293Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLghUANaPUk
July 18, 1794
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293Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXCrAYImexk
The grandfather clock at the hallway marks IX.
My breakfast was algae biscuits and frog eggs, one of the few signs of a cultural legacy resisting like the stones of a mountain. But even those are dragged down by the water. At the way to the Jugend inside, I saw springs, fountains, waterfalls of concrete... On a land whose rain is eternal, liquid people change of states at any time. I look cold, but warm inside. A red dot in the middle of a rainbow. A rainbow where only a few colours belong into, outside portraits of the dead, and old enough as dead warriors. Aqueducts are spread across the entire kingdom, upon our heads and the streets we walk into, connected one to another like the sewers below. It takes a while to clean these aqueducts, with the risk of those who do it so falling from such heights. At least, they have something real to deal with, other than stories of burmecians being devoured by zombie dragons living at the sewers, or so they are said to live there.
If they really did, why my brother is still alive? Maybe he's lucky, or didn't saw anything at all, other than dirt outside its face, or Freyr's. A kind of homage for Jack to have given his son that name, I suppose. He doesn't look alike me, but rather Jack himself. Someday, that kid will grown up and wonder what he will be, instead of sucking its finger with the mouth. A bit of Jack, and a Dan that exists on everyone. Now, when I stand in here, there's only me, and lives outside who need of my care, that I shall be instructed how. I know the basics of first aids, and by that, I mean covering wounds with something that do not let air to be exposed, and that manuever done when someone's choking. No, I don't know how to ressurect someone, outside thoughts. Speaking of dragons, they live far away from here, and I wonder how they are hard to be noticed. I mean, they are like giants, and we are so small, but an ant holds on its back a leaf ten times heavier than its own body, and some are know to devour flesh as well.
What a wonderful world...
And you know you are bored of same when you begin to think about water. The one splashing at the window, leaving drops sliding down together with the dirt.
— Nervous? – asked Hrist. Well, I should be. It's my first day, I have been here in this corridor, sitting on this chair...
— No – I said with the mouth, unlike what my thoughs said in mind – why do you ask? – I wonder if you felt the same as well, Hrist. If you began to taste the tip of your fingers like now.
— Been chewing your nails for a while – I said, while I noticed my legs shaking. I'm just a bit anxious, to be fair.
— What would you say if I kept them sharp? – the Hrist of usual said. As for me, though...
— Nothing.
— Those who faint do not speak, after all.
— You keep saying that I'll faint as if I had been awaiting this long to do it so.
— Who choose to be a Dragoon, Crescent? Deal with it – it'll be hard to deal with the likes of you, as it had been since childhood. I thought Dan was the worst, given his sense of hygiene, but he never treated me like this. Sure, he wanted me to be a boy, and fortunately saw me as the same.
Though, here are some cousins around that blame the distance and grade so they can kiss you, not in the cheeks or in the forehead. Skin doesn't have taste, this unless you are sweating, but the mouth, well... it has the taste you want to have. Whether it's meat, cabbage, sweat, ear wax, anything. I wonder if Hrist doesn't have any trouble with that hair when it gets insider her eye. I mean, there is a lot of it, enough to hide herself from this world. Maybe she was inspired, and I can't blame me. I grew like this, just like mom. Someday, I'll die too, but that will happen later on. I hope... It would be very unfortunate if I took a fall and ended up in a wheelchair, in the first day! I wonder what crossed fingers mean, but they sure bring a kind of discomfort. It seems more discomforting for Ezekiel standing in that room, holding same pen all day along.
And Sir Fratley's in there too. Had him be able to see a thing, maybe he could help Hrist's father with the papers. Instead, they just walk, since one's hearing is better than another. Now, I wonder how come he'll train us. Sure, he can still do a lot of things, but... I hate to expect when you are so near of it. It can be a day,lLike a birthday, and then a relative gives you a pair of socks. I mean, burmecians do not wear socks, but gaiters instead. To this day, I still hold on my first gift, at the tip of my tail. Besides my name written on it, the initials of my family, and an orange that will follow throught my life... guess I was lucky, not because I am the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, but a daughter who cared to be one. While I am lead astray by my thoughts, Hrist playfully rolls her tendril-like strands with her fingers.
— How long does it takes? – I asked to Hrist, whom presumably had been throught it too. Maybe not, given she's the daughter of the one who signed my name in paper. Fathers do anything to their sons, when they really care.
