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A Day to Remember

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“What do you mean delayed?" I awoke to a hushed, whispery snap. It sounded like Novka.

“The've sta'ed shellin' the front line 'aight where we need to cross," I heard Henrich snap back quietly. During the night, I had woken up several times, eventually deciding that the chair I sat in was too cumbersome for me, so I moved to the floor – as a former soldier, I had been accommodated with much worse in the past. The side of my face was currently pressed against the carpet, which was actually fairly soft, so I did not move. It seemed like it was still extremely early in the morning, so I decided to lie quietly and eavesdrop in on the conversation.

“But we arranged to be escorted this morning," Novka protested.

“Oh, well in that case, I'll write 'em 'aight now and ask 'em to call off the attack." I could imagine Novka rolling her eyes. “Look, miss, we offer safe transport across the Front, but we don' control the circumstances. My guess? Eh'ell be clear tomorrow." I wasn't sure precisely how early it was, and I was still drowsy after a long, uncomfortable night. As the two argued in hushed whispers, I drifted off to sleep again…

When I awoke once more, I allowed myself to lie on the floor for around twenty minutes or so before I finally forced myself to rise. It seemed that our plans for the day had indeed been cancelled, after all. I sat up and looked about the room – it looked like a wreck, the cushions and furniture strewn all about as if a tornado had smashed its way through the building. I could not see anyone and, dragging myself up to the chair, determined that Forticay had left, as well.

“Vage?" I asked, still not awake enough to want to put in the physical effort to turn around and check to see if he was there. No answer. I must have been alone. For a brief moment, I began to panic that they had left me behind for some reason, and over the course of the next ten seconds, I tried to reason what advantages that would grant them, and what my next course of action should be. But I no sooner realized that I was thinking ridiculous thoughts than I could faintly hear Forticay's excited voice from out in the hallway.

No one had come to get me, so I presumed that I could take my time getting ready. Still, I didn't want to fall behind on the daily itinerary, just in case there was some reason for worry, so I threw on my officer's jacket (which I had not worn since before we had arrived at Khestolovka days ago), tucked it into my pants, and stepped out into the hallway. At the end of the corridor, I could see the desk in the entryway, with Forticay leaning against it, half sitting on top, his hands pressed up against the surface as he spoke with someone enthusiastically. He turned his head mid-sentence and saw me.

“Tovef!" He greeted, cutting himself off. “You'll be happy to hear that our advance has been called off, or at least for today," he beamed. “Word is there's heavy shelling on the front line."

“Where are the others," I asked as I walked towards him. Entering the room, I saw Larissa standing somewhat-awkwardly in the corner, wearing the same clothing as the night before, only wrapped in a large blue overcoat lined with tufts of white fur – a bold choice, considering the mud and ash that composed this little godforsaken town. She was listening politely to Forticay's rantings about…something – probably an impromptu lecture on Central Agrandan weather patterns or the history of the Kye or something like that – and she wore the same polite, interested smile as when I had last seen her. Forticay, to my surprise, was also already dressed up in his overcoat and winter wear. Had everyone gone out somewhere while I was asleep?

“Oh, they're all out doing something or another," Forticay replied to my question with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Unsurprisingly, Novka left us all with something to do while we wait." He stood up and walked over to the window, gazing at the street outside, which I could now see was covered in powdery, white, freshly-fallen snow. As uncomfortable as the cold could be, I couldn't help but smile seeing the familiar signal of the oncoming winter upon the ground. It even made me happy to think that colder days were ahead. “She and Martin went off on some sort of inquiry business – trying to figure out our paperwork so that it looks less suspicious or something," Forticay continued, turning back to me and returning to the desk. “Honestly, good for them – those two are perfect for each other. Vage went off to find a uniform, because they don't have any in his size, go figure. So undoubtedly some poor soldier who just returned from the Front is going to have a bad day. And me and you," he continued, standing again and pointing at me dramatically – he seemed to have completely gotten over his shyness in front of Larissa, who still stood politely in the corner, admiring our whole exchange. “Are to procure some food and preservatives for the coming journey. In fact, I was just about to wake you – I was thinking we could leave in…Twenty minutes? How long will you need to get ready?"

“Um, ok," I stammered, still waking up. I put a hand to my neck and rubbed my thick beard stubble – it had been some time since I'd shaved. “Is there a washroom somewhere?"

“There's one in Mr. Temlot's room," Larissa stated, nodding in the direction of the door, which was the first one in the hallway from the entrance room. “He's out for lunch – won't be back for another hour, at least."

“What time is it," I asked.

“Almost midday," Forticay answered, checking his watch before shoving it back into his vest pocket – he was wearing black, this time, instead of his usual grey, with a thick, dark-blue button-down shirt.

“You look like a Luestrian officer."

“I think it's quite fashionable," Forticay protested as he grabbed the sides of his unbuttoned coat and spread it wide as he turned gently from side to side for me to observe his getup.

“Oh, shoot," I muttered. “I don't have a razor."

“You can use mine," Forticay offered.

“Why do you have a razor?"

“Well, technically, it's a friend's from forever ago. But the point is that it's an inconspicuous blade."

“Right," I nodded. “I'm going to shave."

“Oh, could you bring this to Temlot's room," Forticay asked as picked up a miniature sack of little pebbles of coal that was sitting on the desk and handed it to me. “We just ran to purchase some more coal – apparently Strenla doesn't supply it, which is a bit annoying."

“Hm," I grunted, taking the bag. I walked into Temlot's room, dropping the bag next to the stove by the door. It was a pretty standard room, frankly, with a single narrow bed with shite sheets, and an end table. That was all. A door at the end of the room opened up into a tiny little washroom with white tiled floors: no running water. Merely a wooden table holding up a large metal basin stood as the sink. Before it was a mirror. There was already a lantern burning on the ceiling – so lighting was no big deal – and a wooden toilet seat to the right, which appeared to lead to some sort of drainage well or cesspit.

After using the restroom, I went to fetch my things – and Forticay's straight razor, which I found in his bag – and began to tidy myself up. Thankfully, Temlot had left a container of shaving cream on the edge of the table, so shaving was a quick fix. I stripped down to my pants and grabbed a white towel from the rack, proceeding to use the (presumably) clean water from a bucket in the corner of the room to rinse my face, neck, and back over the basin. I really was due for a proper bath, though. Maybe another day – it was not like the weather was particularly warm, anyways. For some reason, I was feeling particularly kempt, so I even applied some of my cologne, spraying it from the little glass bottle, before bundling my clothes and things in my arms and heading back to my room, trying to swiftly traverse the distance in the hallway by the entrance so that I would not be seen by Larissa or Forticay, who were still merely chatting, waiting for me – for some reason I did not want either of them to see me shirtless. Once back in the sitting room, I changed into a thick brown shirt, throwing my usual officer's jacket and overcoat over this. I reemerged in the entryway looking…Exactly as I had before, only shaven and slightly-more polished.

“Right then," Forticay stated as he hopped off of the desk, where he had been sitting cross-legged. “Let's be on our way. I was thinking we could divide our efforts: you search for the bread and crackers, and I'll look for the preservatives and anything else."

“Sure," I shrugged.

“You have money on you? Great! Let's be off! Larissa says she knows some places." Forticay snapped his flat cap upon his head and marched out the door. Larissa, less aggressively, tied a grey, furry winter hat around her head, securing the straps at the top of the front of her neck. I imagined that her dark-blue coat would be caked in mud by the time we arrived back here, though she had managed to fetch coal with Forticay without drawing any grime, so who was I to talk?

“There's usually activity down by the market around this time," she stated as I followed her outside fitting my black ushanka snugly upon my head.

“Lead the way," Forticay offered, making a dramatic gesture down the street with his arms. He saw a passing soldier glance at him, however, and then quickly returned to walking, embarrassed. In the distance, artillery rumbled lowly at random intervals, though it was not too distracting, as it was pretty far-off, and only sounded occasionally. I saw no sign of the corpses that Forticay had claimed to have seen the other night - either they had been moved, or he had seen something else entirely. In fact, there were not too many people out – for a town only a few kilometers from the front lines, the military activity there was surprisingly inactive.

“Why are there so few people here," I asked Larissa as we walked, the snow crunching under my boots.

