Dear Diary,

Apparently, working out all day followed by makeouts as intense as only Marie makeouts can be pre-empt my cranial fuckery regarding Saffron deficiency. Who knew?

Saffron, apparently. Gotta figure out something nice to do for her for Christmas. Wait, I don't think they celebrate Christmas here. Yule? Is Yule a thing? Why the fuck do I not know this? I mean, other than not growing up here and other completely reasonable, rational, coherent reasons that have nothing to do with how my brain operates?

So, sleeping like a happy exhausted goofball does not preclude dreaming, for whatever reason. Most of the psychedelic tadpoles had settled down to an ongoing pleasant tingle, but that one weird one who had fucked off to drier underside pastures seemed bound and determined to make up for the missing titillation all by its lonesome. I mean, not really complaining; as anyone with half a brain can definitely tell, I'm more than a little, ah, 'anxious', as Beetlejuice would have put it.

Yes, I've seen that movie. Aunties. VCRs. You know the drill.

Anyhow, that particular kind of scratching wasn't exactly what the nearby itching needed, but I wasn't gonna bitch about my tadpole buddy giving its best effort. I am a kind and loving Goddess, after all.

What? It's a kind of love. It even made it onto that whole Greek list, alongside Agape and Phileo. Wait, no, Philia.

Goddammit, why am I just realizing what the goddamned City I'm living in is named after now? Idiot, thy name is Tabitha.

Anyway, the general itchiness of the area combined with that one intense orgasmic pinprick made for a weird kind of vibe for the evening, but not an entirely unrestful one. As I lay there I noticed something kinda warm and bubbling right near the middle of my undercarriage, almost but not quite co-located with that little rivulet of water running under me.

Back in Camden I used to have a dream journal, and it had a section that told you what different things in your dreams could mean. I got it from a state-sponsored therapist I saw once, then never again. I really wonder what he'd say about all this crazy lakeside bullshit. Then again, I wonder what he'd say if I told him I was a Primordial Goddess and could make toast with magic finger wires. I'd probably wind up in a padded cell wearing an I-love-me jacket.

I am now going to very deliberately and intentionally ignore the fact that I live in a padded cell and regularly wear a jacket made of really stiff fabric. If I didn't die when I got shot in the head, and I'm lying in a psych ward hallucinating all this shit? Not gonna even give that any credence, because unless I snap out of it my deal in this world is still better than the one I got in the old one. If somebody does manage to wake me up back in Philadelphia, or worse Camden? I'm gonna go find me a petite herb-themed genius cutie and see if she wants to join the National Guard and explore Sapphic possibilities. I mean, fuck it, it's worked pretty well here, right?

Hell, worst case, if this is some kind of dying dream? I'm gonna milk it for all the fuck it is worth, because after the shit deal I got on my first run through? I fuckin deserve a winning fuckin' hand for once.

So my dreams might have been weird and oddly philosophical, but I woke up feeling pretty good. Oddly enough, I also woke up snuggled in a bunch of blankets, but completely unaccompanied, and the waking was done by Saffron. Well, not Saffron in person, but Saffron's voice in my brain.

Tabitha?

She sounded awake, which meant it was definitely time for me to be awake. As I un-burrowed myself out of the blankets, I thought, Yeah, Saffron?

We arrived at the front late last night.

I went into the armoire hunting up a clean uniform; all the dirty ones had been Marie'd out of existence, so I pulled out the 'rattiest' one, one of the pair I used on weekends, since I knew they'd get sweat soaked and possibly beat to shit. Wait, it took you four days to go what, thirty miles?

Lancaster is extremely conservative. Our nightly bivouacs have been extensively dug in. Lightning war this is not.

No shit. Something bugged me as I pulled my clothes on, but I couldn't quite figure out what. I mean, I figured it was something like waking up alone, although waking up with Saffron in my head seemed to be deferring my meltdown. He keeping you safe?

Nearly as safe as himself. I suspect he dislikes the Marshall intensely.

Why do you say that?

The look on his face when the Marshall infiltrated our bivouac last night.

So the Marshall's in command now? That took a weight off my mind. For about half a second.

No. If you'll remember, we set Lancaster in command as General. While the Marshall is technically Lancaster's commander, Lancaster commands the army.

Well. Fuck. I adjusted my shirt ties to give me a little more range of motion than normal, since ostensibly today was Combat Training. How's that working out?

