in my own ears! This is too deep for words, too tightly woven into who I am ... or was. Am I the same man who held his honor so dear? Have I become just one of those common Warriors who do what must be done and think no more about it?

The most acceptable way I can look at what I did is to tell myself I shall die before too much longer and then nothing will matter. When I am dead, I shall not care about what reputation I have left behind – I will not know about it. My honor was of value to me because it kept me upright and functioning in the midst of the maelstrom of war; that was its purpose. Now I am nearing the end of that task, I can manage to continue on my own impetus. ... The fact is – I could not sacrifice the Yevonite on the altar of my principles. That is the truth of it. I do not have the right to impose my moralities and ethics on any other person. If I could have arranged the duel as it worked out without involving myself personally, I would have no qualms now. It is a pity it took my own hand to make it work. Nevertheless, it is done and I must live with it as I can. For the short time I have yet to live.

Paine accepted me last night with enthusiasm. She is a wonderful aid to forgetfulness. She may even be willing for dalliance in the afternoon. I shall suggest it to her. I do not want to think anymore.

/////

The day drags on. Paine was entirely agreeable to a bit of togetherness and we took pleasure in one another while the others occupied themselves in their own pursuits. Since we have become lovers she has never denied me. Nor has she shown any reluctance to engage in the activities I find most arousing. Sometimes I wonder about that. Is it natural for a woman of her desirability to be so amenable to the demands of a grotesque creature such as I? Mostly, I am grateful for her compliance and the fact she seems not to find me repellant.

I have issued orders that only Group Five may use this cave until the encampment is broken. The ten other recruits had sufficient time to replenish their water supplies yesterday and can claim the spring again once we have left this place during the coming night. I do not want some vulgar commoner tromping through while I am memorizing the exact curve of my lady’s hip. Paine is young again, as are we all. The ample water has plumped us up, smoothed our wrinkles and restored our youth. What the desert takes, the fountain returns. That sounds like the sort of saying Gippal would recite. I wonder if I heard it from him and stowed it away in my mind at some time. It is not my sort of aphorism. What did I know of deserts before this hell?

From what my crew of excellent eavesdroppers tell me, everyone who was present at the duel has been questioned at least once. The focus of the interrogations is – naturally enough – the case of pistols. They must be of even more value than I had thought if the Maesters are willing to upset their careful time-table of events in order to recover them. They are so foolish. All this excitement only makes the weapons loom more desirable in the eyes of those who hear of them. If I did not know them to be safely stowed away in a place known only to Gippal, I would have my team out hunting them as all the others are doing. Our excuse is that we are obedient to the will of our overlords. Hah!

While I was otherwise occupied, Baralai was sent for again and more closely queried by the solemn imbeciles. He assures me he continued to play the part of the innocent who lost sight of his own weapon as soon as he realized he had killed his man. When he opens those pellucid eyes and droops that girlish mouth, he is utterly convincing. I almost laughed at his recreation of his second go before the panel.

Now the three junior members are amusing themselves by telling lies to one another. It seems to be some sort of game in which the most elaborate and incredible story takes the prize. The prize? That would be a drubbing from the two losers. They are so young and so carefree. I envy them. I am not that much older in years but I am much taller and heavier – even without the machina attachments to me I would be heavier. And I feel aeons older. As I watch them play, I think I was never as young as they, not when I was still damp from my mother’s womb was I so young.

I seem to be coming to terms with the loss of my honor. There are entire minutes when I do not think about it. I keep telling myself I spent the currency of my probity in a good cause. Looking at Baralai, I can almost believe that. Again and again, I revisit my dilemma and can find no better answer than the one I gave. It need not be fatal ... There I go again, confusing matters and making a mockery of my most deeply held beliefs. I have confirmed it is only the proximity of my death which justifies my action. That and the immorality of imposing my standards on another to his disservice. Enough! I will not climb on that round-about for another ride. Until some new data is available, there is no point in raking through the ashes of my decision. It is time I did something positive during this period of rest.

/////

I have, myself, gone amongst the tents of the other teams, talking to their leaders and assessing their strengths. To my astonishment, we have fared the best of this lot. Of course, Group Three is in dire conditions having lost half its numbers. They are a down in the mouth pair and hinted they would like to join my team. I do not want them. They are not suitable material even for cannon fodder. That unfit Captain of theirs so thoroughly destroyed any spirit they might have had they are little more than servant stuff now and I will not burden my agile well-trained crew with sniveling ne'er do wells. Let the Maesters find a place for them; they created them.

It was the other two groups which surprised me – although I should have expected what I found. The eight who make up the teams are exhausted, dehydrated – in spite of the water we have shared with them – and discouraged. They are suffering from dysentery, assorted insect bites and sand blindness. It is apparent their respective commanders knew nothing about how to prepare them for the ordeal or to impose any sort of discipline upon them. If the others landed on this shore have fared as badly and the the ones sent to other areas are equally misled, we shall have no difficulty winning our places in the front rank of the recruits. Indeed, we will be the only ones who actually survive the training intact. I do not know whether to curse the careless wasting of men by those who designed this exercise or to sneer at the ignorance of the so-called Maester class. It is sickening to a man of my experience to see such wholesale misuse of potential fighters.

So far as I have been able to learn both from my own interviewing and the prying of my crew, I am the only man of formal military training in this misbegotten desert. Ixion knows the Maesters have none and if the dead leader of Group Three is a fair example of what the other teams are stuck with, it is a miracle any of those involved have survived. I wonder just how many individuals our lords need that they are so profligate with their volunteers.

All the others in this encampment have also been closely interrogated about what happened to the pistols once the duel was over. That seems to be worrying the idiots to an uncommon degree. It gives me intense pleasure to know I have troubled them so much. It is yet another assurance I made the right choice no matter the price to me.

