p.

arbaran | training days: month 5

There is a certain kind of safety that Rymala finds beneath a clear night sky. No cloud means more light,
and more light used to mean less kids shuffling off somewhere dangerous afterhours. She could easily see
even when it’s dim, but the kids couldn’t, and that’s enough for them to stay out and stay safe. Right. The
kids. It’s been a while since she’s seen them. She only hopes Ledrian and Ivena are keeping the younger
ones in check. If they’re still alive, that is.
The snap of a twig from a few meters away gets Rymala’s eyes shoot to her right, and she finds Galaeron
and Joseph walking by, Joseph playing with his little rat and the other man silent and contemplative.
“Hey,” Rymala greets. They give her back a friendly hello and sit next to the spot she lies on.
“Not asleep yet?” Joseph says.
“Nah. Can’t. Thinking too much.” Though about what, Rymala isn’t sure.
“Me as well,” says Galaeron sympathetically. “It is hard, being here.”
Rymala doubts so, seeing that Galaeron is always patiently following every procedure to the T. (Yes,
much unlike her who rolls her eyes at everything, or Gurt who always finds a way to skip doing heavy
lifting, or Federico who somehow talks the ears off commanding officers about his books so much that
they dismiss him.) The training’s not that hard, Rymala thinks. But being here, confined, watched,
monitored… the feeling of eyes burning into her back never stops itching her skin.
“It’s kinda nice that they give us food and shelter at least,” Joseph replies with cheer in his voice. He
caresses his rat’s head with a finger and the tiny thing makes a face. Rymala reaches out to touch it too,
and Joseph lowers his hand closer to her.
Galaeron answers with ah, yeah, that…, typical of someone who didn’t grow up in the streets. Rymala
can’t agree with Joseph because even before all this, robbing the rich a little and stealing some food every
now and then was enough for her food and shelter, and back then no one watched her like eagles. Some
looked with contempt, some with annoyance, some with indifferent familiarity. But none of the
anticipation. None of the expectations, stares that say if you do one wrong thing… (she doesn’t want to
continue this thought. The kids will be fine.)
Joseph’s chatter continues as he takes the rat back to his hold. “And Tony’s happy here. There’s lots of
lady rats. He disappears so much then comes back all dejected like, the boy’s got his heart broken a
bunch.”
“Perhaps that is why they reject him, no? Because they feel he thinks of them as a dime a dozen,”
Galaeron chimes in lightly.
Tony stands on two little rat feet and puts his forefeet on the side of his waist, pouting at Galaeron.
“Galaeron! See, you pissed him off,” says Joseph.
“He should stop flirting with everyone he meets. Infidelity is a trait all women hate. Even rats, I assume.”
Rymala laughs at that. Conversations like this ground her. Makes her feel like she’s surrounded with
warmth like she was back home (warmth here is metaphorical. It was always cold and dank in their
makeshift shelter.) and like there’s no officers burning holes in her back, waiting for her to make a
mistake. No. She pats Galaeron’s back in cheer.
Too hard, it seems, because the smaller man flinches forward. “Ow. Yes? Did I say something wrong?”
“She’s being friendly.” Joseph is the one to explain, but he turns to Rymala. “… Right?”
“But she hit me.”
Rymala roars in laughter. Precious little man. Precious little friend. The moon is not full but there are no
clouds in the sky. Light showers them easily, painting shadows in the smiles on her two friends’ faces.
They ease her worries somehow, make her believe this will all pass soon. And it will.
“That’s a hit? I’ll show you what a hit is,” she finally replies, gleeful, and Galaeron shuffles away while
Joseph laughs, and Rymala is reminded again: clear nights are good nights.
Especially when she’s with good people.
-

p. arbaran | if rymala takes a particularly bad hit for gurt on purpose I think?

Gurt’s voice comes out as no louder than a mumble. “Rymala.”

“Yep.”
“Do you have a death wish?” Gurt asks. The question is quiet, her tone level.
“Not really.”
“Then why?”
“You were behind me,” Rymala says, shrugging (and the blood flowing down her chest and stomach
gurgles). “And ’s not like I’ll die.”
Gurt purses her lips. After a few seconds, she finally mutters, “Well.”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” Rymala easily replies before turning away to Galaeron, who is still bandaging Joseph’s arms.
“Galaeron, help. I’m kind of dying.”
“You WHAT?” The man in question looks up in worry, makes a point to run to Rymala while dragging
his staff and shield. Ineffective, Gurt claims inwardly. Put aside the shield first. What is there to worry
about?
She takes a deep breath. If someone wants to die to protect her, it’s their stupid choice. And Rymala, as
usual, is so very stupid. It’s just good fortune for Gurt, yes? Take it to her advantage. Yes, that’s how it is.

Gurt doesn’t leave until Galaeron casts cure wound and Rymala’s blood stops running like waterfall.
-
p. arbaran | right before campaign:
w
-
p. arbaran | in the gloomy forest, before they reached the howling pit
a