and they called it...

P A P E R M A D N E S S

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This story and all the material herein belongs to me and my creative mind. The names, characters, locations and ideas are all from my overactive imagination, so please be a kind reader and don't steal them unless I give the say-so. Remember, Italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events.

Enjoy...
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: : Bred for Excellence : :

//Chapter One, Tribulations

The door to the barracks swung open and hit the wall with a loud crack, captain Saldar's voice following it. "Attention, soldiers! At attention!"

The men, abruptly woken from the cacophony of sound, scrambled from their two-tiered bunks and fell into attention at the foot of their beds, haphazardly dressed in their common uniforms. Saldar, grinning at the amusement new arrivals provided, stomped down the lines of bunks and eyed each man as they waited for his orders. The three women of the unit stood at the far end of the barrack, the only privacy granted them being a thin sheet hung between their bunks and the men’s. They all appeared flustered about being bunked with the men, but still obeyed orders as quickly as anyone else. He made a mental note to have arrangements made for them in the female barracks, since half of it was converted to an armory in case the non-combatants were ever forced into battle.

"I trust we all had a nice rest?" He asked.

"Yes, Sir!" They replied in sleep weary voices.

"Good, then you won't object to a morning run! Let's go, everyone out and in lines!" Saldar stood aside from the door, physically pushing the men out of the door and into the crisp pre-dawn air. He shoved the last person out and strode to the front of the lineup, an eager smile on his lips. This kind of work made his day feel worthwhile, knowing that he had the chance to straighten out the soldiers from overconfident boys to experienced and battle hardened knights. Dressed in a worn out tunic and slacks, he stretched his arms out and yawned. "Okay, stretches!"

The soldiers all followed Saldar's lead, stretching their arms and legs to avoid any cramps in the daily regimes that was customary of new men to a company. After the workout, he led them in a jog that went from the encampment to the border of the nearby city of Baland, shouted a good morning to the civilian guards near the entrance, then jogged back. Once they returned to the familiar grounds, most of the men were already tired and resting on their knees or standing despite the strain. Saldar didn't give them a moment's respite, bringing them to attention and inspecting them all for any signs of extreme weariness. All the men seemed winded but still fit, especially the thin bodied Flaure. He paused only a moment on her. 'Just another mystery about her, I suppose.'

"Alright!" He began, standing before the unit and folding his arms behind him. "I welcome you to your first morning at the front! Don't get used to the peace, because if there is a single constant in this place, it's war. The Carpise knights were driven far back by reinforcements from the north, but they've been drawn out to a rekindled battle in Paredit. We're the ones responsible for keeping them out of these lands, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir!" They shouted in unison.

Saldar looked behind him and motioned for two additional men to approach. Both were dressed in simple clothing, but bore their blades at their hips to reinforce the image of leadership. "This is Commander Vollam and Commander Westler, they will be arranging for your posts within the camp! I expect to hear nothing but good news concerning your actions in and out of battle. Are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good!" He turned and faced his subordinates. "I'll leave the rest to you, gentlemen. Good day."

They both saluted as he passed by and walked to the central building.

Saldar grinned as he heard his two trusted men barking orders to the new knights, wishing at times that his position as a captain wasn't so mired in reports and planning. At times he regarded himself more of a paper knight rather than a real swordsman.

.

'The current year is 1076. It has been eleven years since the schism between the two highest nobles of the Terran Continent, causing the separation of the Terran Commonwealth into two split-states. The split-state of Carpise is led by the Duke Mar Carpise, a man with commercial intentions before any other, a moneymonger with no time for the needs of the people. The split-state of Corvalia is led by Duchess Cecelia Corvalia, a woman of the people but not a woman of the greater cause to defense, a leader of men in peace but not in war. The massive gaps between service to the riches of the merchants and the needed attention to the population as a whole caused the division in this land. The governing Baron has been dethroned and the council disbanded, therefore eliminating all signs of a unified Terra.'

