(no subject)
I do not remember that the cloak that offers what little disguise I have is in the tent until von Khrennikov-san wraps her arms around my waist. The shock of contact is enough to jar my senses for a heartbeat - how long has it been since anyone touched me? I had forgotten what it feels like - the shift of muscle, the rapid pulse of trepedation... It seems that some things are eternal however.
My senses are skewed, part of my conciousness wrapped around the threads of chance and the future while the remainder peers out through my body's eyes. Odd how such a simple thing can limit one. I had forgotten so much about having a body and how little will can count for.
The camp is already dissolving into the methodic chaos that precedes a parade as I urge Nacht forward, reaching out to mark the presence of the kohis as we canter through the mass of bleary eyed soldiers. I can feel the unexpected surge of hope and fierce determination that flows, men saluting proudly as we pass. Part of me wishes that the salutes were for von Khrennikov-san but the deeper, baser instinct exults in the scent of horses, dust and steel. The scent of an army gathering on the brink of battle.
The sun is rising as we canter through the last of the mist to where the fighting has been fiercest. The healers - a few of the most stubborn at least - are far closer to the line than I am comfortable with. I admire their courage but it may cost us more than we can afford. The kohis clatter a warning as we emerge from the mist into the midst of the regiment. I am impressed; more so as I take in the ravaged conditions of the camp. They have been decimated. Heads turn as Nacht canters confidentally into the mass of men.
I am considering whether or not to remain when Nacht slows as one of the captains hurries over to me, bobbing in harried courtesy. "Shi-Hoka-Shinou-heika?"
Nacht halts and I look down at the man. ::What troubles you, Metzger-taichou?::
His face is too young for the weary grey eyes that peer up at me. It takes a few moments for the words to break through the stubborn, bull-headed pride that has kept him going despite the seeming futility of his efforts. "Shinou-heika...the north quadrent - my men haven't eaten, they barely sleep for fear of that witch. I-I don't think..." A sigh that shudders through solid flesh and he looks older, more worn. "I-I don't know if they can keep it up much longer...I don't know if your trust in us has been misplaced."
The silence spreads out into a tight bubble around us, the men's hands slowing as they wait for my reply. This is important; these men grew up with stories of the Shinou: the Original King who fought against the shadows and the bogeymen that populate a child's nightmares. I doubt that it matters - here and now - that this is not my world. I am Shinou. I am flesh and bone and blood. They can see me, they can touch me and now, a hundred eyes ask if that faith is justified or if I will prove to be no different than the Maou.
::You and your men:: I begin, allowing my mental 'voice' to reach them all. ::have fought valiantly against the enemy. I think they have earnt a little...revenge.::
I pause, my attention suddenly riveted to the threads of probabilty which knot and meld together into one definite future.
::They're coming.::