“Most of the convoys come in a few kilometers that way," she said, pointing behind us. “Or over there, at East Fountaine, where the train station is." She pointed ahead of us. “They go straight to the front line from there. Many of the people here are on temporary leave or residents of this town. The majority of the soldiers either just came from the Front or will be heading back there soon. It's a good place for business," she smiled.

“Surely you can't like that," I stated. Forticay was meters ahead of us, almost as if he actually knew where he was going, so I was not worried about him overhearing our conversation.

“It's not that bad," she shrugged. “There are plenty of soldiers here, and new ones every day. If I don't like someone, I don't have to accept their money: there'll always be more." The snow was not laid down thickly: it had only snowed a little last night, so it was perhaps an inch deep, maybe half an inch more, but it was cold enough that it stayed stuck to the roofs of the short buildings and the sides of the disorderly streets, where people were not walking and turning the snow into a brown slush that combined with the street to form a sort of muddy mush. A few residents were going about their days: some held armfuls of wood, others walked simply with their hands in their pockets, and some even pulled sleds stacked with sacks of flour or maybe some coal by ropes. All of the residents seemed to be human – that made sense given the North-Eastern location of Ressex.

The soldiers, on the other hand, were almost entirely lizardfolk. Most of them were anywhere from dark green to dark grey in complexion, with the occasional contrast of dark blue, yellow, or vibrant red. I would say that the majority were light green, the scales under their heads and down their necks, as well as on the palms of their hands, much lighter than on their faces and the tops of their heads. They walked alone or in pairs, rifles slung over their shoulders, fur hats strapped around their heads. The hats they wore were black, but significantly more flat than the ushankas issued to most of the other species, on account of their flatter head shape.

“Which division is this," I asked.

“Most of them are from the forty-fifth or the eighteenth," Larissa replied as we rounded a corner onto a much-busier street, Forticay looking back to Larissa to confirm that he was going the right direction. There was no grid pattern to any of the roads, and it was a lot like Ervef in many respects, only the buildings here were more solid, more spread out, and somehow actually less depressing. “But there's been heavy casualties just West of here, and their numbers are being replenished by the fifteenth and thirty-fourth divisions." Humans and wolves, I thought, if I remembered correctly. “They're also starting to integrate the divisions here," she continued. “But it's mostly still lizardfolk at the moment."

“The segregation of divisions honestly made sense for a little while," I admitted, risking talking politics to make conversation. “Given the differing health needs and accommodations for everybody, but I think it's gotten a bit ridiculous." Larissa said nothing. I regretted touching upon the topic. I decided to try to remedy the situation. “I think that most of the separation in the military was unfortunately due to prejudice and not actual practical concerns."

“Is it this way?" Thank you, Forticay.

“No, it's to the left," Larissa corrected, and Forticay turned about. We walked down another street, and at the end we could see a small square, this one full of little wooden carts and make-shift stalls with thin plywood roofs. It started to snow lightly, with small little grain-sized flakes, almost imperceptible, floating down through the air. “I think that it's useless to talk about these sorts of things until the war is won," Larissa suddenly stated, surprisingly. Her tone took on a much-more serious expression. “My hometown was desecrated by the Northern Armies when I was a child. There's no point in trying to fix ourselves while they continue to slaughter people like us on the Front." I was taken aback. I even disagreed, frankly – we should be working on ourselves, even as we fought the war. I wanted to object, but Larissa had been surprisingly open to the circumstances of her life up until that moment, and I didn't want to offend her, so I said nothing. “So you were a soldier?"

“I fought with the thirty-second division," I replied frankly but with a slight nod. “We were stationed on the Western Front, further South, but I still served as far up as the Northfjord Western border."

“How long did you serve?"

“Four years," I replied. “I enlisted at seventeen. Faked my age."

“People do desperate things for food and money," Larissa chuckled lightly, but her tone was sympathetic.

“Uh, actually," I began, unsure how to proceed. “I wanted to fight," I stated awkwardly. “I grew up in Estlovan, in central Henlot, and got all caught up on the glory aspect of it."

“And how did it turn out for you?" I shrugged.

“Turns out I'm a great shot," I sighed. “Or at least they thought so. They kept me almost until I had turned twenty-two, and soon after, they let me go," I stated frankly. “I've just been sort of wandering around North and Central Vaymansphere ever since."

“Must have seen quite a bit, though," Larissa reasoned. “This is the furthest I've ever been from Agranda." Suddenly a question occurred to me. It was a bold question – maybe even rude – and I certainly had no business asking somebody who I had only briefly spoken with the previous night. I asked anyway:

“Why are you crossing the front line?" I shoved my hands into the pockets of my overcoat casually. Larissa looked taken aback, making me feel uncomfortable. Why did I ask that? It was none of my business.

“Look," Forticay suddenly exclaimed, rescuing me from my embarrassment once again. He was pointing at a painted sign above one of the buildings surrounding the marketplace that clearly read “DRIED MEAT AND PRESERVES." “They know who their market is," he joked, referring to the soldiers who bustled all around the market area, purchasing bread, dried fruit, meat, tools, shoes, clothing, belts, mess kits, and every other conceivable commodity that could both be found by a vendor after two hours of picking through the roads leading to the front lines and purchased by a soldier who was in desperate need of a new piece of equipment. “Nothing like capitalizing on warfare, right?" He realized that he said this too loudly, drawing several glances, and clearly felt embarrassed.

“I know a place where we can get bread, nearby," Larissa stated.

“Perfect," Forticay remarked. “I'll go look for some preserves, and maybe some meat, if it looks any good, and you two can go on to find some crackers or something." He walked off to the store. “Just make sure it won't go stale," he shouted back to us as he went on his way.

“Hm," I grunted. “I didn't think this would be so easy. We might even be back within the hour. Are prices cheap around here," I asked as we walked off to the right, around the marketplace, Larissa leading the way, her tail making large, curving, sweeping motions as she walked.

“Usually," she replied. “Their market's being paid in soldiers' wages, after all."

“Right," I nodded, happy that she seemed to have forgotten about my question from earlier, or at least pretended to. “So where is this place we're going?"

“There's a tavern a few streets over," she explained. “It's always crowded, and the bartender's nice, so I've found that it's good for business. Every morning he sends his assistant to the market to buy the cheapest bread to sell to the bar patrons, but it hardens by the end of the day so he either throws what's left of it out or gives it to those who need it. It's not very pleasant, but it's edible, especially if you boil it in water, and it still has nutrients. He'll give us some from yesterday – I'm sure of it."

“At least it's free," I shrugged. I still couldn't get that question out of my head. How is it that you have almost never traveled, are eating handouts of stale bread, and yet are still willing to pay three thousand salir to cross the Front, into the domains of people who you claim to despise? It was almost…Unsettling. We walked on for a few moments longer, talking about trivial things of little importance, before we finally arrived at a building on the corner, its second story still intact, save some crumbling away of the walls of one of its corners. The glass windows were composed of many small little window panes, and the corners of the windows were frosted, yet shed a warm glow onto the street from within on this overcast day. The snow had picked up some more, small flurries floating to the ground at a more-steady pace, making the tavern look even more inviting. It looked crowded inside – there was a lot of movement; many blurs of mud green slid by behind the windows, so there had to be a lot of soldiers inside. I would fit right in.

We entered, and a wave of heat overtook me. Still, however, most of the soldiers still had their coats on, and the longer we spent inside, the more I realized that I still needed to wear mine, as well. The room was wide-open, with a wooden-planked floor, and many round tables scattered throughout the space. Around each one sat at least four or five soldiers, mostly, but some tables were especially crowded. Some sat on benches beside the windows, smoking and laughing loudly, while others played cards at the smaller tables by the roaring fireplace at the end of the room; still, many others bustled about, from the bar counter to the tables, from table to table, and to and from the door as they entered and exited. The place was a chaotic mess of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of bottles and glasses.

In the back-right corner, beside the fireplace, four musicians crowded together on a tiny platform playing some sort of tune. One stood with his mandolin, another with her accordion, one handling a bulky-looking bass, and the fourth barely visible behind the rectangular piano that was shoved right into the corner. Judging by both the instruments and the tune they played, it sounded like one of the type of songs typical of Northfjord: upbeat, and something that one could nod their head to. For some reason, they always seemed to fit the winter mood better than any other season, the bass marking the lower beat while the accordionist and man on the mandolin led, the pianist complementing the song here and there.

