Jevicca of the Fey, Briachdyn in Brenin's Fist, erstwhile peer, and Old Lore
Bard, shuffled the parchment littering her camp desk.  After-action reports,
casualty lists, logistics reports, all was fodder for the voracious maw that was
the staff reports to the Brenin and his military commanders.  Which is why this
woman was working non-stop even though she could hear both the sounds of
jubilation and the sounds of mourning going on outside her tent.  She sensed the
approach of someone and reached back without looking up from the report she was
drafting.  By now the troopers were getting used to their CO having "eyes in the
back of her head".

"Just give it here and I'll get around to it as soon as possible."  She peered
at the scribbled and crabbed hand of the report she was trying to decipher and
held it up to the light.  "Does this look like 'swordwraith' or 'mordwraith'?  I
can't read half of these da...dratted things." 

When nothing was put into her outstretched hand she turned to look inquiringly
at the trooper.  He was gingerly holding a large, none too happy badger with a
piece of parchment in its teeth.  "Oh...I see."  She tried very hard not to
laugh at the expression on the trooper's face.  Her men had a saying: "Once you
shake Mr. Badger, Mr. Badger is no longer your friend."  She carefully extracted
the parchment from the sharp teeth of the animal and made a few barking cries in
thanks.  The badger, somewhat surprised to hear badgerese from one of these
silly two-legged creatures, blinked and then sneezed.  A reply that meant "Yeah,
whatever.  Can I get some food around here?"

She motioned for the trooper to set the badger down and tossed some jerky in its
direction.  It caught the treat before it could even bounce once and turned to
waddle out of the tent.  "Thank you...ah... Peredur.  That will be all."  The
trooper nodded and stepped back out of the tent.

She carefully unrolled the parchment and tilted it towards the light to read it
better.  Moments later, the troopers outside were surprised to hear a sudden cry
of surprise and shock from inside the tent followed almost immediately by a
small whirlwind as the woman burst out of the tent, parchment still clutched in
her hand.  She grabbed the first trooper and muttered: "Field
hospital...where...which way?"  Following his pointing finger she grabbed the
first horse nearby and took off at a gallop; a silver and green streak heading
in the direction of a man she had thought long dead.  A man who was the father
of four of her children.  A man who, according to the note, might yet die before
she could get to him.  She wiped tears from her eyes as she raced along.  But
whether they were tears of happiness or sorrow, only the gods themselves
knew....

-Leigh Smith




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