It has occurred to me if I am ever to use this journal to document charges against our leaders, I will have to trust Gippal to help me purify the pages. I have set down too many purely personal comments in here. On the other hand, I do not think I want Gippal to read these at all. I shall probably bury this damned instrument somewhere in the wilderness and simply kill the worst of the Maesters. I cannot be sure charges against them would be heard in any case. And killing men is no novelty to me.

/////

When I returned from my turn around the camp, my brats were still engaged in story telling. Since I have nothing more important to do at the moment, I listened.

Gippal was talking about Home, that fabled metropolis of the Al Bhed which was long ago destroyed by Sin and never re-built. He spoke of it as if it still stood. His words were eloquent and so convincing I found myself wondering if he was that excellent a story-teller or if the city might not be hidden somewhere in this endless waste of sand. It is not likely; with even the most casual survey something so large as Home was said to be would be quickly located. I do not believe there is a magic great enough and so universally effective as to be able to screen a city.

Still there remains the fact Gippal is a tale-spinner of considerable talent and might describe the loss of his birthplace with persuasive detail. But why would he choose to lie to us – his battle mates – about something so innocuous? No harm would come if the world knew Home had been rebuilt or never destroyed at all. In fact, I rather think the pressure on the scattered Al Bhed to assimilate would be eased were it known they had an actual place to go back to. It is my feeling the prejudice against that race is principally due to the fact they are rootless and hence inclined to move into other societies and, like cuckoos, edge out the natives in those professions they favor. Take the engineering world. It is virtually inaccessible to anyone save an Al Bhed these days. If they still had the refuge of their Home, they could make it into the center of advances in machina and open up the less advanced portions of that field to those of other races who wished to study with the experts. They might even become a creditable counter balance to the Yevonite diktat against the physical sciences. There would be much for the Al Bhed to gain were Home still intact.

No, I do not believe Home is still there, no matter how convincingly our Gippal describes it or with what longing his voice resonates. He is dreaming, wishing, inventing. Were he not a mechanic, he would be a prosodist, traveling the world rhyming his stories to large audiences for his living. He is skilled and he has entertained me. Taken my mind off more unpleasant thoughts.

/////

We have all dozed for a while and were awakened by a stir outside. Baralai, being restless, went to see what had happened. He reports the rest of the six groups landed on this shore have turned up. Well, not exactly the rest. Those of us already here accounted for four of the teams which left only two still in the interior. Now of those eight individuals, three have straggled into the encampment. Let me count: Group One is intact but exhausted; the same is true of Group Two. They and Group Three, which has lost two of its members, have been here for the past day. Group Four has only its Recorder left, the one who can’t stop crying; Group Five – our group - is intact and strong. Group Six has two still alive. That is seven gone out of twenty-four and only four still capable of fighting or making it on to the the destination without help. If the Maesters wanted a winnowing program, they got it. I am curious to know if the others who were deposited on other shores fared as badly. Maybe we were given the most taxing of the trials, the hardest training. I may drop by the tent of the Gormless Ones and see what they are saying. I must inform them of our intention to leave at twilight anyway.

In the meantime, since there is not now any reason to impose privacy on the cave, I shall issue orders to permit the thirteen remaining recruits to wash and drink from the fountain I control. I am not a monster, after all.

/////

It has occurred to me that I have not seen the other women who sailed with us. They were obviously parts of other Groups and now they are gone. I was fully aware they played the whore at least during the first part of the voyage, while I was still competent to observe, but that is a normal role for some female participants in warfare and came as no surprise to one of my experience. I have used such myself upon occasion when nothing better offered itself. But now they are missing. Can it be only Paine of her sex has survived this training? Thank Ixion she was under my care. As I watch the desert desiccated ones drag themselves to the back of this cave to the spring, I cannot help but compare them to my Group. A thorough grounding in the ways of behaving under stress is always useful.

This day has gone on much too long. With nothing of importance to occupy me, my brain is thrashing about like a caged beast. I know better than to revisit old choices and, yet, I keep doing it. All the old choices, not just the most recent. Had I been less foolhardy in my Crusader days, I might well be a whole man today, fighting at the head of my professional unit and not pinned down by this absurd gaming of the Maesters. Had that been true, these three who I have led thus far would probably be dead. Well, not the Al Bhed, maybe, but certainly the priestling and the woman. It would have made no difference to me and ultimately in the way of the world had they died for I would not have known them had I not become a freak. Thinking of their useless deaths drives me wild. I hate waste, especially the senseless waste of useful beings.

This is precisely the sort of brooding I have been taught to avoid. Hypothesis contrary to fact! Nothing is to be found in such ridiculous circular non-reasoning. I no longer seem to be master of my own mind. And I hurt! The constant stress of trying to keep my balance with the cane which is of slight use on this shifting terrain, the repeated falls when the sand-clogged leg has collapsed beneath me, the pull on the remaining muscles to do the work of those I no longer have – all this has aggravated the areas where the damned machina have been inserted into or bolted onto me and I cannot move without pain. Naturally, I do not permit any manifestation of this to show upon my countenance but I feel I am screaming inside. Here, in this journal, I will admit that if only because I am being honest here, totally honest.

The sun is approaching the horizon. Soon Group Five must start out on the last leg of this illogical trek. I need to go inform the Maesters of our intent and set the other three to packing. When I have done that, I think I may ask Baralai if he has any medications for pain. If I can think of a way to ask without admitting I am suffering.

 

 

 

The Maesters want to see us, I guess. We have to tell them what happened… why? Wasn’t this their plan all along, to pit us all against each other? Maybe they’re wondering how Baralai managed to win against that guy. Well, you can’t argue with a good shot, right?

Right.

It’ll be just fine. Baralai will go in there and make pouty faces and act distraught, Paine won’t say a word, Nooj will report it like a military commander, and I’ll do what I do best.

I’ll tell them a story.