The patrons were almost exclusively lizardfolk, although there were certainly humans around. The band was all human, the two waiters were human, the barback was human, and then there was a meagre handful of human patrons throughout the bar. But aside from that, everyone was lizardfolk. A sea of green and grey enveloped the tavern, with the occasional burst of red or blue standing out like a piece of driftwood on the water. We made our way to the bar counter. Standing there, pouring drinks with his back to us, was a massive, burly bear with thick brown fur who wore simply a large green shirt with the sleeves rolled up and thick green pants (obviously military, likely sold in the marketplace), a white apron over this. He turned around, and I admittedly felt a little intimidated – this guy towered over me, and could easily take on probably three or four people at once. If Larissa actually knew this man, and decided to turn on me and say that I had tried to steal from her or something, he would definitely kill me. Once again, I was excessively overanalyzing things.

“Yergov," she shouted over to him, and he immediately looked up, recognizing the voice. Turning around with two full beer glasses in hand, he reached over the counter briefly to hand them off to one of the waiters before resting a massive arm down and addressing us.

“I haven't seen you in three days," the bartender smiled in a deep, booming voice. “Where have you been?"

“Oh, just around here and there," Larissa replied. “Have you met my friend?" He looked over at me, almost-skeptically, and for a brief moment I was worried that he would disapprove of me for some reason, but his face immediately lit up and he extended a hand for me to shake. I removed my ushanka out of politeness.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?" he smiled with a nod.

“Tovef," I replied, feeling the potential energy in his arm as we shook hands.

“Pleasure to meet you," he asserted.

“Likewise," I smiled, trying my hardest to make the best impression possible.

“Well, what brings you today," he asked, turning to Larissa and placing a hand on his hip as he leaned further over the counter. I worried that it would break. “Do you want the usual? Mark! Bring us one of the highland ciders," he shouted to the barback before Larissa could reply.

“Actually, today I was hoping that you could help my friend here with something," she stated, nodding to me. “It's nothing too burdensome – he just needs some food for him and his friends. She suddenly acquired a mischievous smile and leaned in. “They're crossing the Front tomorrow," she whispered. I was somewhat alarmed that she had shared this information, but I was in a bar full of soldiers and a massive bear, and technically had a job to do, so rather than risk making a scene by protesting, I decided to let her do her thing.

“You'd like the bread that's gone bad?" Yergov confirmed. “I'm afraid you're out of luck, at the moment," he shrugged apologetically. “I just handed off yesterday's batch a few hours ago." He paused. “Although, I think we do have some that went stale earlier today," he stated, turning to me. “I can take a look for you after I get these orders filled – it's a bit busy at the moment, a?"

“That's all right. Thank you, Yergov," Larissa smiled. “Looks like we'll be here a while," she stated as she turned to me.

“In that case, I'll have a drink, too," I stated before Yergov could leave.

“What'll it be? Another highland cider," he asked warmly. He had an intimidating figure, but he really was pretty much just an amiable guy.

“Sure," I threw up my hand.

“Mark! One more highland! Well, let me know if you need anything else," he nodded, and made his way to the other end of the counter, grabbing some dirty glasses that had been left there as he went.

“His name's Yergov Barsch," Larissa explained. “He's a really nice man. Just don't get on his bad side – I've seen him do a number on even the strongest soldiers, on bad nights." Ok, I thought, good to know. “It amazes me how he's not been reported before," she continued.

“Intoxication on duty is a pretty bad offense," I offered, glancing around before turning to the bar counter again, leaning on it with my elbows, my arms crossed. “Even on short leave, behind the lines, you're still never supposed to get drunk in case they need to call for reinforcements. But none of the officers really care, as long as you don't go causing trouble. Anyone who would report him for getting the wind knocked out of them would face the double-punishment of military reprimand."

“I see," Larissa nodded with what seemed to be genuine interest.

“What's in a highland cider, anyway," I asked out of curiosity.

“You'll like it – it's sweet," she replied.

“Oh," I nodded – I didn't care too much for sweet drinks, actually, but I figured that I might as well try it.

“Honestly, I didn't take you for the kind of person who drinks."

“What? What do you mean," I asked, slightly offended.

“Calm down, I'm just joking," she laughed. “I know an alcoholic when I see one."

“Oh, very funny," I replied sarcastically. “And yes, I drink…And I'm paying for yours, too."

“Oh, really?" She stated with a sly smile as she playfully slapped my arm. I shot her a confused look. “Sorry, force of habit," she replied. “Part of the trade, yes? But really, you don't have to do that."

“No, you're low on funds," I insisted. “Besides, you helped me to find free food." The barback came over to us with two large glass beer mugs of sparkling cider, overflowing at the top with foam. He was a thin, scrawny man with a severely-unkempt blond moustache, which was a stark contrast to his greasy brown hair. Compared to Yergov (who had disappeared into the kitchen for the moment), he was a pathetic sight. Still, though – he had kind-looking eyes. Perhaps he would have stayed for conversation if the place were not swamped with customers. He practically slapped the mugs upon the counter in front of us without a word and them immediately raced off to fill whatever order was waiting next.

“You'll have to let me know what you think," Larissa stated, grabbing her mug by the handle and taking a sip. I grabbed mine and took a large swig, which proved to be a mistake, as immediately my mouth was awash with a rich, sickeningly-sweet liquid, almost honey-like in flavor, only lighter, and sparkling. She could tell I didn't like it (I practically had to force myself to swallow it), and laughed. “That's why you have to take sips," she offered.

“I know that now," I gasped. “Jeez!" She continued to chuckle.

“You're the first person I've met who's not liked it."

“I find that hard to believe," I coughed. The cider was also surprisingly strong, a sensation masked by its sweetness.

“I can't imagine you as a soldier," She stated as we both turned to look out at the bar, our backs leaned against the counter.

“Really? How so?"

“You're too nice," she replied frankly.

“Well, to be fair, most of these mates just came back from hell," I reasoned. “I reckon a few of them have just lost very good friends." I stared into the crowd. For a moment, I focused on one table of five soldiers, bundled tightly against the cold, smiling and laughing as they played a game of cards. A sixth member stood behind one of them, his hand on his shoulder, telling some amusing story that only one or two of the others seemed to be listening to, a drink in hand. The table was cluttered with bottles and glasses, rendering it almost difficult for them to play the game. Suddenly, a seventh soldier shuffled behind one of the players, put a hand on his back, and they all turned to him. He must have been a friend, because they all smiled and greeted him warmly, inviting him to stand at the table, making the same offer to his friend, who had come in just behind him. “They can be pretty awful, but it's tough to be in the infantry," I muttered. “Makes you want to just fill yourself with alcohol on your days off." We were silent for a few moments, allowing the noise and clamor of the joyous-sounding bar to envelop us both.

“I'm going to see my brother," Larissa finally stated. It took me a moment to realize that she was referring to our crossing the Front.

“Is he in the Northern territories?" I realized that I probably shouldn't push any questions.

“No," she replied, her tone much more serious and solemn. “He's far East, in a neutral country."

“What's he doing there?" Larissa sighed. I could tell that this was painful for her. I was about to tell her that she didn't have to tell me anything, but she continued, anyway.

“I grew up in a small village in North-Agranda," she began, her eyes zoned out and looking off far into the distance, as if she could see into her past. “I'm the oldest of three sisters, but my brother is older than me."

“You don't need to tell me any of this," I interrupted. “Really." She turned her head and looked at me. I could tell that she wanted to.

“When the war crept closer to us," she continued after a moment. “My mother went to volunteer. She was always like that – that noble sort of spirit." She paused. “She served for only five months when we received the news that she had been killed. Not in any glorious way, of course – just one of a thousand others who are now buried beneath a little concrete block with a number on it. We were never well-off, but we were also never poor. With her gone, and little other money coming into the house, there was nothing we could do. My father was only good at baking, but that wasn't enough, and my brother had to raise the three of us. We struggled to make our way until the Northern Armies reached as far south as we lived. We didn't think they would ever advance that far again. We couldn't even afford to move." She paused, and looked out the window. I felt bad for her, of course, but at the same time wondered why she would tell me any of this. Perhaps she merely had nobody else to share it with. I took another sip of the disgustingly-sweet cider awkwardly as I tried to act as naturally as possible so as not to accidently offend her somehow.