— Be patient, Crescent – Hrist saying it so? Okay... – besides, it won't take that long so I can make you shut up for real.
— Don't you think the way you keep saying it so is kinda annoying? – did she at least heard me, while doing nails? Hrist ain't doing her ears, taking the wax out with a spoon like the old warriors before battle.
— It's the fighting spirit. I have it on name.
— Your name doesn't mean much.
— Not alone, Freya – only a few times that Hrist calls me by the first name, as much as I can see her eyes, purple like her coat – I wonder what father had in mind when he gave me this name.
— Everyone deserves one.
— As much as everyone deserves of a home, which was granted to me by luck. Well, rats fled when there's an earthquake, but when the sky cracks at burmecia, everyone stands still. Not everyone, but a few... geez, understand?
— I understand very well how its like to live in a land without sun.
— A land that burns a few seasons in year. With the rain, it's like it's always summer in here.
— Mornings are cold and the white skies tell me it's always winter.
— We get used to it, Crescent. That's why many strangers feel sad when they arrive to Burmecia. They were so happy with the sun, and now that they miss it... well, why am I talking these things to you? They do not have any sort of relevance.
— When you have silence like this outside your head, anything said is relevant – well, we are just throwing words away, consuming time like an ice cream. You can't eat it all quickly, or else your head hurts, but if you don't, it melts. See, even my thoughts are melting...
— If you say so, Crescent... remember when it was fun to play patty-cake?
— You never missed an opportunity to slap in my face.
— And you to have a mom to spoil all fun.
— Was it any fun to hold hands and make a circle with your friends, then slap the hand of the one in your left so hard until he yelled a very loud 'OUCH'?
— Perhaps. This if you weren't the first one to leave the game.
— If you play with hot potato enough, you'll get burned – funny how much you try to say something, time moves at same speed in here, as if this corridor slowed down time for anyone who crosses it. A bleak corridor that makes you feel better for coloring past moments, even if there was no rainbow in the skies at all. I hear voices on that room, barely I can understand them. Are they talking about me? I did nothing yet but enlisten, sit here, share of silence with Hrist. But in the end, I hate it. A bit of silence is to be admired, but this is too much.
— Know what's burning in me? My butt – so Hrist agrees with me – I'm tired of sitting on his chair.
— Then why don't you stand up?
— Because I know that I'll sit back. Besides, this may be the last moment of rest before I make you drown in my own sweat.
— You are kind of dramatic sometimes, Hrist.
— Was it supposed to be a 'thanks'?
— Maybe – another ounce of silence is followed of my word. It's not the absolute kind, which would drive me mad for real – you were the one who laughed whenever someone said poo.
— Yellow chocobo – when Hrist said that, we stood quiet for a while, once again. This before we couldn't resist, but burst into laughs. Timid giggles of a lady hidden by a fan at first,who now echoed throught the corridor afterwards. The closure of eyes, hands in the chest, followed of an unplainable kind of agony, and yet we were still alive. When Hrist began to pull air into her throat, grunting like a pig, fueling our laughter further...
— Alright, quit the tomfoolery – this until Sir Fratley came out of its room, followed of Ezekiel. We ceased to laugh, as an awful silence disrupted by the rain outside the window filled in the corridor.
— Don't you have nothing better to do? – said Ezekiel. Even the echoes of before became quiet with his old voice.
— I know you are doing your best, father – said Hrist, who unlike me, raised the chin – meanwhile, we are just waiting to do our own best. Don't you want to see me in training?
— I cannot this time.
— Oh, please...
— I really cannot, Hrist.
— You never can.
— Almost, you mean. Remember last week?
— I don't even remember what I ate back then. I do not care, to be fair – but if there's something Hrist cares about...
— I have things to do, my dear. You know that I'm the least person who ever likes to sign papers, but who else would do it so in my place? That's what it means to be responsible.
— And to be old.
— Hrist... – while Ezekiel watched its daughter with a serious look, Hrist avoided it with a barrier of hair around her face.
— That's the true, dad. You had been put here because you have no other use in force.
— Even the smallest pieces of a clock are important to keep moving it on.
— With your strenght drained out of you like an orange whose pomace is the only thing left, no wonder you put someone younger to do the job.
— The true strenght of a Dragoon Knight doesn't come from age, but spirit.
— And the javelin as well. You do not even use it as it should. In your hands, it's just a cane with a blade on its tip – I thought about saying something, but better be quiet. I don't like when the world seems to be vibrating in waves other than the ones splashing at the window, making a shadow upon us.