/ / / / /

Well, that went off rather well. Maybe one day I’ll write a book – in Spiran, to prove I’m not an ‘illiterate Al Bhed piece of trash’ as the bald-headed Maester called me in the little interrogation session – and entitle it “The Pistols Sent From Yevon” and detail every bit of the heaping pile of cred I shoveled into the Maesters’ laps today. I just hope I can remember all the extraneous words I put together about the guns being half-buried in the sand outside of the cave and how they disappeared afterwards; maybe I’ll even include the bit where I mentioned that I thought more of the existence of Yevon now for protecting someone as ‘holy’ as Baralai.

Heh. ‘Holy.’ If only they knew what I had just finished doing to him a few hours before… that’d give them a whole new perspective on ‘holy’, I think.

And now, Paine has stolen us some alcohol of some sort. I’ve never heard of this ‘brandy’, but it certainly smells good. I deserve to indulge for the fabrications of the day. Baralai does too – the alcohol will dull the pain of his still-recovering wounds, anyway, and maybe his still-lingering sense of shame at using treachery against treachery. When I told him about the poison that I thought the other was carrying, he told me to drop the subject. I don’t think he’ll ever mention the incident again.

That’s fine by me. Hopefully he’ll have plenty of good things to remember instead of this one incident of doing what needed to be done. Someday, maybe he’ll realize that it wasn’t treachery… but until then, I’ll keep his mind off it.

/ / / / /

Wow. So… there’s alcohol in this ‘brandy’ stuff, is there? It was so good, though, I’m glad that Paine swiped it… even if she did spend the whole time that she slept groping at my ycc. Noojster should fault her for it, not me. It’s not like I can help it that my ycc is irresistible, yeah?

I’m still feeling the effects… yeah, I’m not even certain I’m typing straight, but oh well, who cares! It’s almost evening now and the others are up so I’m up too. It’s not so bad, I’m only a little wobbly. Everyone else is writing in their different little journal things so I figured I would too. This has practically become routine for us… we all sit down and write at the same time, sometimes even in the same room, staring at each other. It’s kinda funny, now that I think about it.

Maaaaaan, that tasted good. Lai’s such a loser, though, not taking any. He doesn’t know what he’s missing! I think he’s gotta taste it on my breath, though, because I can still taste it! Heh. I kissed him real hard, too. I think he likes it when I do that.

Though I don’t really know why he puts up with me doing all that cred. I mean, he’s bigger than me, and I know that even more now, and he’s stronger. Yeah, I never would have guessed, but Lai’s got a body under that robe of his! It’s really nice on the fingertips, and he’s dark all over, in places that no one probably even knows about. Dark, dark, dark. Like chocolate.

Mm… chocolate. It would go so well with that brandy. Good thing Lai’s right---

/ / / / /

I don’t know what I was thinking. I think I’m drunker than I thought. I mean, Lai and Dr. P were sitting around telling each other these grand lies, which I could tell just from the look on Lai’s face – he gets all ruddy – and so for whatever reason I decided to join in.

It started off simply enough. It was like trying to call each other’s bluff, yeah? Trying to out-lie each other or something. It was simple things, like what time of day I was born and things about the Summoner-kidnapping thing I did for a while. (I told Lai I was on the squad that was to kidnap him but I left at the last moment… I don’t even know if that’s true or not, so it made it impossible for him to tell!) And then it just escalated, and whenever someone would get caught telling the truth, we’d all beat each other up. It was fun.

And then I did the same thing I do every time I get drunk. I got nostalgic. And so I started talking about Home… I guess I forgot, or something, that we were supposed to be telling lies. I wasn’t telling lies. I miss it.

Yeah, I’m Homesick. It’s funny… that’s what we’ve always called that longing for the desert, the sort of sense we get when we’re near the city… and yet, I come to learn more Spiran, and I find out that Homesick is a word there and it doesn’t have anything to do with our city. It’s just… when you miss the place you’re from.

I miss the place I’m from. I think I’m getting too embedded in Spiran society – I’m taking on their sicknesses. Maybe it’s one of the diseases you get from vilgehk a Spiran. I dunno if that can be sexually transmitted… I should ask Lai if he gets Homesick. Maybe he’ll know what I mean, or maybe he’ll be vague and not answer as usual.

I can’t say that, though. Lai always answers the questions I ask, unless they’re inane. My questions are inane most of the time anyway.

But I told them all about Home… about the gates to the city and the machina outside in the sands, about the metal framework inside and the moving sidewalks. Lai just looked at me, starry-eyed, like I was telling a fairy tale to a little child. Dr. P just looked uncomfortable. She folded her arms and shifted a lot. It was kinda weird. Then, she called me a liar and tackled me.

I’m in no shape to fight, seriously.

I think Noojster was listening, though. He looked a little disgruntled, but then again, I think that’s normal for him.

/ / / / /

Everybody’s here now. All the teams have come in from the desert… but I think we’re the only ones who did alright. All the others are in bits and pieces. There’s one team with only the recorder still living… and he sits, cross-legged in the sand, and cries. I feel bad for him… he doesn’t look like a weakling or anything, so it must’ve been bad for it to do that to him.

I guess that something like seven people have died here… including Shena, which makes the numbers of Al Bhed down to two. I saw Meru across the sand a few hours ago, right after I woke up… I hope I didn’t say anything drunkenly idiotic. It’s likely. With the look he gave me, though, he confirmed that Shena has been swallowed by the sands. I dropped some water on the Crown of Thorns growing beside this cave, in Shena’s name. Bikanel is a harsh mistress, and she’ll take anyone she can get whether they’re weak or strong. My team, though, did really well… I have to think I’m a little surprised, but not so much. Noojster taught us well.

Noojster. I can see kinda how we must disgrace him. He was some sort of commander of the Crusaders, I heard. And now, here he is with us… but hey, we didn’t do too badly, and I think we’d all be dead if it hadn’t been for him.

It makes me want to help him as much as I can. I know it’s gotta be painful to have those limbs of his. It can’t be comfortable, anyway, no matter what I do to make them lighter and move better. There’s only so much I can do… but maybe someone else can do something.