“In the weeks and months after the carnage, when we fled further South, my father grew increasingly ill – almost too sick to work. My brother even wanted to join the army so that he could start earning money. But we talked him out of it…He's a genius – an expert at mathematics. We bet our futures on him – sold everything we could, and pooled together all the money we had, for him to apply to the best university we could afford, which happened to be in North-East Vaymansphere, North of the Henlot border. Unsurprisingly, he was accepted, and it took nearly all of our funds for him to travel there – this was back when the border was still relatively open…We thought that if he could earn his degree – which he has – he could get a good enough job to pay for all of us to go to university, as well."

“How long ago was this?" I wasn't sure if I should keep asking questions or simply let the conversation fizzle out. I, for one, felt extremely awkward, but Larissa had embarked upon this story with little precedent, and seemed to almost find comfort in her recounting of it, so I decided to allow things to continue.

“Our town was ransacked when he was fourteen – I was eight," she replied, glancing again out the window. "That was well over a decade ago – sixteen years, in fact."

“Is he still studying?"

“He earned his degree, and started teaching at the university, as well as working in some government job," Larissa continued. “But since then, Henlot's closed their Northern border entirely, and everywhere else is ravaged by the intensifying front line, so he can't come back for us like we had planned, nor can we get to him. He always sent us money, of course, but over the past few years, and as the war gets worse, less and less has actually been making it through the Front – I suspect most of it winds up in the mud somewhere." She paused, and swallowed. The next sentence would clearly be a hard one to say. “I have not heard from him in over a year." She paused. “And I am beginning to fear the worst." We were silent for a moment. I swallowed, unsure what to do or say, desperately combing my mind for some word or phrase that I could apply to the situation that would be appropriate. Instead, I merely took another sip of the cider as casually as I possibly could.

“From what we know, he's tried everything to find passage through the border," she continued. “But the both sides are good at uncovering those sorts of operations. Despite his education, and his employment, he couldn't even get in through Henlot – no one lower than an official ambassador or diplomat will get through in either direction, now, I hear. So, some months ago, I left my sisters with virtually all of the money I had, save what I needed to get by here, and told them that once I find Ravnick – my brother – I would come back for them. He would be able to pay for all of us to cross, now that I know how to do it." She ended, to my surprise maintaining her composure very well, though I could tell that the combined feeling of stress and guilt was gnawing away at her – it was a feeling I was familiar with very well.

“What will you do when you find him," I finally asked. She breathed heavily through her nostrils, and took another sip of the cider before continuing.

“I'll work any job I can find – a real one, this time – so that he can devote his time more to the university. Together we'll earn enough money to be able to pay for the voyage for my sisters." I nodded as I took another sip of the cider from my mug – I still hated it, but I drank it to have something to do and not look awkward as I listened to her story. I couldn't stop drinking it. To not, I worried, would come across as rude, somehow.

“What did your family do before the raid?"

“My mother and father worked as bakers, and my mother could also smith iron," she replied. “She was quite good at it," she added with a slight sideways nod.

“So have you been looking after your father, too?" I realized that she never once mentioned her father after describing what had become of her brother.

“My father's dead," she replied frankly, in an almost-casual tone. “He died almost five years after my brother left. By then, I was old enough to become a seamstress, but I've worked other jobs, here and there – anything from collecting scrap metal to cigar rolling."

“What do your sisters do?"

“Same thing – anything they can find…That's how I got into, well, prostitution," she shrugged, taking another large sip of cider. “I'll never let them find out about it – they can never know, but here and there, I learned my way around. It came in handy for this voyage, at least."

“Did Agranda really do nothing?" I knew that the situation in Agranda was dire, but this was appalling. Of course, I had heard hundreds of stories like Larissa's – maybe thousands – but for some reason, hearing it from her, here, was particularly troubling.

“The war hit Agranda hard," she stated frankly. “The economy is in shambles, and the political crisis left a fallout that we're still reeling from. There's not enough attention or money for welfare, I'm afraid. And there were people worse off than us – much worse. At least we never felt desperate enough to join the army. That happened to a lot of former friends." She paused. “Even the ones that completed their service unscathed never came back any better – they just continued doing exactly what they had been doing before, with only a small military pension to show for it. Nothing that they could possibly live on." We remained silent for a few moments. “I did serve as a medic in a hospital far behind the lines for almost a year," she added suddenly and swiftly, as if embarrassed by it. “It was shut down when the front moved, and I couldn't work there anymore." I realized that I probably shouldn't interject with an overly-inquisitive comment, but at that point I couldn't restrain myself any longer.

“Why are you telling me all this," I asked, perhaps a little too harshly. Larissa turned to me again, staring me in the eyes for a few, long seconds before answering.

“Because you actually listen," she replied. “I've poured my heart out for a number of soldiers – I like to pretend that they're listening, but I know that they're just faking it until they can hand me their money."

“I'm not like that," I said sympathetically.

“I know," she replied. “That's why I'm telling you any of this." She sighed, looking off into the distance again, her tone becoming slightly more lighthearted. “And don't feel like I'm asking you for anything. I just like to have someone to talk to. Besides, I'm sure you've gone through much worse." At this I was silent. My stomach tightened, and I worried that I would have to take my medicine, but the irritation quickly abated. I felt like I was obliged to tell her something deep and secretive about me – about who I was, why I was here, how my life got turned on its head…But I didn't. She probably didn't want to hear it. Not that I thought that she wouldn't listen if I did speak, but if talking to me about her life was what she wanted, how could I hand my burdens to her as well?

“But, if something positive has come out of any of this," she stated much more optimistically as she turned again to the bar counter, though still with a touch of lingering sorrow. “It is that I found the bar, with the best drinks, in all of Vaymansphere."

“Cheers to that," I nodded with raised eyebrows, and we toasted. I had almost finished the disgusting drink – I swallowed the rest down, just trying to get rid of it. “Ah," I heaved as I set the empty mug down on the counter.

“I thought you said you didn't like it."

“I don't," I replied, and chuckled. She laughed, too. I started to feel really good. The alcohol was manifesting itself faster than I expected. “How strong is this drink?"

“I'm actually not sure," Larissa shrugged. She shouted over to Yergov, who was once again behind the counter, at that point. “Yergov! How strong are the highland ciders?"

“About twenty-five or twenty-six percent," he shouted back.

“Oh my gosh," I laughed. “That mug was huge! How did you not know about the percentage?"

“I have a strong alcohol tolerance," Larissa chuckled. “It's honestly quite helpful in my trade," she joked. I laughed. I was sure that Novka would kill me if I ran into her in any way intoxicated. I began to worry that I was getting off task – I did have a job to do, after all, and drinking in a tavern with someone whose true motivations, for all I knew, could be completely secret, was a potential cause of disruption.

“Hey," Larissa grabbed my arm, which rested across the counter, as if sensing my worry. “Don't worry about it. He'll bring the food. You can enjoy yourself for a little while." Somehow, and likely with the aid of the alcohol, that calmed me down. Right then, the musicians started a new tune – a lively, upbeat, bouncing sort of song, with deep plucks of the bass and vigorous involvement of the accordion – and cheers went up through the crowd. People stood up, started clapping, made room, and grew excited as the song began to play.

“Oh, this is a good one," Larissa remarked as the smiling band leader began to strum his mandolin. It was clearly a favorite of the band's, too, as they bounced and swayed as much as they possibly could even given the limitations of their cumbersome instruments.

“Wait a minute, I know this song," I exclaimed as the crowd started clapping and snapping to the beat, nodding their heads from side to side or moving their arms up and down as they snapped the tempo.

“Really?"

“Yes! This was played all the time in Vishryad – soldiers love it."

“Then go sing it," Larissa urged.

“What? No, I can't."

“Why not, surely you know all the words," she pressed. “Take it from me – none of these soldiers know any of them. I've heard this being played for weeks."

“No, I shouldn't."

“Why?"

“Because I've had too much to drink." In actuality, I was extremely anxious at even the thought of singing among all these people – let alone soldiers. But Larissa urged me on.

“Oh, come on, you should do it." My chest shuddered as I heaved, nodding my head to the side with a wide grin that broke across my face.