'Currently there is little progress for either side, but Carpise has used it's vast monetary wealth to tempt men and women with great riches when they would otherwise resist service in the military. Corvalia's dedicated regiments continue to bring in new recruits and men, but not fast enough to counter the tide of the opposition. Scholars predict at this rate of stress upon the people that a revolt or collapse of the state is to occur within two years. It is this collapse that I must prevent, as my duty to the state as a Highguard noblewoman. This place, however, doesn't seem worthy enough a location to-'

"Miss Highguard!" A voice screamed into her ear.

Flaure snapped out of her reverie, focusing on the angry face of the Commander. "Sir! My apologies for not responding!"

Westler let his eyes burn into the girl's for a long moment, then stood to his full height and crossed his arms. "I don't suppose you heard your orders, then?"

She hesitated, but shook her head. "No, Sir."

"Rather unbecoming of a Master Knight, girl." He sneered at the academy title granted to her. "You've been assigned as squad leader over eight of the men that came with your unit, plus given the title of Lieutenant. Report to the armory to pick up your equipment and prepare for formal march along the border in twenty minutes! Dismissed!"

Flaure snapped a quick salute, then ran towards the armory hoping that she wasn't going to be late for anything else and risk formal discipline. She came to the knight's armory and stepped inside, seeing a large number of her fellow graduates milling around as armorers picked out swords, mail, and armor plates to be given to each man. One of those armorers apparently noticed her arrival, he pointed her out and waved her to approach. She did so, wondering what materials were to be spared for her use.

"Missuz Highguard, right?" He asked in a thick tongue.

"Yes."

"Ah, we've got yer armor and stuff already set up. Mikler's gottin' it in one o' the private rooms just over there." He pointed towards a small alcove curtained off from the rest of the armory.

Flaure arched an eyebrow at the use of the term private for that, but thanked the man and approached it. She drew the curtain open and stepped into the space. It was just large enough to accommodate a single man and his armor, one wall bearing a small window to allow for some minimal light. She looked at what was given to her, surprised at what was there. Instead of a thin leather tunic and some cheap mail, there was a fine cloth outfit, a second layer of clothes made of thick leather, plus glittering steel mail.

'This is more than I expected! Apparently they value the protection given to the ranking knights of the military.'

Closing the curtain, she stripped out of her current tunic and donned the cloth pants and shirt. They felt fresh and smooth to her skin, a welcome relief from the itchy material her other assigned clothes were made of. Tugging the leather layer on, then tugging on her boots and securing the belt to her uniform, she already knew this wouldn't do well in hot weather. The mail shirt was heavy, but used effectively to offer the most protection for the best flexibility. The smaller armor coverlets were easy to get in place, only needing nimble fingers to tie the straps secure against the shins and lower arms. The chest plate was going to be toughest, forcing her to tie the knots without seeing them on her sides.

"Excuse me, Miss Highguard?" A male voice asked from outside the curtain. "Are you decent?"

Flaure picked out the voice as belonging to Jonas Decklar. "I am."

He slid the curtain aside, holding his own plate armor with an embarrassed look. "Could you help me secure this?"

"I could ask the same of you." She allowed a smirk to grace her lips.

Jonas chuckled, his boyish looks shining through. "Okay, I'll help you first."

He took the armor plating and slid it over her head, making certain that it was in the proper place and none of the edges bit into her body. As Flaure held it tight to her chest, he tied the straps secure on her sides to complete her official knight's attire. She then did the same for the boyish knight, and even the fierce look of a fully armored knight couldn't help displace his childish looks.

"Thank you." He nodded.

"Thank you as well." Flaure added. "What position were you given? I assume Lieutenant?"

He frowned slightly. "Actually, I'm still just another knight. Arches got that title, I'm just part of his squad."

Flaure was surprised at that. Jonas has displayed great ability as a leader, whereas Arches was simply an effective knight who knew how to get others riled up in a fervor. "My apologies."

"It's alright." He waved the apology back. "I'm happy just to be out here doing something to stop Carpise from killing the Duchess."

"Okay. Do you know where we're to meet for the patrol?"

"Central grounds again."

"Alright." She smiled for him and slapped his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Don't let it get you down. You'll prove your worth once we get into the real thing."

"Ah, I will." He nodded, walking out of the armory to follow the others.