Other than the two of them obviously loathing one another? Quite well, although I may be a bit busy for the foreseeable future.

I buttoned up my jacket, chewing that over. Why?

Because the Marshall has given Lancaster the order to advance, either until we engage the 'Damn Army or until we push them back inside Newark's walls. Lancaster has decided that the best way of doing that, at least on this side of the lake, is to advance to a defensible position, then for me to use Vulcan to take shots at the enemy forces until they fall back or attack our prepared positions.

When did you find this out?

The messenger with my orders arrived about five seconds before I woke you up.

I sighed. Thanks for letting me know, Kitten. Let me know when shit starts going down?

Certainly, on two conditions.

I shrugged, both to settle my jacket and because I figured I'd do whatever she wanted anyway, whether it was a condition of her letting me know or not. Sure. Dictate away, o tiny feline dictator mine.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

You say that like you have no choice in the matter.

No, Saff, I say it like I need new panties when you get all demanding.

She sniffed hard enough it echoed in my brain. Like you wear any anyhow.

You love it.

I do. Now, the first condition is that under no circumstances are you to stop training today.

Kitten, if you're in trouble, Combat 'Training' is not what I'm going to be doing.

I felt her shrug. That's fine, but you stay in the Yard, working hard, until I call for you. I'm certain your rage at harm directed toward me will counteract any fatigue you might imagine.

I closed up the closet, still kinda bugged by something. Okay, what's the second thing?

Get the menace off the top of the armoire. She's up to no good up there, I'm sure of it.

I looked up and noticed a faint heat haze like shimmer in the air, heard the faintest hint of a giggle, and then got a face full of growling Isnomi pouncing on me. We wound up going ass over teakettle onto Marie's bed. As I retaliated with tickles, as my belly-raspberry attack failed due to the thick fabric of her uniform jacket, I thought, Got her. Gonna get some breakfast soon. Make sure they feed you before you start your siege weapon impersonation.

I've been eating this entire time, Goof. Get yourself and Isnomi to breakfast.

Will do. Have a good day at work, Saffie-kins.

A frustrated growl filled my head. You know what that does to my state of mind, Goof.

Yeah, I do. Fuck 'em up, love.

Love you too.

With that she left my head, so I focused first on making sure Isnomi knew her Momma could still tickle her into submission, even if I had to bonk her with a bolster a couple times to start the giggling. Once we both lay there momentarily out of breath, I set her on the desk, sat down, unbuttoned her jacket, and stepped her through tying her shirt and pants. She managed to make a tangled mess out of it on her third try, but it was a tangled mess that stayed tied, so I declared it good enough, helped her on with the jacket, set her on my shoulders, and got us down to breakfast.

Turns out she's not a big fan of breakfast pastry. Really weird, what with Saffron's sweet tooth being larger than she is, including her sweet tooth, but maybe her dad was some kind of predatory Bag or something. Or maybe it's her Mor thing going on? No idea, but I'm not gonna complain that she's not into junk food. We annihilated the remaining pot pie population, then wandered up to the Practice Yard. Another day without an instructor, and while Bill invited me and the Menace to spar with him and Angel, the look on her face convinced me that doing laps was probably the better idea. Yes, your girl is learning to pay attention to poorly concealed looks of terror and react accordingly.

So it turns out Isnomi can keep up that little tiptoe dash thing she does for nearly the distance of the long side of the Yard, and she manages a fair turn of speed while doing it. I didn't quite have to run, but I was definitely doing more than a jog to keep up. So for the rest of the day we played in the Yard. I'd carry her for a lap, tossing her up into the air and catching her once in a while, then let slow to a jog while she ran along side me for a bit.

Right around mid-afternoon, Saffron thought, Tabitha? I'm starting.

For the rest of the afternoon I watched as she pelted the 'Damn Army with shots from Vulcan. Every shot left another unit in disarray; still bodies lying on the ground, some of them in pieces. Survivors scrambled to drag screaming casualties into cover. Once a 'Damn archer unit popped up and sent a volley straight at Saffron's unit. Before I could leap to her side, she thought, stay. Dutiful and obedient wife that I am, I stayed. Okay, I kept running, but I didn't jump to Saffron. She just knelt, and her unit's shields slid together into a roof over her before the arrows landed.

How are you seeing over all of them to shoot?