“Oh my God," I shook my head in disbelief with an uncontrollable smile. Larissa smiled, too, giving me a knowing look. I suddenly no longer felt anxious about it. In fact, I felt great. I waited for the vocal part to come with impatience. When it arrived, I pushed myself off of the counter, and bellowed out in the loudest singing voice that I could muster, so as to be heard:

When I ven-tured out

With a knife, and rug,

Joined the army, too,

With a knife, and rug.

For a un-i-form,

And a wea-pon strong,

You just need a knife and rug.

To both my surprise and satisfaction, the musicians did not stop, and the crowd was not disrupted in their clapping; but, to the contrary, nearly all heads turned my way, smiles grew large, and the band, seeing that I knew the words, seemed to play with increasingly-vigorous strength and liveliness. My confidence grew, and, after turning to Larissa to catch her giving a supportive smile, I walked towards the center of the room, holding out my arms as I was carried away with the song.

And the sol-diers,

Well, they just let me in,

And the widows,

Well, they just let me in,

For a partner's heart

Is a won-drous praise,

But they'll never know of my ar-my days.

Well once on the fields,

Saw the en-e-my,

And I shouted there

To the en-e-my:

And they ran like hell,

Yes they did, in-deed,

But they ne-ver could catch me.

And one day, my friends,

I was wal-king strong,

For that day, my friends,

I was wal-king strong…1

The beat and rhythm of the song surrounded me. A space cleared around the center of the room where I stood singing, nodding my head from side to side, my arms still outstretched triumphantly. The other soldiers bounced in squats, danced in little bounds, and rocked their heads in perfect sync with the music, as if the tavern itself were a surging, throbbing ocean of swelling waves, and the only way to survive it and to not drown was to give in to the atmosphere, and the more one gave in, the more vigorous and smooth the wide motions became, the roaring white noise of foam beginning to surge over the crowd: “hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" I couldn't resist and started kicking, bringing my hands to my side and slowly raising them. The soldiers lost it. They cheered like mad, and clapped and chanted even harder. I made eye contact with Larissa – she was still leaning up against the bar, holding another drink, smiling with her head tilted downward slightly. She nodded and raised her glass a little when I made eye contact. For some reason, I felt the need to do something impressive, to make everyone in the tavern respect me.

When the vocal part ended, I dropped into a squat and started kicking. Cheers rang out ferociously. After only a few seconds, my legs started to burn – I had not performed this dance in months, at least, maybe even a year. But I still had what I took out of the army. I dropped back onto my hands, shooting an arm forward and kicking out the opposite foot in turn. The claps grew even louder, and more rhythmic. The beat of the bass being plucked seemed to overwhelm everything with its droning enchantment. The crowd went on, and I launched to my heels, my toes pointed diagonally into the air to either side, my hands on my hips. I went back down again, into a squat, and once again launched myself up. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!"

I was getting tired, so I performed some simpler standing dances for a while before I began doing the squat-kicks a few moments longer, launched to my feet, and bowed just at the ending of the song. I immediately tried to look around for Larissa, but I was quickly overwhelmed with soldiers who pressed against me, patting me on the back and shoulders, shaking my hand, and shouting congratulatory words into my face.

“That was incredible mate, I…"

“Nicely done, sir…"

“I don't think I've ever seen…"

“My God, where did you learn to dance like…"

“Have you ever met Lawrence Stirling? He could do the…"

“Goodness' sakes, man! Where on Earth did you…"

“That is probably the most…"

“Come on, here, let us buy you a drink, lad…" The compliments went on and on, and I had so many drunk soldiers shoving drinks in my face that I didn't know what to do. I was completely overwhelmed with stimuli, and still panting, sweating, and exhausted from my break-neck routine. Half-involuntarily, I fell down into an empty chair, those around me clearing away a little and lowering me the rest of the way.

“Just give him space, lads, mate just put on quite a show for us," I heard one of them say, and most of the soldiers began resuming the card games and conversations that had filled the bustling tavern before, as the band started a new song.

“I must admit, it was a phenomenal show," a familiar voice agreed from above me. I shot my head up to see Forticay standing there, a bundle of cloth, presumably concealing food, under his arm.

“Forticay," I exclaimed, half surprised and shocked to see him and half glad that he had seen my performance.

“Relax," Forticay reassured as he took the seat next to me – we both had our backs to the table. “I thought it was quite impressive. Besides, this should be more than enough preserves," he affirmed as he slammed the hulking mass down upon the table. “They had quite a bit of salted meat." He brushed the snow from the sleeves and shoulders of his coat. “It's really coming down, now." I looked outside to see that the snow was indeed falling heavily in large, thick flakes. “I'd say we'll be up to our ankles in it by the time we make it back to the inn. Did you get the bread?"

“We've found some," I assured. “The bartender has it, but he's a bit busy at the moment. What brought you here, anyway?"

“I was looking around, seeing if there was anything else worth my time," Forticay stated. “And then I saw all sorts of commotion going on in here, so I decided to take a look." He crossed his legs and unbuttoned his long black overcoat. “Sure did warm the place up quite a bit. By the way, where's Larissa?"

“Oh, she's just over…" I trailed off as I tried to search for her, scanning the room until I saw a glimpse of light blue. I was about to call over to her, when I saw the man standing next to her. He was a short, disheveled-looking man, with dark-green scales, and dressed in full private's uniform, hat and all. He was clearly heavily intoxicated, and drunkenly babbled on in conversation with a wide grin as he swayed from side to side, his arm around Larissa's shoulders. She merely stared at him with her signature, polite smile. I was furious. I shot to my feet and strode my way over to the bar counter.

“Where you going?" I didn't reply. The crowd was so dense that I had to shove, squeeze, and push my way over to Larissa. When I finally burst forth from the mass of bodies, she looked at me with a casual expression, as if nothing were amiss. The soldier merely cut himself off and looked up at me with confusion, his smile fading slowly.

“What are you doing?" I demanded, almost forcefully.

“I am working," Larissa replied as if it should be obvious and I should not care. The man laughed, letting his head fall to the side, clearly finding amusement at her response.

“No you don't," I protested frankly with a quick shake of the head.

“Tovef, this is my work. I'm sorry, but please go away," she affirmed with increased frankness.

“Oy, fuck off!" The soldier turned to me with a snarl. He was disgustingly drunk.

“Don't do this," I urged,

“Tovef." Larissa was visibly frustrated.

“What is he paying you?" I demanded.

“What?" The soldier squinted in confusion.

“However much it is, I'll double it," I insisted.

“Tovef, please," Larissa repeated. I pulled a wad of salir from my coat and slapped it down on the counter.

“Oy, get out of here, lad," The soldier again demanded.

“I'm not taking your money," Larissa asserted firmly.

“Either you take it, or it stays there, but it's not going back in my pocket," I said sternly.

“Hey, I'm talkin' to you," the soldier shouted as he pushed himself from the counter and gave me a hard shove. I did not anticipate his strength, and stumbled backward into some of the soldiers behind me. They seemed surprised, but they didn't really care.

“Easy lad, you all right," one of them asked as he placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Just you try and do that again," I seethed to the private who shoved me, shaking myself away from the man who had spoken. I could see anger flash in his dim, orange eyes. Already there were several others who had taken notice of the unfolding event with unease, and Larissa looked especially concerned that we would start some sort of brawl. Just before the man could charge at me, I heard a shout from further into the bar.

“Oy! Something wrong?" We turned to see a young lieutenant standing at the end of the bar counter. She had light-green scales, and wore her officer's uniform smartly. Oh, God, I thought to myself. Now I've gotten myself in trouble with the forty-fifth division. The officer walked over, elegantly and with a certain sternness that was only apparent in junior officers who took their positions way too seriously. I knew these kinds of officers – I had met dozens of them during my service. If you could befriend them, you were set; if not, then you better not mess with one of their pets. Clearly, she would favor this man over me.

“No, madam," the man who had shoved me replied, lowering his head. “Nothing wrong."

“Look at me when you're speaking, will you?" The lieutenant snapped. She then turned to me.

“Well, this is a sight," she stated, placing her hands on her hips and looking me over head to toe. I wanted to punch her in the face. “What are you, from the fifteenth?"