— Oh my... why are you behaving like this? – for Ezekiel to have said it is the same as to ask why fruits rotten.
— So what? Are you going to ground me?
— No. You are too old for any punishment.
— Except this – said Hrist, whispering before she had something else to say. I know she had – geez, you can't even let your job aside for the Crescent here? It's her first day – is it? I did nothing, but hear father and daughter talk to each other, while I stood on my own. Guess Sir Fratley agrees with me.
— I'm currently doing whatever I can to not only make this the only day for Crescent to be here. I can't be everywhere, not even for you, Hrist.
— I understand – said Hrist, soon as her father went into that same room, closing its doors – but his name is written on all papers. White, yellow, green... even when I became his daughter, the first thing he did was to sign its name.
— At least, he gave you one – Sir Fratley said. He didn't followed Ezekiel to its room, but instead he sat in the middle chair, between me and Hrist.
— Except for a purpose. But inspirating be plenty of. All my life, surrounded by Dragoon Knights... barely a sight of father while he wore that helmet. Too bad you can't see me, Fratley.
— But I can hear very well.
— And smell too. Sniff sniff... Why haven't you said that I was smelling awful?
— I do not care that much about sweat. It means you are clean.
— Same for tears, but I haven't shed none – and by this, Hrist means that she'll make me shed my own. I know it because she looked at me with those eyes – mind if I show the Jugend here to Crescent, Fratley?
— I don't – neither I. Hope Hrist doesn't show me the training field yet. I'm still unprepared – you learned to crawl on this same carpet, did you?
— How would I know?
— Your father knows. He also cares for you.
— If he only said it personally...
— A Dragoon doesn't have preferences, Hrist. They speak for all.
— Yeah, right... see you soon, Fratley. Oh, my bad.
— It's alright. I'm used to this sort of thing.
— Whatever. Come on, Crescent – and so I got out the chair I was sitting, and hearing it all. Like Sir Fratley, except that he has more important things to do. To be a Dragoon is something important for me, and I have awaited enough. This must be the trial of patience, which follows me everywhere, not only when I am here.
The worst kind of death is the one you do not even know you had been dead all along.
Why this appeared all of sudden? I guess that's the reason why I followed Hrist to the showers, because I also feel something dirty in me, and these walls I touch. If I could read more than her eyes... Child's eyes, alike mine, but nstead of asking 'why things are like this?', they just said 'it's okay', even when mom was at her worst. Hrist was beginning to sweat, and haven't engaged in training already, if threatening to punch me is a sort of training. I didn't wanted to go here but since I began to sweat too, why not? It's better than chewing putrid nails. These can't be washed, unlike your skin, alike what lies inside, but I'm sure that I'll feel better. Besides an arc at the top, this room has holes for windows, so there are no delinquents to spy. The holes are found up in the walls, where only the light from outside can reach.
— We burmecians were the first ones to discover that bath is good for health. In fact, our medicine is superior, compared to those alexandrians who still cutted their soldiers head's to pour salt over them... whew. That's one of the benefits of being a Dragoon, Crescent. You get a shower before, and after training – so, after Hrist said it all, as we took out our helmets, the escutcheons together with the belt who holded it in our chests, the bucklets that stood upon our shoulders, anything metallic was taken and placed inside a wooden chest, whom she locked with a key – remember, winners do not steal.
— I know what's mine and what's yours, Hrist.
— Sure. Don't await for a medal in your neck So... what are you awaiting for? – so Hrist began to take off her coat before than I. For some reason, I kept watching, as if I haven't already learned how to walk.
— Ladies first – I said what I could. It's my first time in here, and even if it was only Hrist to be here, wouldn't change that much.
— Oh, please Crescent. Don't feel ashamed.
— Shouldn't I? – oh, Freya... come on. You didn't became a Dragoon to feel fear, did you? A voice in my head says. Must be my own bit of Hrist, not alike the one who's standing in front of me, wearing a green frilly camisole. At least she's wearing someth-no... forget it.
— Just so you know, our coats and undies will be washed and dried up at laundry – said Hrist, before she placed both her clothes inside one of the cabinets she pulled out the wall, which had a hole where both slide down, presumably to the laundry she mentioned before – in the end, they will smell as if they were new. But keep in mind that this ain't a life of luxuries, Crescent. You are paying for it.
— You say it after you dropped your clothes in a cabinet that said 'lavender' upon it – only now that I noticed, since Hrist stood near it.
