Quinn seldom dreams. However, tonight she does. Not of the past, nor of the present, but of the days to come. How she knew that it was the future was beyond her, yet she rarely doubts her guts, for it never led her astray.

She understands that what she beholds is the future, what she doesn't find is how far she was in the future, or why she's even thinking about such a thing when her death was so near; a mere sunlight away from her.

That prospect brings a smile to her face until she looks up and notices the night sky, adorned by stars as if it were a noble's dress. And though they're indeed beautiful, she can't help but gaze at the full moon, seemingly closer and bigger than she has seen before.

As if she could simply touch it if she reaches out, so she does, and so she did.

And the moon is as she expects it: coarse, harsh, and colorless. But also... warm and soft, she thinks. The last word she lets out practically involuntary inside her mind, clearly not anticipating that kind of description of a celestial body from herself.

It almost saddens her when she realizes her time will shortly be up; that her rigid structure of life will soon cause their separation. The very same training that allows her to recognize this vision to be a dream are the ones that now will take her away from it, no matter how much she wanted to stay.

"Well!" She pulls away, reluctantly. "I do apologize for touching you so intimately, beautiful celestial body, you!" At her own words, her smile widens. "Though, considering you're a figment of my imagination; a fracture of my uniquely broken mind, I'm sure you understand well the reason, the why."

And it does, even when it can't reply—for it has no mouth—Quinn can picture it nodding with empathy, forgiveness rather; Quinn bows her head with solemn respect as she's finally roused to wakefulness, just half an hour before sunrise.

The march of an army is long, arduous, and utterly boring. All words she likes beside the last one, so she finds herself preparing some cards and books to be read during the small campaign she's to be involved with, alongside all the equipment that will be beneficial to have in the field.

But she doesn't get ready yet.

This close to winter, the weather is naturally cold; pushing Quinn to take a bath much later than usual in the morning, and rarely in the night. Which is why she's trying to minimize her movement, something she can no longer do.

The former and the latter both are because she will be on the road soon. With that in mind, she makes her way to the communal bath after removing off her prosthetics, forcing her to utilize a cane as a means of transporting herself.

She gets some curious look, but not as numerous as the first time they see her so defenseless. She doesn't mind either. She's used to garnering attention for any reason, familiars to people assuming she's vulnerable. Let them think so, lest they pay too much heed to the unnatural things embedded beneath her skin, sometimes as deep as the center of her bones.

She, of course, could avoid that sort of physical alteration, and this kind of interest if she just enchants her artificial limb with some anti-rust charms. But she likes body modifications, and taking care of her prosthetics has always managed to calm down her nerves.

So, her she is, without her left limbs or eye, walking into the pretty active communal bathhouse. It's in fact almost full. Most of the large stone and wood bathtubs are occupied by the priests, clerics, and paladin that will march with the soldiers, only one of them has space for Quinn.

And as luck would have it, the resident is none other than the woman she lo—likes.

Putting on the most charming smile she has, Quinn approaches the woman with gracefulness one wouldn't anticipate of a cane user in a slippery surface, the rapping of it against the bathroom tiles are the only sound as it slowly falls into a hush with each step Quinn takes.

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"Matriarch!" Quinn greets. "How are you this fine morning?" The cheer in her voice isn't forced nor fake.

The Matriarch, who has been closing her eyes the entire time, open them to meet Quinn with an almost bored look until she perceives Quinn in fullness, on the way her body are lacking the things the Matriarch has come to expect.

As if reading her mind. "My prosthetics will get rusty if I bring them to bath." Quinn answers the question not yet asked, the Matriarch only nodded at her reply.

"I see. Why have you approached me here, Ms. Quinn? Something urgent and important you need?"

There's no hostility to her tone, only an honest curiosity that causes an amused smile to bloom on Quinn's face. "I would like to join you! If you don't mind, that is."

