"What took you so long, Grey?!" Charles called out as Arya approached their small, ragged group by the firepit. A crooked smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. “Got in some squabble with the townsfolk, I heard.”
Arya rolled her eyes, lowering herself onto an overturned crate next to him. She shoved her musket to the side and rubbed at her chilled hands, the faint ache from the bitter mountain air grounding her.
“Something like that,” she muttered, not meeting his gaze.
“She walked straight into a storm, I bet,” another voice chimed in from the other side of the fire. Caleb, always keen to latch onto any juicy tidbit, leaned forward, his wiry frame backlit by the flickering flames. “You know how they are. No love for soldiers. Especially not Sentinels.”
Arya gritted her teeth, determined not to show the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Not everyone in this country believes we’re saviors,” she said curtly.
“Did the officer give you hell?” Charles asked, his tone light but with a flicker of real concern beneath it.
Arya shook her head. “Just told me to stay in line, like usual.”
“Like usual?” Caleb cut in, raising an eyebrow as he poked at the fire with a stick. His tone carried some sentiment of curiosity “How many times has this happened, Grey?”
Arya shrugged, trying to seem indifferent despite the heat rising in her cheeks. “I lost count, honestly. Guess I’ve got a knack for rubbing people the wrong way.”
“Or maybe they’ve got a knack for hating us,” Caleb said, leaning back with a casual grin. “Can’t really blame them, though. The way we’ve marched through this valley like it’s ours by right.”
“Are you sympathizing with them now, Caleb?” Charles asked, narrowing his eyes. He’d meant it as a jab, but there was something deeper behind the question, some unease he couldn’t hide.
“Not sympathizing,” Caleb said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, if a bunch of armed soldiers stomped into my village, demanded food and beer, and left nothing but muddy streets behind, I might be a bit sour too.”
Arya glanced at him, her defenses easing just slightly. “Well, that’s refreshing. Usually, everyone’s more focused on blaming them for not rolling out the red carpet for us.”
Charles snorted. “No one’s expecting a red carpet, Grey. Just a little cooperation. This fight’s for them too, you know.”
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“They don’t see it that way,” Caleb countered. “To them, we’re just another army, waving a flag they didn’t ask for.”
“Exactly, that woman made some valid points.” Arya interjected, leaning forward slightly. “But we’re better than the Colonials.”
Caleb nodded, though his expression darkened. “Better than the Colonials isn’t much of a standard these days, is it?”
“Oh, don’t get me started on them,” Charles cut in, his voice sharp. He dropped the piece of wood he’d been whittling onto the ground. “They razed Uyus after the local garrison retreated. turned it into ash.”
Arya blinked, taken aback by the sudden seriousness in his tone.
“My brother was one of the garrison soldiers there,” Charles continued, his voice strained but steady. “He wrote to me before they pulled out. Said it looked like the whole mountain was on fire. After the Colonials came through... he was sure no one could’ve survived it.”
“By the stars, I get her point. That’s rough,” Caleb muttered, his voice low, almost as if he didn’t want to admit it aloud.
Arya leaned back, arms crossed, but her expression softened just slightly. “She’s not wrong about what this war’s doing to people. But we’ve still got a job to do.”
Before anyone could respond, a sergeant strode up to their small group, his boots crunching against the packed dirt. He stopped a few steps away, his posture straight and commanding.
“Hey, you three,” a sergeant barked from a slight distance, the three went quiet. “We need skirmishers to probe Colonial lines. Some officer told me that you, Grey, are perfect for the job.”
Arya stiffened, the casual camaraderie around the fire abruptly replaced by the weight of responsibility. “Perfect for the job?” she echoed, her voice careful.
The sergeant nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s right. Quick on your feet and sharper than most of these greenhorns. Get some rest while you can. Head to the town square at sunrise. Don’t keep the officer waiting.”
“Understood, sir,” Arya replied, snapping to attention.
“Grey—” Caleb began with a sly grin. “You long-haired ape. Because of your squabble with that storeowner, we’ve been assigned to skirmish duty.”
Arya kicked a clump of mud towards the fire, the heat quickly drying it out into dark shards. “At least we’ll be out of this town for a little while—”
Before she could finish, Charles cut her off, throwing his hands up dramatically. “By Sol, you’ve doomed us, Arya!”
She glared at him with irritation, her knuckles tightening momentarily before she flopped down onto the log, her head sinking low. “At least we’re not going alone,” she muttered under her breath. “Both comrades in arms C and F are coming with us. They’ll share the misery.”
“I’m getting some damned sleep since we’ll be dragged out of our tents at dawn,” Caleb muttered, standing up. He grabbed his hat, dusted it off, and strode away from the fire, disappearing into the darkness without another word.
Arya stayed seated by the crackling flames, the orange light casting flickering shadows over her face. Beside her, Charles shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. The two sat in a heavy silence, letting the hiss and pop of the fire speak for them.
After a while, Arya rose to her feet without looking at Charles. She hesitated briefly, staring into the flames as if searching for something, then turned and walked off toward her tent. No goodbyes were exchanged that night, there didn’t seem to be a point to even do so.