— Like I said... you pay for it. This means you are also left to choose – and I choose to hear Hrist by the voice alone, since I couldn't look at her. Or stare long enough at that body, whose curly strands couldn't cover it all, despite being long enough to cover her face – what's up, Crescent? Your face is red like plum.
— Is it? – I had no mirror to notice, but a kind of shiver at the skin should had been enough.
— Yes, it is.
— Fine them.
— It ain't fine, Crescent. I haven't made your face red for a reason yet – well, guess you already did, Hrist. Now, I think I should look to her face – also... are you going to take a shower with your clothes on?
— I already do while on the rain.
— Same for crying, I suppose.
— What do you mean?
— Feeling shy all of sudden, Crescent? Please don't. Feel free instead. Sure, this is the place where you can drown your sorrows at and nobody will notice. I do not care if your singing is awful, or if it's the least awful thing in you – well, that was enough, Hrist. Cravats aren't usually that tight, as much as Hrist's words aren't usually sharp.
— I need privacy, please – I said, only wearing my orange trousers. Not for too far long.
— You already share enough of it – at least, Hrist is kind to hold my coat with a hand – the pantyhose, please – oh, my bad... and now I'm completely who I am inside. Vulnerable, at worst. The only thing I kept in me, besides dignity and that orange ribbon wrapped at my tail, is the lapis-lazuli armlet Fratley gave to me. I wonder if there's something lucky in it, or just a gift to take care of.
— How do you feel? – naked, perhaps? No, I should be less subtle for Hrist.
— A bit better, I guess – and now that I'm alike her, guess I can look without deviating sight.
— Lavender, cherry, vanilla, aloe, sandal, cinnamon, carnation, lime or orange?
— Uh?
— I asked which scent do you want for your clothes, Crescent. Well, it's optional, but since it's your first day here... just saying.
— Okay.
— Since your coat must be together with your undies, you can only pick one cabinet.
— Fine. Is there any difference between lime and orange?
— One is bitter, the other sweet – kinda like me and Hrist. Except that I'm not that sweet too – which do you want?
— What about cherry? – I said. It's my first try, and my only option.
— Cherry?
— Yes.
— Right. Anyway, you are a vanilla – Hrist isn't the kind who waste opportunities. So she took my clothes and put them on 'cherry' cabinet, and I wonder if they'll be back soon. So we went underneath the stream of water falling out the walls.
I never had been in a public bath. Here, at the Jugend, there is one for males, and females; or as they say here in academy, Bahamuts and Leviathans. There is only one of each kind, and to be fair, we all wear same clothes, but in a world that everything looks the same, we give different words for each thing. Not everything can be decided by whether or not you do or do not have in the middle of your legs, if a pair of tails, or an only tail in the back. Hrist began to explain how this place worked, by pointing out that heat comes out of furnaces fueled by coal in the night, while hot air is chanelled throught hypocausts, found under the floor. What I can say is that water comes warm like a sun ray touching our skins, soft fingers sliding from the top to below our feet. The strands of my hair became sharp like knives, dripping of water on their tips.
— Feeling better, Crescent? – I looked to Hrist, soon as she said it. The tendrils falling out of her head blended into smooth and plain lines attached to a soaked skin.
— A bit strange – it ain't everyday that you can afford a stone to flay your back, or a lavender soap to cover your body into bubbles that vanish with a blink, unlike the flowery scent.
— Is it because there are others than us? – Hrist's words sounded alike a whisper, given the water falling upon us.
— Maybe.
— Don't look to their faces. Well, since we are here, the best you can do is look to their faces – but I didn't. Instead, I took attention to Hrist's back. When she took her undies out, the first thing I noticed where those scars left. They reminded a bit of mom's. Guess seeing those scars made me a bit nervous before – to what are you looking at? Oh, these... don't feel pity for me. I was threw against a wall.
— Walls do not leave scratches like these.
— Well, let's just say it was an unusual wall, the kind covered by spikes. I was just an apprentice, like you – Hrist says it as if it was nothing else. More like a kind of achievement – hey, know why many failed to become Dragoon Knights, Crescent? – so Hrist stared at me. I mean, she faced me front to front, and yet I couldn't see her eyes standing out of those curly strands.
— Because they didn't liked what they did?
— No, that's not what I mean. Well, torches do not scream when lit by fire. Had not been for the rain, though...
— What's your point? – I said, feeling a kind of relief, which may not last for too long.