Flaure watched him leave, sighed lightly for his loss. Of the many people whom she was surrounded by during her incredible rise in the academy, Jonas was one of the few that wasn't quick to judge her solely by her ability as a warrior. Although he was three years her senior, he treated her as an equal. In less stressful times, she would probably consider him a good friend, even a potential suitor based on her mother’s standards.

She took one last moment to check herself out, tapping her boots securely and tugging the sleeves of her outfit taught. Lastly, she picked up the scabbard for her sword sitting in the center of the armor rack. She drew a small portion of the blade, feeling whole now that the shining edge of a sword was in her grip. Replacing it, she secured it to her hip, left the armory with the last of the knights, and made for the grounds. Whether or not her squad was waiting there she didn't know. Her daydreaming left her lacking in all kinds of vital information.

'Damn my wandering mind. I hope that I can keep a grip on what I'm doing in the field.'

She looked at the gathering of men, noting that one line of eight men were without a ninth standing at the front. Assuming they were the men she was to lead, she took her place at the head and awaited the arrival of either commanders or the captain again. Several minutes passed as she and everyone else waited for someone to give orders for the patrol. Her eyes noted as other people moved around the camp, giving them expressions of resentment or a smirk of superiority.

'I guess it's only natural for them to be upset at new faces coming here to-'

"Attention, everyone!"

Flaure jumped to attention automatically, not even noting the arrival of commander Westler at the front of the gathering. 'Am I losing my senses or just having bad luck?'

Westler paced in front of the lines, looking at the men with a grim expression on his face. His normal attire was replaced with the glittering mail and plates of a knight of his status. He seemed to scowl at Flaure for a moment, but shifted to a satisfied grin before she could analyze the reasons for the look. "Well, you're finally starting to look like proper knights! Don't expect me to give you any kind of mercy or leniency for mistakes here. You've graduated from the academy and I expect you all to act proper, know what to do in any scenario, and above all things, maintain the integrity and honor of the knighthood! Wearing that title isn't something anyone can do, and we must show everyone the qualities that make up a knight. Tell me! What are the codes to which you pledge by?"

"Camaraderie! Honor! Loyalty! Respect!" The knights and lieutenants answered, the four words lodged deep into their minds after almost a year of drilling to remember them and their meanings.

"Again!" Westler commanded.

"Camaraderie! Honor! Loyalty! Respect!"

The commander seemed pleased at the results to which his orders were followed. "I myself was trained under those same codes, and I live by them each day! I expect you all to follow my lead and ensure that the knight's name is never tarnished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir!"

He nodded. "Alright, assume marching formation! We begin the patrol now!"

* * *

"Sir, the company is ready for the march." A cadet announced to his commander inside the armory tent.

"I'm aware of that." The voice inside replied. "Five minutes and I will be prepared."

"Very good, Sir."

Inside, Alvard struggled to secure the knots for his armor. Even with the leather straps elongated so a single person could don their armor without assistance, it was a difficult task for even the most flexible of men. That his armor was specifically made for his frame and was custom forged by the best blacksmiths in Carpise did little to alleviate the problem. Both arms and his shoulders were encased in steel plating; chain mail drooping from the chest regions to double as the normal mail vest knights wore. With only metal grieves on his shins to provide additional protection, any experienced knight would see glaring weaknesses in the design. The appearance, however, of a man who's upper torso looked like a steel beast was worth the dangers.

'Not that such weaknesses matter to me, no one will ever best me in combat. Let them try and strike me, they will only be falling right into my hands.'

Tying the last knot secure, he shook his arms to make sure everything was settled in place. Grabbing his sword in hand, he strode out of the tent and proceeded to the great lines of his command, his Silver Reapers. He was never disappointed with the appearance of his company, each man with his faults, but with the ingrained knowledge of many years in battle and the courage to fend off any force. A motley crew to anyone else, but a lethal fighting force to those who have seen their work.

"Everyone!" He began, drawing their eyes and attention. "It's time once again to enter into battle. Striding over the Blood Lands, entering the fields of death, we will engage in glorious combat and come out unscathed and victorious! The enemy sits and quivers like children, expecting attacks at all times, growing weary and weak, becoming like frightened animals who run at first danger. We will stride across the plains and pierce their side like a dagger to the heart, and by the grace of heaven, they will fold and retreat like the cowards they are!"