I wonder if Lai has any of his magic herbs that could do anything for Nooj. I mean… I tried to tell him briefly about the honor Nooj essentially sacrificed for him in the duel, but Lai’s not talking about the incident. It’s like he just wants to forget it all happened… even though he keeps getting called in by the Maesters to be questioned. I don’t think he likes lying to them, regardless of how well he seems to be doing it. Chyga. But maybe if I talk to him about something else about Nooj, I can slip it in. Lai’s smart enough to make his own connections like that. He’ll get it.

Yeah, I’m gonna do that. I mean, we’re gonna be up and moving again soon… and there’ll probably be another boat ride. Noojster could seriously use something to help with the caycelghacc. Why not something to help with what pain he’s probably feeling?

I owe the guy my life. I know that, being Taydrcaagan, he probably doesn’t want to hear it; but maybe I can do something for him, at least, even if it’s through someone else. Besides, I know Lai’s been saying he still feels like he needs to prove his worth to Nooj… I’m a baylasygan, right? This’ll help.

…or maybe I’m still drunk.

 

 

 

The Maesters sent word late last night that they wish to interview us privately.

It is no great surprise. It is only common sense that they would hear of the duel and if the pistols were described in any detail at all..well...it would not take much imagination to figure out just what we had. Thankfully, Gippal has them well hidden and we each have our story to tell. If we all stick well to our script, then we should be able to easily get through this without suspicion. I have full faith that Gippal will expertly spin one of his tales, that Paine will only give her usual brief answers, and that Nooj will leave no room for questions; I only hope that I will be able to put forth the whimpering, weak, confused face needed for this particular scene.

...I only wonder if the Maester who spotted me on the evening before I took the pistols will be there. It may be a bit more difficult to explain, if I have one such witness, but, then again, I was doing nothing suspicious when he spotted me; it is not as if he saw me carry the pistols back to the camp.

I am only worrying myself without need. It will be alright. If I am capable of tricking a man into an unfair duel, then what is lying to the Maesters? It is all on a decline, now, and I can only tumble where I am lead. Perhaps I am becoming the chyga which Gippal always saw in me.

/////

That seems to have gone rather well.

We all traveled to the Maester's tent and, as would be expected, they called us in one at a time so that they could interview us individually. They called for me first and, on Gippal's advice, I hobbled in as if I could just barely manage to walk at all. I'm not entirely sure that this garnered their sympathy, but it surely gave the needed tint of helplessness to my story. With much ado, I finally settled to my chair and, after exchanging pleasantries, they asked me the expected questions about the duel and the pistols which were used. I spoke haltingly when I told them of the brief battle by the cave and, when it came to the duel, itself, I explained that I was in full hysterics at the time and that I could recall nothing of any of it; I think my story was rather helped when I took to shivering and shaking while I told them this and my look of wide-eyed shock drew a knowing smirk from one of the older Maesters...Kinoc, I think his name is. I suppose this is just exactly what they expected of me.

It was a bit odd, though. As I was leaving the tent so that Paine could have her turn, one of the Maesters called me aside. This Maester was a bit younger than the others and, by the look of him, he seemed to have at least a touch of Guado to his blood; my best guess would be that he was that new Maester, Seymour, but this is only going by what I have heard of the man and his somewhat scandalous ideas for Yevon. Regardless, he was rather sympathetic to me and, as he ushered me to the flap of the tent, he let his hand linger on my shoulder. Leaning close, he made an odd offer to help me escape these further trials but only if I were to help him. I did not have time to question what he meant by this as he returned quickly to his position, but I do not think I will speak of it to the others; we have enough troubles on our hands without the added complications of one of the Maesters making such offers. Besides, it is quite likely that I misread him and that he only wishes to help convince the other Maesters that we did nothing wrong.

That is likely it. What else could it be? Just because I was once a summoner in Yevon does not mean the Maesters would automatically be willing to forge deals with me. Even if they were, I would never accept such underhanded offers; I would far rather be with my squad than to sit in comfort while the rest of Spira suffers.

One good thing did come of these interviews, though: Paine managed to smuggle a few bottles of the Maesters' best brandy as she left the tent and, allowing me to hide them under my robes, we were able to take them from right under the Maester's noses. I doubt they will even notice that the bottles are gone and, even if they do, who could say any wrongdoing occurred? It is their fault for not being more careful.

This is a war zone, after all.

/////

The others have fully partaken of the brandy and both Gippal and Paine seem to be quite enjoying themselves. It's very good to see them in such high spirits, even if they may somewhat regret their indulgances in the morning. I have taken none of it. I...do not feel right drinking, right now. I have too much to do and too much to think about. It simply would not be the proper thing for me to do, after all which has happened. Besides, this is finally a chance to refine those herbs and minerals which I've been gathering for days. I think I may first work on a seasickness remedy for Nooj, as it seems we will soon be aboard a boat, again.

/////

If it always gives me so much time to work, I may have to ply the others with brandy more often, even if they managed quite well on their own. Honestly, I really am rather glad that Paine and Gippal both enjoyed it so well, even if they are now curled together in a corner. It's almost cute to see them lying so; I'm half tempted to try my hand at Paine's recording equipment, but I'm slightly wary of what she may do if she ever found the sphere of it. It could be worth it...

It has been quite a productive few hours, though. I have managed to refine a strong seasickness remedy which now lies Paine's hands; I had meant to give them directly to Nooj, initially, but he is rather busy with his other duties...besides, I cannot be sure that he'd be glad to take even a remedy from my hands. I'm sure it's best to give them to Paine, anyway, as she seems to have taken position as Nooj's private nurse. I also need to remember to offer her the last of the sunscreen and sunburn ointment so that her burns don't pain her too badly and so that she has a spare supply in case she ever finds herself in such conditions again.