They're kneeling. What, did you think I had a stool or something?

I wouldn't be surprised if you'd brought one.

I forgot.

What? You? Really?

Don't worry, Goof. I will not forget a single instance of you teasing me while distance and duty prevent me from responding appropriately.

Better not. The metal rain petered off. Think Lancaster's gonna call for another target soon. I'm really glad Isnomi can't see this shit. She does not need that kind of trauma.

I felt Saffron smile. You're so kind and sweet, love. I'd best focus on targets now.

I let her get back to it. A moment later tiny hands gripped my ears, and my mouth filled with jacket wool. I stopped looking through Saffron's eyes, only to see Isnomi staring into my eyes from a distance of about an inch. "GAH! What are you doing, Menace?"

"Ma!" That gave me a very unpleasant thought about what our girl had been doing just then.

Back in a moment, Kitten. I broke my connection to her, then pushed Isnomi back until I could see her face instead of her pupils. "Mom is fine, Menace. I'm watching over her."

The moment I'd broken the connection, her lip shot out. "Ma!"

I frowned at her, trying to get her to realize I wasn't joking. "Isnomi, I will not let you watch what Mom is doing right now. It is not good viewing material for someone your age."

She farted. Somehow at me, despite her butt pointing the other direction. "MA!"

"No. Not only no, but as long as you keep trying to piggy back to see what's going on with her, I can't watch over her and keep her safe."

I don't think I'd ever seen Isnomi angry before. Not, like, furious and going to bite someone angry. She growled at me, a high-pitched variation on Marie's bowel-releasing rumble, then roared. Before I could respond, she twisted in my arms, braced her feet against my tits, and leapt out of my arms. She hit the ground running on all fours, and somehow it was absolutely all I could do to keep up with her.

You okay, Kitten?

Why wouldn't I be?

Had to focus on Isnomi. You know how I said I don't want her watching what you're doing?

Yes?

Apparently she's figured out how to see what I'm seeing. So I'm trusting you to let me know if shit gets dangerous, okay?

She giggled a little, with a purr underlying it. Oh, Goof. I never thought you would be the more protective of the two of us, but here we are.

Promise me?

Love, Lancaster seems almost as protective of his own person as he is of his dignity, and he's the one calling out targets for me. I suspect I'm in the safest position available at the moment. But I promise you, should I need you, I will let you know immediately.

Cool. I gotta focus on catching the little menace now.

Catching her?

She's running away from me.

What a good little girl, making sure her Momma gets good and tuckered out.

I rolled my eyes and dashed after my surprisingly agile offspring.

By the time I actually caught her, both of us were drenched with sweat, and Saffron's day of single-player Artillery Duel had ended with the 'Damn Army falling back. I stumbled down to the Dining Hall, made sure we both ate food rather than the tables, trays, and utensils, then carried a half-snoozing Menace back to our cell. Marie had the tub out, and Saffron stood there getting a final kettle of water dumped over her. I settled in to watch the remainder of the bath, then handed over Isnomi for her bath while Saffron snuggled up to me. "I do so love the way you smell after a day of vigorous physical activity."

I ran a hand down her side, resting it on the curve of her ass, jiggling it suggestively. "You have time for a little more vigorous activity? Could send you back all pumpkin spice scented."

She chuckled, a low, throaty thing that made my hair stand on end despite all of it being sweat soaked. She shook her head even as she toyed with the tie to my slacks. "While the General did give me an hour or so of free time this evening, and my spirit is willing, my body is already well beyond any reasonable mortal limits as far as that goes."

I blinked a little at that, even as she proceeded to strip off my sweat soaked slacks. "The fuck?"

She smiled up at me, the slow, sensuous smile of a cat that had drunk all of the cream in an entire fucking dairy farm. "Vulcan."

It took me a second to twig to what she meant, then I shuddered a little. "Gah. I can't tell if that's stupid hot or beyond the squick Godzilla threshhold."

She shrugged. "As I may have mentioned, I've given up on caring what people other than you think. Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Stop firing Vulcan? Or stop what you're doing?"

She shrugged again, the Grin making a momentary appearance before I lost sight of her mouth. "Both. Either. Now if you'll excuse me, I never got any pie."

After one panicked glance showed me Marie tucking a snoring Isnomi into her bed? I decided that, at least for tonight? 'Fuck it' was my considered moral stance on all things even vaguely pie-related.