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Red Mist
60. Aftermath, The Luncheon: Freya and Crenshaw

60. Aftermath, The Luncheon: Freya and Crenshaw

The elder mouse, upon seeing Captain Bell running around like a new recruit, saw his moment. Grabbing two mugs of Ka-pi, he approached Freya, passing his cousin as he ran towards the regiment headquarters. He had been to many meetings there and he itched to know what was going on in that room.

Dismissing that thought he saw that Freya was still standing. She didn't look distressed at least- distracted, maybe. Captain Bell, now he looked distressed and the poor rabbit had made a beeline for the mead before doing his usual disappearing trick.

"Here you go miss," he said, passing her a mug.

“This is what life would be like, if I was with him, I imagine,” she said, “Worrying about if he’s going to come home, or if he'll be called up to some far off front.”

The two stood listening to the low roar of the crowd.

“I can’t say that it should be easy,” Crenshaw said, “It would be nice, if it was, it would. These things don’t happen too often.”

Freya’s ears perked up at the sound of that.

“These meetings? These war council thingies?”

Crenshaw pulled a tufted beard briefly, as if considering what to say.

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“Besides the regularly scheduled meetings, I’ve only ever seen one called out of cycle. It’s very odd indeed. It almost makes me want to go back to work,” he said, “Almost, but not quite. I was very green then. It is the young mouse that wishes to prove himself against others in battle, for in truth he pays the smallest cost.. Only to himself.”

“And the last time this happened then?” Freya said, her eyes searching for the truth.

Crenshaw looked taken aback.

“The last time the war council was called up, the entire regiment marched off to war. I was a young mouse and.. Well the Marquis, he wanted to encroach on our territory among other things…” He paused, his eyes glossed over, “There’s a reason we only send foxes to treat with the cats. It was right before the…”

Freya held her breath. As a young mouse she’d heard stories of that war, between the Marquisate and the Regiment. Stories passed down to mice like her father, who hadn’t been a party to it, but all of his training had been geared to that kind of large battle. It was enough that Freya remembered that the cost was measured in the lost second regiment folding into the first and the military had only now gotten back to the same size, years later.

“Right before the war?” Freya said, venturing a guess.

“No, I meant right before the war and during it, the tearing pandemic came through. You should know this… your grandfather’s house, they all died during that time and when he returned to become a sword instructor with your grandmother, well, they were lucky,” Crenshaw said, nodding gravely, “It was a hard time for them, or so I’ve heard.”

Freya looked back to see if any of her drinks were still there on the lawn.

“Master Sergeant Chin-Hwa,” she said, “I would love to hear more about your time, if you’d care, and as your cousin has seen fit to leave us to our own devices, why don’t you benefit from his bid?”

Freya motioned to the picnic basket, still half eaten. Crenshaw smiled and joined her.