I've managed to use all of the herbs and minerals which I've found in the desert...except for one particular type of leaf and one particularly odd bit of stone. I'm not sure of these. They are close to other types I've used before, but the scent and texture of them is quite different. I do not believe that they are poisonous, but I should be careful, regardless. If I am correct about them, though, they may be just the thing I need.

/////

I've decided to mix the two stray, unknown ingredients to see if they form the expected potion. Of course, until I can be sure what'll happen, I'll have to experiment on myself, but such is the price of these pursuits.

As I was working on this, Paine and Gippal awakened. They seem to still be in rather high spirits, so I suppose the brandy must have been rather strong; it tasted strong on Gippal's breath, at least, but that's not a very good indicator. If nothing else, the brandy seems to make him rather

/////

Thank Yevon that messenger didn't find me two minutes earlier! As it was, I had to put up with him oggling me as I stood waist-deep in the pool, but it would have been rather worse if he had found me on my stomach under Gippal...

Regardless, the Maesters seem to want to speak with me again. I know that they've been interviewing all who were present at the duel in hopes of finding the pistols, so I suppose they think they'll be able to pressure me into explaining exactly what happened to them. It makes sense that they would believe so; I am, after all, an ex-summoner in Yevon and they probably believe that I would be the only one willing to give them the truth in this. It's rather sad that they cannot see beyond their own ignorance, but that does seem to be a glaring fault in the religion.

/////

It was only more of the same.

They set the same questions as they had before and, once again, I played the part of a frightened child too trauamatized by the fact that I had killed to remember any of it. I even used the same wet-eyed stares and deep frowns as before, as well as the exaggerated hobbling whenever they asked me to walk; they seemed to accept it all fairly well, but I could see doubt behind some of their understanding smiles. I do not think they trust me, entirely. Their eyes speak this well, but it is also coming through their words; they have begun to invoke Yevon's name in their questioning of me, no doubt believing that I would never dream of lying in such circumstances, and they have made me swear oaths that I am telling the truth when I say that I know nothing of the pistols.

...what could I do? I lied. I lied as if I were lying directly to the face of Yu Yevon, himself. I did it with tears that, this time, were not entirely faked. I know that Yevon is no longer such a large part of my life, but to have lied so blantantly to our very god...

It does not matter. My loyalty now stands with Nooj, Gippal, and Paine. They have been the ones to see me through this, not Yevon. I will give anything for them and I will do it gladly. I must. It is as it must be. I will not let that Maester Seymour's words sink into my mind; he does not know of what he speaks! He does not understand the bonds which have formed between us. He does not know that the Gippal--the heathen as he called him--has shown so many more trustworthy traits than I have ever seen in so many of the 'devout'. He does not understand the magnitude of what they've done for me. He cannot see that they would never turn on me...would never betray me...would never 'leave me to rot in the sun for a mere moment of comfort or rest'. They understand nothing.

/////

Nooj seemed rather amused when I described for him what happened during my latest interview and, though I omitted any mention of the oaths made or of the doubts the Maesters tried to plant, he seemed rather satisfied that I had done my job rather well. He also seemed quite amused when I demonstrated my expression of wide-eyed innocence and, though he did not laugh outright, I could see the amusement dwelling in his eyes. It's an odd thing; I cannot recall ever seeing or hearing Nooj laugh, but it is somehow just as satisfying to see honest amusement in his expression or hiding in his eyes. It could just be because it is such a foreign expression for him, but it's so gratifying to know that I brought him a moment of amusement; it sounds odd to say so, but I think this may be among my favorite memories of this time, especially since it is one of the rare happy ones.

It was after this that Paine approached me as I experimented with my unknown ingredients and, though she was curious as to what I was making, I couldn't really explain to her that I've been experimenting in hopes of finding a painkiller strong enough to numb Nooj's pain. I do not wish, after all, to get hopes up before I know what I have since, for all I know, I could be brewing something very dangerous or even something hopelessly benign; I'll just have to see what comes of it after it sets for a while. Thankfully, she let the subject drop gracefully and, after a bit of chatting about the situation at hand, she turned the conversation to my current situation with Gippal.

I know that there is really no need for me to be coy about it since I'm quite sure that both Paine and Nooj are very much aware of the fact that I'm Gippal's battle boy; there is, after all, only so much room and Gippal has never been all that quiet. Still, I tried to be demure about it, but Paine managed to draw out most of the truth in her usual sly manner. I thought I would be clever by slipping in a slight exaggeration about Gippal's ability, but Paine quite easily caught me in it. Smirking, she tackled me to the ground and it soon dissolved into a playful wrestling match. When she managed to sink her fingernails into a sensitive part of my anatomy during this, I voiced a squeal which was loud enough to even wake Gippal from his drunken rest and he immediately chose to join us. After a while, we all settled and we soon decided to take turns telling tales. Before long, this evolved into a game where we would each tell a few facts of ourselves and, if we were caught in a truth, the other two would attack.

It was a very interesting game and, though it was sometimes a bit difficult to tell the truths from the lies, I believe I learned more of Paine and Gippal from this than I have from anything else; they both have so many fascinating things to share, though I do rather hope some of the things--Paine having to kill so young and Gippal being part of the group of summoner-kidnappers which took me--are lies, I'm glad to be able to know them. I, however, am utterly terrible at this game. I don't really think I got away with any of my truths...well...that's not exactly true. Neither of them took the fact that a fellow priestling once led me to and abandoned me in a strange maze below Bevelle as truth, but that does sound a lot like a lie, doesn't it? Especially when I add that I was nearly killed by a large ruby dragon. I don't recall ever seeing my father so livid with me and I couldn't even properly speak to apologize...