“No, lieutenant," I replied calmly, with effort, and a nod. She stared at me silently for a few moments, clearly displeased.

“Papers," she demanded calmly, holding out her hand.

“Lieutenant, please," I began to try to reason with her, but I was cut off.

“Papers," she asked again, more firmly.

“Officer, this man is just an overprotective friend, he meant no harm at all in-"

“I will determine what harm this man has caused and whether it is worthy of punishment," the officer stated swiftly, cutting Larissa off. She looked taken aback, but did not protest any more. I reached inside my coat and handed the woman my years-old military booklet, which was all I had on me. It was faded and literally falling apart at the seams, but it was still legitimate, technically. She took the documents from me and began to leaf through them. “We can't tolerate behavior like this," she stated, her head down as she flipped through the tattered booklet. “If two soldiers on the same side are going almost to blows over some…Lady, how can we possibly expect to hold our own against the Northern Army's forces?" She stopped at a particular page that seemed to interest her.

“Ah, I see you've not served for some time," she nodded as if this were extremely interesting. “And, ooh, this is you," she stated with mock excitement as she turned the booklet around, displaying the page which had the headshot. “And, let's see," she continued as another soldier – presumably one of her adjutants, as he was a corporal – stepped up next to her. “It seems that you are…" The lieutenant stopped. She suddenly looked confused. She turned to the corporal, showing him my papers, and he seemed equally thrown off. The two exchanged some whispers, turning, and even the private who had shoved me seemed confused. I glanced at Larissa – her expression was a mix of concern and confusion. I didn't know what to expect, but I feared what would come next. In the next moment, my fears were confirmed.

“Well, I apologize," the lieutenant nodded with a smile, her mood renewed. “I didn't realize that we were speaking with a war hero." Larissa, once again, looked taken back. “It is an honor to meet you, Lieutenant Halfe."

“I'm sorry, you're a war hero," Larissa asked.

“Well everybody in the seventy-ninth company knows who he is," the officer scoffed with apparent praise.

“Fifty-two confirmed kills," the corporal added. “And that's just the ones he was counting." All eyes turned to me. I swallowed.

“I did what I had to," I muttered.

“Oh, come now," the officer beckoned. “Let us buy you a drink; I'm sorry about all this mess." By now, the private had grown increasingly frustrated.

“Hang on, lieutenant, he was going to attack me," he protested.

“Oh, please, Markel," the lieutenant dismissed his objections. “I'm sure he simply misunderstood what was going on. Besides, knowing you, I'm sure you shoved him first." The private's expression seemed to flare with anger, but he knew that there was nothing he could do about it, so he went away in a huff.

“Fifty-two confirmed kills?" Larissa confirmed.

“And probably more," the lieutenant shrugged. “Not to mention taking out an entire machine-gunner's nest by himself, I hear. Come on, at least one drink." I wanted to protest, but she placed a hand on my back and practically pushed me to the bar counter. I was now between her and Larissa.

“How come you never mentioned that when you talked about when you were in the army," Larissa asked with a touch of offense, though more so out of curiosity.

“I don't like to talk about it," I replied. “Killing is killing, whether it's in war or during peace."

“Aye, if only half of my men were like you," the lieutenant smiled, giving me another hard slap on the back. “Two beers, please, sharp ale." She sniffled and blew her nose with a white handkerchief before stuffing it back into her pocket. “I always appreciate stoicism to the vainglorious pride with which others wear their medals. If you go to war because you know you have to, well, that's one thing, but if you treat it like a sport…That's just dangerous."

“So you've heard of Tovef all the way over here," Larissa asked, leaning over the counter to see the lieutenant better, clearly not ready to let this matter go. I could not tell if she was fascinated or annoyed with me for some reason.

“Well, our battalion used to be stationed closer to the Western Front," the lieutenant replied. “But recently we were integrated into the forty-fifth division due to the high casualties over here. Us and a lot of others, actually. Anyway, your friend here is pretty well known the further West you move down the line. But, jeez, mate, I've not heard anything of you in at least two or so years." Yergov came by and brought us our ales, as well as a small cloth sack full of what I assumed was the stale bread. I remembered that I hadn't paid for the other drinks and pulled some money from my pocket, counting out a few salir.

“Here's the food you asked for," he stated. “Was that man earlier bothering you?"

“Oh, no, he's fine," I assured. “Thank you," I nodded. He gave me a slight smile and returned about his business, clearly still very busy. I turned back to the lieutenant, who seemed slightly confused as to why I was being handed bread in a sack. She suddenly snapped herself back to reality, however, and leaned her head over the bar counter as she scratched the back of her neck.

“Um, forgive me for asking, but, um," she began rather awkwardly, clearly embarrassed or worried about offending me with her next question. “What are you doing here?" She said this with a squint and a slight shake of the head, her awkward smile indicating confusion and her tone one of disbelief. My mind raced to think of an answer, but before I could, I felt the hard metal end of the muzzle of a pistol being shoved into the back of my head, sending it forward slightly.

“I don't care if you're a bloody war hero, you're dead to me," the private from earlier seethed drunkenly. The lieutenant, with remarkable speed, lunged away from the bar counter and shoved the man's arm up, the pistol discharging above my head and the bullet clattering through the planks in the opposite wall near the ceiling as a loud bang echoed throughout the room. More terrifying, frankly, was Yergov's reaction.

“Get out!" He boomed in a ferocious shout, having already made his way around the bar, striding towards the private who was too drunk to register the situation, instead looking for his pistol which he had dropped. Yergov grabbed the man by the back of his coat and dragged him violently through the bar, the man's boots dragging along the ground. Everyone got out of his way and the room went silent, Yergov pushing tables and chairs out of his path as he pulled the man towards the door. “I don't ever want to see you back here, a-gain!" He heaved as he tossed the man literally into the air through the doorway, where he presumably landed face-first in the snow on the street.

“Right, then…" the lieutenant finished nervously, taking a final swig of her beer. “I need to go take care of that man. Don't worry – I'll have him arrested. I'm sorry about this, Halfe," she nodded sympathetically, clearly distraught at having made a poor impression on me, and strode to the door, grabbing her coat from a chair and throwing it on as she rushed to the exit, the corporal, who had disappeared until now, following closely behind.

“Well, that was…Eventful," Forticay remarked as he trudged up next to Larissa. “I thought you were a dead man."

“We should go," Larissa stated.

“I agree," I concurred. “Thank you, Yergov," I shouted to the bartender, now once again behind the counter, filling orders, as if nothing at all had happened.

“Any time," he nodded. “Remember that if you're ever back in Ressex, there's a safe place for you in Austlotz."

“That I will," I replied with a pursed smile. I grabbed the cloth bag and my hat and the three of us walked out of the tavern onto the street. We were immediately met with a bitter cold. I shoved my ushanka onto my head as we paced by the small crowd of soldiers lifting the ejected private up by the arms, likely to haul him off to a holding center.

“Bloody lunatic that man was," Forticay muttered. “I saw him coming at you with a pistol from where I was sitting," he exclaimed with a laugh. “I would have shouted, but he had that thing against your head before I could utter a word."

“Yes," Larissa nodded with a thoughtful expression. “I was worried that I was going to have to wash blood out of my coat." The snow was still coming down quite hard, and within moments, my shoulders were white with the powdery substance. The wind had picked up, too, but thankfully was blowing at our backs, and not in our faces. “I love the snow," Larissa stated. “No matter how ugly everything around you is, it always manages to hide it under its beauty." I looked around: she was right. The shelled-out streets, the buildings riddled with shrapnel and bullet holes, and the decrepit wagons and carts that rested here and there along the houses manifested themselves much-lighter, and more-friendly and welcoming, under the snow than they did when fully exposed. Even the muddy street was blissfully painted over with white. We walked in silence, admiring the snow, until another voice broke us out of our trance.

“Fancy seeing you all here," Vage stated frankly as he approached from behind, lumbering through the snow in his long coat. We turned and waited for him to catch up. Under one arm was bundled a standard Federation uniform, the black winter hat even resting on top.

“You found one!" Forticay stated with disbelief. “How did you manage?" Vage caught up with us and we continued walking.

“Oh, just some soldier who lost a game of cards and will likely be docked a month's wages in the near future," he replied as if it were nothing.