— Metal attracts and conducts electricity. Careful to not become a burmecian lighning rod, Crescent.
— You know that this won't happen with me – and I do not even think that Hrist wishes for such to happen. She ain't that mean at all. As far as I know...
— I know. It would be a really stupid death, considering your family's name. Now, with Sir Fratley's training, your chance of survival will slightly improve. Then, it will be up to yours.
— For hearing advices coming out of you...
— Know that these will be the only ones I'll give to you – as if you ever had made a silent vote, Hrist. If she did, there wouldn't be that much of hair upon that head...
— Fine them. I have a tutor for this reason.
— Uh huh. Scared?
— You are the one scarred here.
— And someday you'll be too – and I hope it won't be because of Hrist. Then she looked at me, to my face and below – nice pair of legs.
— Thanks. Are these earrings? – I also looked down on her – aren't you too young for these?
— When you are a Dragoon, you can't be young no more.
— Only the young to cover their bodies in tatoos...
— And the children to wear ribbons on their tails – said the Hrist who's wearing a ribbon too. Orange, but with another name written on it. A 'Ch' instead of a 'Cr' belonging to mine.
— You were only a child when you became a Dragoon, Hrist.
— A child ends being a child when it bleeds for days.
— That's not the only moment in life when we learned to be strong, Hrist.
— Strong, and patient. You can only be one.
— If you strain hard enough, you can be both – said someone else, from behind. Of the few other women around the room, one caught my attention, besides Hrist. Pitch black like tar strands falling into a back covered in scars made by dragons, some made recently, given the red of one wound to another already regenerated. That back looked like a page of a book, whose ink could be felt by anyone who touched it. When the woman turned in to us, A face devoided of any emotion happened to be here. Maybe it's because she looks serious, a thing even I try hard to.
— Where have you been, captain? – asked Hrist, to the woman whose only thing I knew about was the name. The title, I mean
— I was outside, proving to myself and a few that dragons indeed exist – said the captain, someone older than me. Mature than yours, given the voice, and that body – if you do not mind, I would prefer you to look to my face – she said to me, with that face whose emotions were all stirred out. Maybe it's the lips, plain like horizon, always plain.
— There, I said it – yes, I know you said it, Hrist – she's new here, captain.
— Well, sorry if we haven't been presented to each other. What's your name? – the captain, looking at me. I'm tired of calling her by captain, so...
— Freya Crescent.
— A Crescent? No wonder you looked so familiar. Are you the daughter of Lenneth?
— The only.
— Lenneth... she was one of my apprentices, for a long time. Do you remember me? – I looked to her. Besides a dark hair, the captain's face had no details. No expression, and I don't recall seeing someone like that.
— Guess I don't.
— Oh, well... you were too young. And I'm not the kind who stays here for too long.
— You know my name, but I don't know yours
— So, if this is the first time we are presented to each other... my name is Edea Faraday.
— Pleased to meet you – not the right place to know people, but here I am. Though, this Edea already knows me – what do you mean by not staying here too long?
— I belong to the frontline which prevents the dragons from arriving at this kingdom – so that's the why of scars, but still, that doesn't explain why that face looks so polished. Somehow, I feel strange near her, and it ain't because I'm wearing nothing. There is nothing on her face, but I keep staring to it. Water flows, and like the stones of a mountain, I wonder if it was responsible for taking Edea's smile, or if this is just a bit of overreaction because she is serious. And with people like Hrist living around, too...
— So, Mrs. Edea-
— I'm not that old, girl. Just Edea is fine.
— Right. So, Edea... do you fight against dragons? – I asked, breaking the silence of words. The noise of water prevails.
— Isn't that exactly what the captain told you before, Freya? – so do Hrist's own. But she have a point, a rare thing as the chrysoberyl bracelet in her hands.
— Guess I didn't paid enough attention – other than the one I gave to her face.
— You'll need it when dealing with a Dragoon. Those tails aren't only there for decoration – so Edea said. She also stared back at me. Guess that we are both unrecognizable to each other, but seeing those scars...
— Why did you came back, Edea? – I don't want to talk about them. Soon I'll have my own appear in skin, anyway.
— I'm here to pay a visit.
— To whom?
— I have nobody in mind, Freya. Well, I didn't expected you to be here... and, since you're here, could you bring me the pumice?
— The pumice?
— It's on your left.
— Oh... here – so I grabbed the pumice stone laying on a hole in the wall. I holded it, felt its rough surface for an instant, before I threw it at Edea's direction. Didn't knew why, but I know she holded it. Good reflexes, I see.