Gippal told the most fascinating tale, though. I believe he must have still been feeling the effects of the brandy as he described to us, in vivid detail, his Home. I know that it is only a myth and that it is something which was destroyed long ago, but the way he told it and the longing in his voice and in his eye...it was easy to think that it could well stand in these very sands. It sounded like such an odd yet fascinating place; all that machina and metal...I cannot even begin to picture it. I can understand, though, why it would hold such meaning to Gippal, aside from the fact that it's his ancestral home: it is likely the one reason Al Bhed can survive in such forbidding surroundings...well...that and the natural drive and endurance which I've witnessed within Gippal, and it likely something which lies dear to the heart of every Al Bhed. I still cannot believe he shared that with us, even if it must have been a lie. I almost wish to ask him more about it, but I'm not sure my position is good enough or that I'm close enough for him to entrust such things to me. I am, after all, still bearing Yevon's mark...

Nooj watched us as we played this game, yet he seemed wholly disinclined to join us. I'm not sure if it's only that such games are below him or if he doesn't wish to share even fabricated lies about himself; I suppose it does not matter. He is our leader. He must be above and separate from us. It is a shame, but I don't think there is anything we an do for it.

/////

While we were resting, the other teams arrived.

No, that's not right.

The remains of the other teams arrived. There are only two other teams--besides ours--which survived intact; the others are all decimated. Even those who survived are in rather desperate shape and they all loiter around in the sands like lost and broken toys. Nooj has agreed to allow them access to the fresh water, but even thirst can't stir some of them; some of them seem to be able to do nothing more than to sit and to stare.

Is this what the Maesters were planning, to have nothing more than broken and staring men at the end of the trek? Did they mean to leave all of us to rot in the sun?

No! I won't allow it. I know that it is supposed to be every squad and every man for himself, but there is a point where this meaningless competition fails to matter; if I can comfort them, then I must. If I can ease their pain--physical or mental--then it is my duty to do so. I may no longer be a typical priest of Yevon, but I am still a human being.

/////

I believe I've done all I can for the scattered members of the other teams, though I'll continue to check on them until we leave. After all, it is the least I can do to make up for the Maesters' negligence and, besides, I have never seen a group of bodies more in need; their sicknesses and their wounds must be old for how they have festered and, in a few cases, poisoned limbs were lopped off without any consideration of other means of care, leaving infected stumps in their wake.

Is this always how such wounds are treated in fighting battalions or is it only because there are none here who are trained in healing? I would think, though, that even laymen would know the basic cures for poison and, even if not, that they would find a better means than cutting away an entire arm for a small poisoned wound in the wrist. Even if they had no antidotes and didn't know that the native plants carry natural anti-toxins, couldn't they figure out that they could draw the poison out with their mouths? It is a crude means, but it is surely better than resorting to cutting away an otherwise healthy limb. It makes me wonder why the men were not briefed in such things before they were sent to this place, but that could be my own ignorance of the normal way of the military. Perhaps I was just spoiled in that I was grouped together with a competent leader who clearly knows what must be done and how best to reach our goals. Perhaps I was spoiled because my group is able to work smoothly together to use our natural skills to survive. Maybe we had an advantage over them in this, but, then again, we worked hard to discover and to use these skills; it should not then be a source of guilt, correct? Normally, I would think so, but, when I cast my eyes out to the loose groups of survivors, I can only see Dani weeping quietly to himself.

Dani is the only survivor of Squad Four, their recorder. Ever since he arrived, he's only sat on the very edge of the gathered bodies and, rocking himself gently, he does nothing but cry. I have not seen anyone--aside from Paine who seems to know him from her days as a blitzball recorder--try to reach out to him and it seems that the others are only waiting for him to succumb to the weight of his grief. It's a terrible thing to see, but it's also understandable; the survivors have no time for the weak, those who will probably be dead in a few hours, and it seems so obvious that Dani will no longer even lift a hand to care for himself. I wonder how he managed to make it this far in such a state, but I would not dare to voice such a question.

I went to him after I had finished tending the others, but he did not even blink to acknowledge my presence; he only stared through me and, though I spoke to him in my softest tones, he either did not hear or he was too far gone to respond. I can see no severe wounds on his body, but, even before I went to him, I knew that the physical was not the source of his trouble; he is so far gone in his mind that he seems to no longer be able to sense or to realize the physical. I held water in my hands for him to drink, but he would not part his lips; in the end, I had to force his mouth to open so that I could pour the water into it and then I had to tip back his head so that he would swallow. I do not know how he will survive what remains of the journey, especially since none of the other survivors have any interest in helping him and he seems stubbornly opposed to doing anything to perserve himself. I do not know what to do for him. I cast him to sleep before I left, but it is a weak solution. I'm tempted to try to appeal to the Maesters on his behalf, but I am slightly afraid of what they'd suggest.

/////

I have finished the painkiller I was brewing for Nooj and, after swallowing some myself, I can declare that it comes with no apparent side-effects. It managed to completely dull the ache in my hip and, though this is likely nothing compared to the pain Nooj must be in, I have hope that it'll be enough to relieve him. It is, after all, supposed to be one of the strongest tonics we're allowed to brew and, by strict rules of the church, it is only supposed to be administered in a situation where there is no hope for complete recovery, much like this one. I only hope that it is enough to dull Nooj's pain and that it'll ease his wariness a bit so that he may be able to see that there is more to life and existence than pain and darkness. It may be a feeble hope, but I'll simply be grateful if it manages to make things even marginally better for him.

Naturally, I have given the pills to Paine so that she may distribute them to Nooj as needed. After all, I don't think Nooj would be too glad to realize that I know of his current burden and, further, that I found it to be so pitiful that I was stirred to help him; not that I aided him through pity, but I am rather afraid that's how Nooj may see it. I imagine it must be terribly difficult for someone as he to ever ask help, so it makes it all the more important that we try to be aware of when he is in most need of us, right? It is likely what allowed us to survive the long trek through the desert and it may be what allows us to see this trial through to the end.