“Ah, that makes two," Forticay joked. Larissa chuckled. So did I.

“What?"

“Oh, nothing," I said dismissively.

“Tovef nearly got his head blown off," Forticay blurted with a smile.

“You know what…" Vage began, and then thought better of it. “I don't even want to know." We all laughed at that. “Did you get the food?"

“We sure did," Forticay replied beamingly. “Some dried fruits, some preserves, some salted meat…"

“And a lot of stale bread," I added.

“Well, I'm used to worse," Vage muttered.

“How about you," Forticay asked. “Have you procured anything that may put us in a more, say, advantageous position tomorrow?"

“Actually, I did hear something mildly concerning," Vage replied.

“Oh?"

“One of the soldiers I was playing with remarked how quiet the front is supposedly today," he stated.

“But I thought the front line was under heavy shelling – it's been rumbling all day."

“Not according to these chumps," Vage replied. “I confirmed with a few others, too, to make sure that it wasn't just some misconstrued rumor."

“But that doesn't make any sense," I reasoned. “If there was no shelling near here, why did they cancel our escort…You don't think there's reason to be that worried, do you?"

“No, I don't," Vage replied. “More likely one of their contacts couldn't work for them today, or they realized that they didn't have the supplies they needed, or any number of other things that would be embarrassing enough for their business that it would be more convenient to blame it on shelling. But I still think it's worth sharing with the group, when Strelna's not around, or that little prick Henrich."

“What an Ass," Forticay muttered.

“You know, he's almost never spoken a word to me," Larissa stated thoughtfully.

“Really?" I was surprised. “Haven't you been there for a while, now?"

“I once said good morning to him, to try and be nice, and he just stared at me," she continued.

“That's ridiculous," I muttered. “Who works in a job like that and doesn't learn to treat people nicer. With the kinds of people paying to cross the Front, you'd imagine he'd want to make as much as possible in tips."

“True," Forticay nodded. “But also what kinds of people dance the most impressively I've ever seen, reveal that they're a war hero, and then almost take a bullet to the skull in under twenty minutes?"

“Very true," I remarked with a nod. We all chuckled at this, except for Vage, who merely sighed.

“Once again, I don't want to know," he repeated. We walked on, the snow coming down heavily over us, and soon arrived at the inn, the wind really picking up and the snow really coming down.

---

The room was warm, and the evening was growing late. Novka and Martin had returned with our fake military papers shortly after we arrived back at the house, having apparently visited a printing shop to get some things corrected. They distributed them to us with the parental-like instructions to not lose them. They then went with Forticay to scout out some place to find food for the morning, since he knew the market well, and they had not been back since. For dinner, the rest of us merely ate some of the meagre rations that we had purchased throughout the day, little-appetizing as they were.

Since it was just me, Larissa, and Vage, the three of us talked some, but for the most part, Vage merely occupied his time reading a book with a cobalt-blue cover that had been sitting on one of the end tables by the couch along the wall. I thought it was poetry, which somewhat surprised me, but he was clearly invested in it, and evidently was a remarkably-fast reader, having red through nearly a third of the modest little volume by the time I was ready to start eating. He ate silently and then returned immediately to his book.

“Thanks again for suggesting your friend with the bread," I stated as I munched on the crunchy pieces of stale sliced bread, trying not to let the texture bother me – once again, army life had accustomed me to much worse.

“Yergov? It's no problem," Larissa replied. We were sitting in the exact same places that we had been the previous night.

“Does he know that you, uh…"

“Yes, but he doesn't care," she shrugged. “I think he knows a desperate soul when he sees one, and he'll even try to do everything he can to make you more at ease, but for the most part, he just doesn't care who goes through there. I've seen worse things happen under his watch."

“What do you mean?" I was confused as to the implications of what she had just said. Larissa glanced up from her food.

“I told you to get on his good side," was all that she said. “And you did, so don't worry about it." We were silent for a few moments.

“I'm sorry about that whole mess back there."

“It's fine," Larissa reassured. “Besides, it was only almost a mess."

“Good for me, then, that it wasn't."

“And good for the soldier," Larissa chuckled. “Yergov would have killed him if he had spilled your blood and brains all over his bar counter."

“I'm not convinced he didn't kill him," I joked.

“Well, either way, worked out great for you." I began to tidy up my space – I had been eating over a little washcloth that I had found in the washroom, which I now brushed the crumbs from the table onto, folding it and placing it in the table's center. “By the way," I began again. “I hope you don't think of me as a soldier."

“What? No," Larissa assured. “I told you – you're not like the other soldiers."

“No, but I am," I replied. “Or at least, I was…But I was just carrying out my duty. Following orders; like every other miserable person out there. I never wanted any of this to happen, and I never felt proud of killing anybody."

“Really? Because I was under the impression that you helped to create this war and killed for sport." I chuckled at that.

“But, seriously, I'm not proud of the things I've done, on or off the battlefield," I sighed.

“Tovef, regardless of whatever it is you're telling yourself, you have to know that I think you're a good person, regardless of whatever it is that you've done." I swallowed. I became teary-eyed for some reason, and I felt a certain warmth grow in my chest. Was it embarrassment? Surely. I could feel my face getting red.

“Ah, dammit, there's a stain," I grumbled, trying to change the subject, as I looked down and pointed out a stain on my jacket that I had obtained earlier. “I must have gotten it at the bar."

“I have a paste you can use."

“Really?"

“Of course – you put it on, and the stain comes right off," she explained. “How do you think I keep my coat so clean?"

“I mean, if you don't mind," I shrugged.

“Sure – it's in my room." She got up and led me down the hallway, Vage not seeming to take any notice of our departure in the slightest. We went to the last door at the end of the hall, which opened into a room no different at all from Temlot's, except that there was no separate door to a washroom. Two lanterns hanging on opposite sides of the ceiling illuminated the place. The bed was positioned length-wise against the wall, the same plain, white sheets that were upon Temlot's bed being on this one, as well,

“Close the door, please," she stated. “I don't want any of the heat to escape." I did as I was told, making sure that the door closed with a click, and when I turned around, I saw that she was sitting on the bed and had already taken her sweater off, revealing her bare chest and belly. Oh fuck.

“This is a dreadfully-uncomfortable sweater," she complained, holding it up for me to see before throwing the piece of brown fabric down against the bed. “It's been bothering me all day. Now," she said, reaching into a little brown backpack, which was beside her bed along the wall. “Where was that stain?"

“Um…Right here." I pointed to the spot on my jacket where the stain was.

“Well, take it off," she stated as if that was common sense. “This will stain your skin pretty badly if you get it on you, ironic as it is, so better to be safe."

“Uh…" My hands clenched the fabric of my jacket as I stood there indecisively for a few moments before I finally slowly pulled it out from my pants and began to unbutton it. “Sorry," I said, awkwardly, as I fumbled nervously with the buttons. “These are quite difficult to manage…"

“Buttons?"

“Hm? Yeah." Oh my God, what was I doing? You could just walk out of here right now, I told myself. Nothing at all would be different. But would it? I couldn't tell if she wanted this or not – it looked like she did; and, if I was being honest, I wanted this. But what if she felt obliged to do it because I had actually listened to her tragic tales about her upbringing? No, look at her, she's instigated all of this. But I couldn't do it – I swore I broke off that habit. I couldn't go back now. I finally got the jacket off. Larissa took it and spread it out on a wooden chair in the corner, using a swab on the inside of the cap of the small square bottle to gently rub the white cleaning ointment across the stain in gentle, circular motions. She stood up, still completely shirtless, and walked over to me, her tail trailing in slow motions behind her, as I continued to stand awkwardly in the center of the room.

“You can sit down while it dries," she said in an almost-bewildered tone as she nodded to the bed. “No need to stand there." I slowly obliged. Awkwardly sitting on the bed, my feet firmly planted to the ground, with my hands on my knees, I could feel my heart rate intensify as Larissa sat next to me. “Oh, there's a stain there, too." Dread washed over me. Was that dread? No, maybe anxiety? Oh, for the love of God, I knew exactly what it was. She reached for my shirt – which, as it turned out, actually did have a stain on it – and began unbuttoning the top button when I finally spoke up.