— You could just lend it to my hand – said Edea, holding the stone with a hand, then she turned her head and frowned at me. Briefly, before she turned back and began to exfoliate her skin. I guess it's just the lips that bothered me – not so many come back from the field. But I'm not here by mere luck.
— Neither I.
— Name?
— Freya Crescent.
— Crescent... It's one of the moon's phases.
— I know.
— Age?
— Sixteen.
— Height?
— I believe I'm above 180cm.
— Fine. Weight?
— Don't know. Wearing all these things must make a difference... Also, it ain't polite to ask about a lady's weight.
— Sure it ain't. Sniff, sniff...
— What's up?
— Uh... is it just me, or is there something in this room smelling like cherry?
— It's me.
— Oh, that's you. Well, back to the real questions... Hand?
— I have both, but I mainly use the left one.
— So you are left-handed... look, it'll be a bit hard for you, but given your heritage, it shouldn't be that much of a problem.
— If you say.
— Sex?
— Uh? You already know.
— Sorry. Could you say again?
— I mean, why are you asking all these things, Sir Fratley?
— Just following the standard.
— Oh... right.
— Alright? Well, sex?
— Female.
— Sign?
— Is it any relevant by standards?
— Perhaps. Sign?
— I was born in July 15th.
— Cancer.
— Sincerely, I don't believe that my personality is defined by the sign of the month of my birth
— So you do not believe in fate.
— And you know how to write. Very well.
— Thanks.
/\_/\_/\/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_
No wonder why Ezekiel has so many papers to sign. Poor of him. Despite being an only person, this seems to be taking an eternity. Fortunately, Sir Fratley writes very fast, and like I said, well too. It's kinda surprising how his writing is that good, given he can't see those words. Not before they dry up, so he can read them by the tip of fingers, while I eat my own. Had I been desperate enough, I would eat sand to fill in my empty stomach, but it wouldn't be enough to fill in something empty in me. As time passes, and Sir Fratley writes on his notebook, we both sitting on chairs and only one of us doing something important, I stare at Sir Fratley, knowing that he can't stare back. But he knows I'm here, that I should be here no matter if I leave. I don't know if he'll bother if I leave this room for a while.
— There is a drinking fountain crossing the corridor, near Reis statue – I just raised from the chair when Sir Fratley said these things. I'm shocked, don't know what to say.
_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
— Uh? How did you knew I was going there?
— Well, you were leaving the room.
_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
— So, that was just a guess?
— No. I heard your mouth drying up. So I thought you must be thirsty – he's coming up with these things, isn't he? Though, there is something in Sir Fratley's voice that makes anything he says convincing enough to be truth.
— Really? I know that blind people can hear well, but my mouth – yet, half of me disagree with what he said.
— Surprised? Had not been for the Dragoon, I wouldn't be able to do it so – and half of Sir Fratley is still convincing as his whole.
_/\/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
— As a lawyer, don't you know what privacy means?
— Don't worry, Freya. I can't read minds. If I did it so, then I would be able to see everyone's fantasies, including yours.
— Heh. Sometimes you are quite a strange guy, Sir Fratley.
— That's the nicest thing I ever heard from someone.
— Uh huh. I don't want to be mean with you, but how come you became a Sir?
— Why do you want to be a Dragoon, Freya?
— Well... I don't know why. I just feel this is the right thing to do. I don't have a clear answer, you know.
/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
— I understand. Are you feeling okay?
— I am. Why do you ask?
— Well, I suppose that, given the loss... Sorry.
— You don't need to feel sorry.
— I mean, it happened recently, and here you are, a new Dragoon.
/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
— You mean that I only became a Dragoon to take mother's place?
— No, that's not what I mean. In a way, I believe you feel the need of doing what Lenneth haven't done, despite all she had been doing for you.
— Maybe. Am I here to be studied, or to study?
— You have awaited enough, didn't you?
— This chair is killing me.
— It ain't enough as a heart attack. Also, I'm finishing, so don't worry.
— I have nothing to worry about. You seem to be a good person, Sir Fratley.
— And you have a good heart, Crescent. You should listen to it
— Listen to my heart? As if you could...
— But I can.
/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_
— You say it as if you weren't kidding.
— If I can hear your mouth, so I can hear your heart too. Also, you are the kid here.
— Hey!