 

 

 

Spending last night wrapped in Nooj's arms was exactly what I needed. His touch soothed me, allowed me to believe that he's really and truly still alive. There was an unusual intensity to our joining last night, an urgency to his need that I haven't felt before, and I couldn't help but respond in kind -- we fell on one another in a near frenzy and both collapsed into sleep almost immediately afterward. Although maybe the urgency was mine, too, born of the awareness that this could be the last time we are together like this, if he finds his death before our next opportunity.

I'll have to do my best not to think about that. Well, that's probably impossible, so at the very least I need to not brood. This is the reality of Nooj. If I'm going to continue as his lover, I have to accept that. And I will continue. It all comes down to this: I need him far too much to leave voluntarily. For now, I'll take what he can give me and let it be enough.

But if he thinks I'm going to let him give up on his life without a fight, he's crazy. If I have to stop him again, I will. Whatever the consequences.

If he talked in his sleep last night, it either didn't wake me or I don't remember it. I'm guessing he remained silent, though -- I feel more at peace that I have in a very long time. We'll see how long that lasts; a messenger found Nooj right before we went to bed last night and informed him that the Maesters are here and want to talk to us this morning. We're heading to their tent any minute. I hope we have our stories straight.

/ / / / /

What a bunch of self-righteous, pompous fools!

You would think that the recorder would be the Maesters' ideal witness -- impartial (in theory, anyway, and there's no reason for them to think otherwise in my case), able to take in the big picture and small details of a scene simultaneously, and in possession of a recording of the event that she has almost certainly watched at least once. But after I handed over the useless sphere, they had maybe five questions for me, each of which I was able to answer without conveying any actual information. I don't know whether they had no interest because I'm the recorder and so less important than the "real" soldiers or because I'm a woman, but either way they basically ignored me. Idiots. Living too long in Bevelle must rot the mind. Baralai is lucky he got out when he did.

At least I got something for my time. It's their own fault, really -- you should never store your best brandy so close to the door. I snagged one bottle with each hand, then casually passed them to Baralai as I exited the tent. Without saying a word, he hid them in his robes. If I ever end up back on the streets, I should make sure to bring him with me. We'd make an excellent team. Anyway, then I caught Nooj's eye. First he looked absolutely astonished, then impressed. I guess he didn't know about my talent for, hmm, let's call it illicit acquisition. "Stealing" is such a vulgar word.

Gippal is in there now, and it looks like he might be awhile. Time to go run my sphere-swapping errand.

/ / / / /

That was much easier than I thought it would be, and not at all what I was expecting.

After I left the guys outside the Maester's camp, I went off to find the recorder for Squadron Three. I had no specific plan for switching the spheres; I figured I'd assess the situation first and then decide what approach would be best. But to my surprise, he noticed me immediately, almost as if he were waiting for me, and waved me over.

Turns out that he hated his captain, as did the other surviving member of the team and pretty much everyone else who knew the man. After the duel, he destroyed the recording and decided that, if questioned, he'd tell the Maesters he forgot to load a sphere into the camera. So much for the impartiality of recorders.

The upshot is that there are no spheres showing the event at all. That's a good thing. Very good.

/ / / / /

We seem to have gotten away with it, for now at least; Gippal spun an impressive tale, and Nooj wasn't pressed for details. We're breaking out the brandy now to celebrate. Maybe it's a little early in the day for hard alcohol, but so what? Baralai is alive and mending, the Maesters' noses are tweaked, and Nooj and I are repairing that which was broken between us. Life is much improved. I can drink to that.

/ / / / /

When will I learn that I have absolutely no tolerance for alcohol? I had the equivalent of maybe three drinks, and the next thing I know I'm waking up on the cave floor, snuggled up against the back of a softly snoring Gippal (who drank most of a bottle by himself, so he at least had a reason to pass out). I hate being such a lightweight. I might have slept all afternoon if Nooj hadn't woken me up with an invitation. This time I accepted without hesitation or internal debate.

It's blissful to have the chance to enjoy Nooj again. Even before-- before, when we camped in the desert, there was no time or privacy for more than an occasional stolen caress. Here, in a somewhat secluded nook in the back of the cave, we can rediscover one another, relearn the exact ways in which our bodies fit together. It's just like it used to be. Better, even.

One balm has been lost to me, though, maybe forever: that of forgetfulness. When he buries his hands in my hair and sighs with contentment, when he enters me and his eyes light up at my gasp of pleasure, when he finds his release and shudders in my arms, he seems so alive, so vital, that I can distance myself from his desire for death. But I can never put it out of my mind completely, the nagging feeling that he would desert me for oblivion without a second thought. It's always there, always between us, a dark shadow that I can't banish.

We haven't talked about it, by silent mutual consent. It's better that way; I doubt we'll ever be able to discuss the subject rationally. How could we?

/ / / / /

I was curious whether the Squad Three recorder had ever been questioned, or if the Maesters were just as disinterested in him as they had been in me, so I went wandering through the camp to find him. It turns out that the Maesters asked for his sphere, seemed displeased that there wasn't one, and then proceeded to grill him, not just about the duel, but about everything that happened afterwards. From what he said, and from the bits I picked up eavesdropping on my way from the cave and back, it seems that the Maesters are very interested in what happened to the pistols. So interested, in fact, that they've questioned everyone who was at the duel at least once and have one team surreptitiously searching for them. Naturally, everyone else is looking, too.

I hope Gippal hid them well.

When I returned to the cave, everyone was exactly as I had left them: Nooj resting on his rock -- there's an outcropping from the cave wall that makes a perfect perch for him -- Baralai working with his plants, and Gippal sleeping off the brandy. I reported my gleanings to Nooj and then sat with Baralai, watching him work. He wouldn't tell me what he was making; a surprise for Nooj, he said. I hope it's a seasickness remedy. I don't know if any of us could take a repeat of the last boat ride. As usual, we got to chatting. I think he's still upset about the way the duel went down and grumpy about being continually questioned by the Maesters, so I tried to tease him out of his mood by gentle prodding about Gippal. Then I caught him in a blatant exaggeration -- he's not the only one here who's slept with an Al Bhed, after all -- and playfully tackled him. After a thoroughly satisfying wrestle, we found ourselves swapping more tall tales. Gippal woke up somewhere in there and joined in. Somehow, it evolved into a game, where we would attack anyone we caught telling the truth.