“You know, you don't have to do this," I stated, gently grabbing her wrist. It felt warm and scaly, but smooth. Part of me was relieved that I had gathered the courage to say that, and the other half was screaming for me to stop and let things continue the way they were going. I hated making decisions between something I wanted and something that I believed was right. But why did I think that it was right to leave? Was it right?

“What do you mean?" I looked up at Larissa. She was smiling her signature, kindhearted smile, only now there was more life in it – it was no longer merely a business trick. Her eyes glimmered in the dim lantern light. I swallowed, my erection growing fast in my pants – I could feel myself slipping away.

“Uh, I mean, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," I repeated again, more slowly. I didn't know how else to put it.

“You already paid me," she shrugged, and I recalled the money that I left on the bar counter.

“That…Shouldn't matter." She gently brought her clawed hand to my shoulder, and gingerly moved it down my arm, sending a tingling sensation shooting through my body. I would have given anything to not be there and at the same time wanted to be exactly right where I was. I stared down at her hand – it was all I could do to keep from looking back up at her. What would happen if I did again? I didn't know the answer to that, and that scared me.

“I don't care about the money, then," she stated after a while, in a polite yet matter-of-fact tone, stroking my shoulder again, this time dragging her claws gently down my back, my brown winter shirt all that separated her hand from my skin. Damn, that felt really good. “If it puts your mind at ease, know that I think that you're a good person, and I'm really thankful for what you've done for me today."

“But that's just it," I suddenly blurted as I stood up, turning to her. She seemed slightly surprised. Half of me was shouting for me to stop. “You don't…Owe me anything." She had a look of perplexity upon her face, and I felt that I could no longer deny to myself that she was doing this for me, or so I convinced myself. Just do it, the eager side of me urged. She clearly wants this, and so do you. You'll be doing her a favor. If you leave, well how rude would that be? But on the other hand, she was in a vulnerable position. I continued to look at her – she really was extremely attractive, the lantern light almost glimmering off the brightly-colored scales of her chest and belly. Her tail extended out along the bed, in a flowing sort of way. But her face, in particular, was so kind, so forgiving. She told me how she had walked through hell and back and here she looked like she had never even learned what war was. I wanted to scream. My eyes started to water. I hated myself.

She finally simply put a thumb inside the lining of her pants and slowly began to slide them down, propping herself higher on the bed to do so. I didn't know what to do. I was frozen. I looked to my jacket, still spread out on the chair: maybe the stain would be gone and that would be my chance to leave. No, what a cowardly way to do it.

“Wait," I urged, walking up to her and placing my hands on her arms. She merely looked back up at me. I stared down at her. Slowly, she brought her hand to my head and gently stroked the side of my face, running her clawed hand through my hair above my ear. The pleasant sensation washed over me and I felt overwhelmed with desire. I thought of resisting for half a second before I gave in. I sat down on the bed next to her and placed my hands around her head and neck, moving them up and down across the rough yet smooth surface of her scales as I stared into her eyes. She leaned in, and before I even knew it, her tongue was in my mouth. I enjoyed it, closing my eyes and engaging back, shoving my face so close to hers that her teeth pressed against my forehead and chin, as if she were about to bite my face off. Her claws gently dug through my hair, finding the back of my head and stroking the skin down to my lower neck as my breathing intensified and I let out short, satisfied exhales. She eventually grabbed my hand, forced it to her upper chest, and dragged it down her body slowly, running it along her chest, and then her stomach, until it reached her pants. Suddenly, that other side of me staged its counteroffensive, and I again abruptly stood up.

“I'm sorry- I- I can't- Uh- I mean…I don't think I should," I stammered.

“What are you talking about," she asked, finally sounding annoyed at my ridiculous behavior. “I can't tell what's going on with you."

“It's just, I have a problem," I protested, trying desperately to defend myself. “I've spent way too much money on this sort of thing throughout the course of my life, and it's really led me to a lot of problems, and I…" I trailed off. I couldn't think of what to say.

“For the last time: it's not about the money," Larissa exclaimed exasperatedly. “I don't care about the money; you can have your money back."

“No, that's not what I-"

“I just think you're a good person, ok," she stated. “And you're the only good person who I've come into contact with in a long time."

“See, that's my point," I exclaimed as I pointed at her. “You're doing this, because you have no other options. But there are other options." I could hear how insensitive and obtuse my words sounded. My mind was shouting for me to stop talking – I was ruining everything, again.

“But I'm not," Larissa countered with a disbelieved chuckle, clearly frustrated. “This is my choice," she shook her head slightly, as if in disbelief. I didn't blame her.

“Look, I'm just uncomfortable with the fact that someone in your position-"

“You don't know anything about my position," she shook her head again in frustration, throwing her arms up a little. “And frankly, I think that you're just scared, because this time you're not paying for it."

“What?" I was confused, and slightly offended. We both went silent. Me, standing there in the center of the room, and her, half naked and awkwardly sitting upon the bed, but still somehow completely beautiful.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mea-" She began to apologize.

“No, no, it's fine," I assured, holding up my hands and raising my eyebrows. “I…I'm sorry. I- I…I'm sorry." She looked up at me with regretful eyes. Holy shit. I placed a hand on my hip and looked around. “I- I just…don't know what's wrong with me."

“No, I…I'm sorry I put you in that situation," she apologized, which only made me feel worse. I wanted to say more, but she ended it right then and there. “You can take your jacket whenever you'd like – it should be dry, now." I nodded in understanding, breathing heavily through my nostrils. I grabbed my green officer's jacket – the white patch where the paste was applied still somewhat remaining – and threw it on, not bothering to button it or tuck it in. I as I reached the door, I turned saw that she was still sitting there, only now with her legs curled up onto the bed, her tail spread out down the center, curving, like a light-blue river. She was just gazing up at me. I wanted to apologize again, but all that came out was a sad “good night." She nodded at me, and I left, slowly closing the door behind me, staring at my hand on the knob so as not to make eye contact. I walked back into the sitting room and dug through my bag, finding my lighter and cigarette case and thrusting them into my pocket.

“Where are you off to," Vage asked as I shoved my arm through the sleeve of my coat.

“To smoke," I replied frankly in a huff, perhaps with a touch of anger, though he didn't seem to pick up on it.

“Smoke in here," he offered.

“I want to see the snow." This must not have been amusing enough to warrant a reply, as he continued to leaf aimlessly through his poetry book. Fastening the coat around myself with the strap, I made sure to keep it tight, as I wasn't planning on buttoning my jacket. I walked outside, setting my ushanka on top of my head as I closed the door, and paced down the street. It was completely dark out, save a single lantern that had been left in the window of one of the other buildings for some reason – likely someone was awake writing or cleaning. Perhaps they were a poet, and maybe they were writing a love poem, completely unaware of what had just occurred a few meters from their house. I walked with my gloved hands behind my back as the snow – which was falling lighter now, with no wind – continued to sink in slow, delicate flakes, until I remembered that I had come out there to smoke, at which point I grabbed my lighter and cigarette case from my pocket and ignited one of the little white rolls of tobacco that I had grown so accustomed to while in the infantry.

I sighed while letting out the first breath of smoke and leaned against a building opposite the one with the lantern, watching the circle of light that radiated from its figure illuminate the falling snow in that area, like little people falling from here to there, not exactly sure where they'll land, but not particularly caring.

“I am such a fucking idiot," I muttered, completely dissatisfied with myself. Why did I leave? I had no good answer for that. “You're just one big idiot who can't learn from his mistakes." I felt like a huge ass. What on Earth was wrong with me? What was even going on? I was so disoriented. Was I making a big deal out of nothing? I stood out there, silently, in the cold, and smoked no less than three cigarettes as I stared off into space, until I heard the familiar voice of Forticay in the distance, and realized that the others were returning. I had no desire to speak with them, so I snuffed my fourth cigarette out under my boot and trudged back to the house. When I got inside and took of my coat, I saw in the light that the stain on my jacket was completely gone.

---

Footnotes:

1. I feel it fair to mention here that I loosely based some of these lyrics upon George Formby's _Guarding the Home of the Home Guard _(1940-ish https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejIodmV0BQs), though the tune I had in mind for this little song is pretty similar to this: https://sonichits.com/video/Vorkutintsy/Sonia\_Celebrates\_(Odessa\_Song)\_%5BSonechka\_spravljaet\_amenin%D1%8B%5D?track=1.