Upon hearing her words, the Matriarch's expression turns into a grimace, almost, as she once again studies Quinn before quickly peeling her eyes away to look at the other baths, taking notes of their occupancy that Quinn previously does before she decides to approach the Matriarch.

After such an observation, the Matriarch already knew the why of Quinn seeking to join her; seeing as it was indeed the only place with open space for a few more people to enter.

It wasn't that that give her pause, then. Rather—Quinn sure—what gives her pause is the reality that for two individuals to inhabit the same baths, even in a communal one, is quite an intimate proposition and situation.

And while Quinn certainly has no trouble to such a thing—she holds the extreme opposite position, in fact—she still has no desire to make the Matriarch become genuinely comfortable with her.

So, she kindly tries to suggest a solution: "I can try to ask for someone to accompany us, a neutral party to make sure nothing untowardly happens."

The Matriarch, who has been silently gazing down and thinking the entire time, eventually looks back up to Quinn, studying her for some unknown reason before finally: "There's no need for that, Ms. Quinn," she assents. "Please, join me." Moving over and changing her position to take up less space.

Obviously hoping—but not attempting to force this result—Quinn is sincerely surprised at the Matriarch's acceptance, something she's more than glad to oblige as she climbs into the bath, its water enchanted to be warm, yet not enough to battle the cold of late autumn.

For a few minutes, they simply sit there in reserve, enjoying the water and scrubbing themselves. It was only after Quinn clean her hair does she begins a conversation, unable to take another second of silence.

"Matriarch?"

"Yes?"

"You'll accompany deep behind the enemy line, then, yes?"

"I shall. I won't leave you to die, Ms. Quinn. By the land and sky, I promise you."

"Do you have any way to disguise yourself or make yourself become invisible?"

"I do have the latter."

"Good! Then, I will be in your care."

"And I am in yours."

At that, their conversation stops, and not just because of the finality of the Matriarch's words. But also, because Quinn almost trusts the woman to take care of her, a thought that terrifies her to no end.

Something that occupies her mind even as the soldiery began its march into the last castle Duke Holloway manage to hold; a two-week journey from the encampment with this large of a host.

Those two weeks she spent talking to the Matriarch of stratagems, but no more, spooked by her own ideas and feeling still.

The day of her mission, Quinn can fill the woman eyes boring holes into her, asking questions whose answers are obvious to Quinn, but says nothing else as they pause for their signal.

They're not to march with the soldiery. Rather, the both of them are waiting for the sign of Duke Holloway appearance before they make their move of murdering him when he emerges upon the field to boost the morale of his combatants.

Unfortunately, the holdup for such a thing is long, and the whole time the Matriarch is staring into Quinn still, as if hoping Quinn would do something the entire hour.

It was only after the obvious—that Quinn wouldn't budge from her silence—that the Matriarch chose to finally start a topic.

"Have I done or said something that give offense, Ms. Quinn?"

"What? No!" Quinn quickly responds. "Please, Matriarch! You have granted me nothing but the opposite."

"Then why the sudden change in attitude?"

"I—!" Quinn cuts herself off, refusing to admit that she was afraid of trusting another soul. So, instead of doing that. "Matriarch." She changes the topic. "If I survive this, will you tell me your name?"

"And you shall tell me of your true aim?" the Matriarch replies with a question of her own, something that catches Quinn off guard, causing her to snort.

"Sure!" she answers, and the Matriarch nods, agreeing.

"Want to put it in blood, Matriarch?" Quinn extends a hand as she pulls out her ritual knife and cut her palm open, her intent obvious. But the Matriarch—as expected of her—doesn't back down.

She takes the blade from Quinn's hand and do the same to her hand before shaking Quinn's in a handshake that was firm and confident.

"I promise you my true aim, by the stars and sea, I shall not lie."

"I promise you my name, by the stars and sea, I shall not lie."

Their pledge spoken in conjunction, intertwine them in magic that remembers.

They're connected now, by vows and blood.

As if waiting exactly for that moment, the signal was given.