— Don't be scared, Freya. A heart alone doesn't tell much about a person, so it's not like I'm invading your privacity. We do this during conversations.
— Hrist didn't said that you could do that.
— She likes to keep secrets, though it's hard for her to not. Please, don't tell her that I said it.
— I won't. My mouth is like a grave.
— Your mouth doesn't stink.
— Okay... don't you know about limits?
— There are no limits for imagination. Know how I see you?
— Am I hideous?
— Of course not. I can't hear your shape, but it's easy to imagine. White hair, orange ribbon, tall, green eyes... you are like Lenneth, and she was beautiful.
— Same for the daughter, I presume. Won't you say a thing?
— Should I? Well, it's about time. Alright, you can now leave your chair – now I'm free.
— Whew... I told you that it was killing me – so I said to Sir Fratley. I guess he didn't bothered to hear my complains, given that he had been hearing me all along – so, what should I do?
— Let's go outside – he said, opening a window. A bit of rain splashed over Sir Fratley's face, and a bit on me as well. Rain and wind, hitting our both skins, but I only stood near the window, as Sir Fratley literally stood upon it.
— Are you going there?
— Yes. It's a quick way to the gardens. Care to try?
— No, thanks. You haven't taught me anything
— Oh... sorry. I'll teach you something, if you follow me.
— Okay. I'll take the door, if that's not saying too much – and to who am I saying it? Sir Fratley left from out the window. From the third floor. And guess what? He fell upon grass as if it was made of cotton. Not much of a surprise, given his hectic's earring, but still something unusual to see. Must be the Dragoon.
— Uh... Freya – and instead of broken bones, or the sound of a water puddle being hit, I heard Sir Fratley, lying on the ground. he couldn't stand on its feet, but still talked – I forgot to bring the cane.
I found his cane hanging on a wall. As it seems, Sir Fratley also forgot its hat. The one with a feather on its top. Seeing it closer, it looks like a Dragoon's helmet, though it ain't heavy like one. There are holes in front of the hat, alike the ones in my helmet, but why would there be holes if Sir Fratley can't see? Or even put his helm on... geez, I can't even wear mine on the face, it's too tight. Neither mom could, so it lies on top of my head. So take both the cane and the hat together with me, as I descent stairways until I reach the front door, then I turn to left, leading myself to the gardens. Closer, Sir Fratley looked like a turtle upside-down, except that he couldn't move its legs before he raised his hand which holded onto mine. I gave him the cane, and the hat that stood kneaded between my right armpit.
— How did you survived? – I dared to ask.
— Beats me. Perhaps I lessened the impact of the surface of my feet and the surface of watered ground – or, in other words, he's floating upon a water puddle.
— So that's surface tension?
— Yes. Same that prevents water striders from drowning – and a Dragoon by the name of Fratley Irontail of breaking its bones. Though, he can barely walk, but it doesn't seem to be because of the fall.
— Are you limping?
— Not exactly. If I want my legs to move on, I must believe that they'll do. That these limbs belong to me, that blood still runs on its arteries and veins, that my bones haven't turned to dust, that I can still feel pain...
— I understood.
— For real?
— Any of this is real, right?
— Sometimes, I do not believe it is. To walk again thanks to Dragoon...
— At this rate, you could see again.
— Well, not everything is the way we wish, Freya. If if was, we would be able to understand the Dragoon, but what I can say for sure is that the mind is stronger than the body it rules. That's the path of Dragoon, and I shall teach you the first step of achieving it. Are you prepared? – I already knew what to say to Sir Fratley.
— I was born ready.
— Funny, I was premature. Now, dear Crescent... Tell me, what do you see? – so Sir Fratley stood with its both hands holding the cane, as we stood upon the grass covering a garden in front of us, which only I could see. Willows weeping, sycamores, trunks dry, others covered in leaves, as my nose is filled in of the scent of rain. For a moment, I brood, without blinking, and still
— I see trees – I gave my answer.
— You see the forest, but you can't see the tree – so did Sir Fratley.
— Which tree? There is a lot of them.
— How many holes? – he said. Yes, Sir Fratley said it, and left that question on air. I didn't expected him to say such, but anyway...
— I see none – then I felt his cane poking my feet.
— Really? If you don't see, come closer – so I did, further into the garden, stepping upon grass that shouldn't be stepped. But since Sir Fratley is here, I guess that's the least of my problems.
— Why are you doing this? – I asked to Sir Fratley. Sure, I expected him to be a bit mean, not in same way as Hrist told me, but this...