It's funny, how much more I can reveal about myself when I can pretend it's all stories. They noticed a few of the truths I slipped in there -- the fact that my father was a warrior monk in Kilika, for one, and the story of the time I sneaked into the Cloister of Trials. But I got away with telling them that I first killed a man at the age of eleven. I probably wouldn't believe that one either, if it weren't my life.

And then something weird happened. Gippal, possibly still feeling the effects of the brandy, launched into a long, emotional, and poetic description of Home. He made it sound like a machina paradise, an oasis of steel in the desert. Baralai was completely enthralled. Such longing in his voice, the same sadness I remember from when Berrick told a similar story -- I could almost believe that he was describing an ancestral legend, a fairy tale.

Except that I knew he wasn't. It's all true; it has to be. But I'm not supposed to know that. And I got more and more uncomfortable with my knowledge. I think maybe he noticed, because he started looking at me funny.

I forced a smile, called him a liar, and jumped him. He was way too drunk to fight back effectively, but he laughed, and the mood lightened again.

Then I noticed Nooj, looking thoughtful on his perch -- he'd left some time before, and I'd been so engrossed in the game that I hadn't seen his return. His expression was odd, a little bit wistful with a touch of fondness. Then his features tightened, and he turned away. I wonder what that was about.

/ / / / /

The final two teams are here, and they're in bad shape. Out of eight people, only three remain. I know one of them. He's one of the other recorders who came from Luca, now the only surviving member of Squad Four. I never much liked Dani; he hung out with the Goers and was every bit as arrogant and obnoxious as the worst of the players. But I feel for him now, sitting on the sand, hugging himself, rocking and crying, apparently oblivious to everyone and everything around him. No one deserves whatever must have happened to him out there. I tried to talk with him, soothe him, but he's so far gone, I don't think he even recognized me. I hope Baralai can do something for him, get him to sleep at the very least.

Who takes human life and treats it this callously? The Maesters of Yevon. I don't know why I expected anything different.

I appear to be the only woman still alive. Not that I thought much of the other women on the boat with us, but it's still a sobering thought. Really, everyone else is so much worse off than we are, even the teams that are intact. I thought we had trouble out there, but looking around, I can see that we came through the ordeal the most easily by far. Nooj gets a lot of the credit, of course, for pushing us so relentlessly, but I don't know if we would have made it without Gippal finding water for us. And when I look at anyone with even vaguely fair skin and see how badly burned they are, I am inspired for the first time in five years to thank Yevon for something, in the guise of Baralai and his sunscreen. I owe them all my life. And what did I do in return? Fight in a few battles and lug around a camera? What good was I?

Well, I guess I saved the life of the captain. That must count for something.

Speaking of whom, he's heading off to the Maesters to let them know that we plan to leave tonight and finish the last leg of this ill-fated journey. I'm watching him go right now, and he's moving so slowly and carefully. Not everyone would notice a difference, but it's obvious to me. It can't be the leg mechanism, Gippal cleaned it out from our last day in the sands already, so it must be something else. It reminds me of nothing so much as the old arthritic priest at Kilika, who walked just like that on rainy days when his joints pained-- Pain. Of course, it must be. That explains the tightness around his eyes and mouth that I've been noticing lately, and perhaps also that wince I wondered at earlier. And if he's showing even that much on his face and in his gait, he must be in sheer agony.

I wonder if Baralai could make a painkiller. And I wonder if we could get Nooj to take it. There must be a way. I'll go talk to Baralai right now, before Nooj gets back.

/ / / / /

Looks like the Maesters want us to stay one more day. They said they want all of us to travel together, but I'd bet they're really afraid to let Squadron Five out of their sight in case the pistols go with us. Those fools have such one-track minds. Another day of rest and unlimited water will do us good, I suppose, but I was so looking forward to getting out of this desert hell. I miss the ocean. I've never been away from it for this long before.

Baralai was way ahead of me on the painkillers. Being a Healer probably puts him more in tune with that sort of thing. He'd already made up a whole batch of capsules; he gave me two of them, along with a seasickness remedy for our upcoming boat ride. Plus, he handed me a large stock of sunscreen and burn salve. He's been a busy boy. Maybe he's working this hard in order to take his mind off his compromised honor. I still don't pretend to understand all that, but it's clearly important to him, so I'll let it be.

When Nooj came back with the news that we were staying put tonight, he opened up the cave to the other candidates, to give them access to the water. I guess that means we're giving up on competing for resources. That's more of a relief than anything else; I was getting uncomfortable with being so much better off than the others. Anyway, when he returned, I was waiting for him, sitting on the ground next to his rock. It took a minute for him to notice the capsules in my outstretched hand. I told him they were from Baralai and then said no more; when he asked what they were for, I shrugged. I knew he would never accept them if he realized that he had given away his suffering -- stubborn pride taken almost to the point of idiocy, that's Nooj. Anyway, he took them from my hand, looked at me, then met Baralai's gaze from the other side of the cave. I don't know what was communicated between them during that long moment, but Nooj must have seen something that convinced him. He swallowed the pills.

Not fifteen minutes later, I felt his body, so tight and tense next to mine, begin to relax as the painkiller worked its magic. Baralai kept throwing me casual glances; when I was sure, I caught his eye and nodded. He smiled, then went back to the dice game he was playing with Gippal. Nooj looked down at me, equal parts relief and surprise on his face. Then we sat together there in pleasant silence until bedtime, my head resting against his leg, his hand curled around the back of my neck, watching our broken comrades visit the spring.

 

 

 

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