— Doing what? Now it's up to yours.
— It's my first day here. Besides, I'm not here to see trees.
— I know. But Freya... A Dragoon like you can't be unarmed. Right? – well, Hrist said that I would receive my javelin tody, but didn't told me how. Is it the reason why I'm here? It doesn't hurt to ask.
— Right. I need a javelin, so here I am.
— Wood comes from trees, Freya. We just happened to stumble across a few.
— So this is where you got the woods to make their bottoms?
— Not these trees, but anyway... you'll get your own wood, to make your own javelin – sounds like a nice deal. But still, this doesn't seem to make any sense.
— Did others had to do this, Sir Fratley? I mean, take the wood out of the garden to make their weapons?
— No.
— No one?
— Nobody.
— So I am the first?
— Uh... Yes.
— But then, why should I-
— Because I told you to do it so. Also, I'm testing you – and I am running out of patience – Freya, a Dragoon's mind should not run out of strenght. The body gets the damage, and only the body feels pain. Your body does not feel clean even after a bath, or after smelling like cherry. But your mind should be clean, relaxed, focused. Control your body with your mind, not the contrary. Don't think about breathing, just breathe. Now, have you saw a tree fit for your javelin?
— A tree? Well... I see... I see – and I say clearly and cleary, so the Sir here can listen to me. As if he isn't already listening to my heart – what about that one?
— Where?
— Behind you – it was a random choice, but I choose a tree with a large trunk and skinny twigs. Had no flowers, only a rough shell felt by Sir Fratley.
— A cherry tree – like I said, it was a random choice.
— Cherry tree?
— Yes, Freya. A cherry tree is a cherry tree, in bloom or when withered by time – said Sir Fratley, still feeling the tree's trunk – doesn't look pretty without its flowers or fruits, but it's still alive and well.
— Can you hear its heart too? – I said. Don't know why, just felt the need of saying something, or doing an indirect. It's the Hrist in me yelling, now it should be quiet.
— I can't listen to trees. Not in same way as I listen to you, Freya. Know why?
— Why?
— Trees don't talk back. That may be the reason many are chopped down. They have no mouth, and they can't scream. So, is that your choice?
— Yes – I said, with the feeling that I couldn't support it any longer. Not that I'm in a hurry, but I would like things to go smooth.
— If you say... Take care of her. Make her sacrifice worthy.
— Are you speaking to me, or with the tree?
_/\_/\_/\/\_/\_/\/\_/\_/\/\_
— You replied, Crescent. See, you'll have a plenty of years ahead, as long as you keep your body together with your mind well – there, he read my heart again.
— For someone who says that a heart doesn't tell that much about a person.
— It doesn't. You have your habits, make your choices... I just give advices.
— You would do well being a doctor, Sir Fratley.
— A doctor only heals wounds. I teach you how to heal them by yourself. Well, a hand might come in handy... oh, sorry. Silly and redudant joke .
— I do not mind.
— Do you mind? – then Sir Fratley walked behind me, letting me facing the cherry tree – you, Freya Crescent, found the tree. Or did the tree found you?
— Enough of these questions. Just tell me what should I do.
— Okay. See the tree? Chop it down.
— Alright – I had been awaiting this long for some action, but given Sir Fratley's tone of voice, there was something else.
— Wait. Where are you going, Freya? – he said, soon as I moved out the grass, walking in a cobblestone path.
— I have nothing in hands. So I was going to find an axe
— Don't leave. You already have enough. Besides, you'll need your leg, and still haven't raised a javelin in hands. So stand here, and chop this cherry tree... with your own fists.
— With my what? – when Sir Fratley said that... I really wanted to chop him down. I mean, that inconsiderate can't even move his legs, and had no been for that cane, he would be dragging like a vermin in the shit, that may explain why Sir Flatley is so skinny and pale and cold and... deep breathe. Muscles relaxed. I just felt nervous before. A momentary lapse of reason, that fortunately only stood in my head.
— Yes. You heard me. Kick, punch, but please, don't bite the tree. We aren't savages – said the one who wants me to cut a tree with my fists. The legs count too.
Well, my claws aren't sharp enough, and when I gave my first punch, I felt as if the tree was punching me. Rain falls, and I began to sweat, still in the beginning. Ten, twenty, thirty with an only hand. Geez, really? Am I doing this? To be fair, it ain't that bad as it will get in time. It's only the first day, and I wonder who will fall first: Me, or the cherry tree.
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