The men, riled by the speech from their leader, stomped their feet and muttered approval. Alvard thrust a fist to the sky, as if grabbing for the heavens. "We are the Silver Reapers! We are the elite of the land, the continent, and the world! Let us go and strike down the fools who would dare to oppose us!"

The Reapers all pumped their fists in the air, yelling and calling for victory and success. Alvard, blood rushing through his body, took the first of many steps towards the enemy encampment, his comrades in arms falling behind to their destined conflict.

.

The morning air was crisp as usual, bearing the faint tang of salt water from the ocean a few days march from their position. Mist wove through the thick fields of grass and reeds, hills and valleys rolling across the landscape like a wrinkled quilt. Clouds, faint and few, kept to their places in the sky as if permanent decorations to the blue reaches above. The Reapers, armor clanking and voices traveling far across the silent plains, provided the only disruption to an otherwise peaceful location.

"Sir, what do you think they're doing right now?" A man asked his superior.

"They who?"

"Our men, Sir, the diversionary squads." He clarified.

Alvard looked to his side, noting the group's esteemed scouter and marksman asking the question. "By now I'm certain the first unit is almost at the enemy's gates. We should be an hours march from the enemy camp according to the sun's position. If thing's keep going as planned, we should rush the enemy just as they recover from the first blow. I specifically planned so that our attack will be the one to break their back and win us the Blood Lands."

"That'll be a great accomplishment. The lines have been still for too long, I say. It’s about time we gained a commander who can push this war to our favor."

"Flattery gets few people anywhere."

"But it certainly doesn't hurt, eh?" The scouter grinned.

Alvard matched his smile, still able to have some humor despite the immense stress pressing on them. "No, I suppose it wouldn't."

"In any case, the hills are starting to level out, so we must be nearing the flats close to the Blood Lands. Thought you should know."

"Thank you for the reminder." He looked back to the meandering line of knights with him. "We're almost there, everyone! Double check your armor while you've got the time!"

A chorus of sirs and agreements came back, and Alvard's smile widened with the thought of imminent battle. Few things in life made him feel alive in these times: hiking in the mountains, bedding with his mistress back home, and most of all, fighting tooth and nail against an enemy knight. Knowing his life was at risk, the adrenaline and primal fear roiling in his gut, it was all this together that made him feel truly alive. How much could a man value life unless he risks it time and time again? To know pleasure, one must know pain. It was this parallel that he drew upon in all things in life.

'Death may come for me today, but he will find me a most uncooperative soul to wrestle with.'

* * *

"Sir, someone's coming!" A knight shouted, pointing towards the south with a shaky finger.

Westler looked towards the spot, seeing a runner making record time across the soft earth of the plains. He stumbled in his footing and almost fell, scrabbling to stay upright as he made a beeline for the commander. Once there, he only had the strength to gasp for air and rest on his knees.

"What's the matter?" Westler dragged the youth to a stand, getting his eyes. "Come on, out with it!"

"Carpise." He wheezed, struggling for words and air. "Attacking the camp...Saldar needs you."

Westler faltered, shaking the boy. "Carpise is attacking!? Is that it?"

The runner nodded.

He let go of the boy and faced his charges, face flustered and red. "Everyone double-time to the camp! Carpise knights are attacking and Captain Saldar needs our help! Move your asses! Go!"

The knights all obeyed, taking off at a quick run for the campgrounds to the south. Westler assumed a moderate pace, knowing that overexerting himself now would only leave him weary and exhausted in the thick of battle. The disadvantages of thick armor plating screamed in his ears, and he wished the wish of all knights for lighter armor that didn’t come with the sacrifice in protection. Many of the knights under his leadership were gaining a considerable lead above the others, and he wishes that it was out of youthful energy and not at the cost of their strength.

.

By the time Flaure caught a glance at the campgrounds, the battle was already turning in their favor. The Carpise knights, mostly a rag-tag collection of men in thin armor and a group of archers, were being routed out of the camp and back towards their territory in the west. Never one to let go of a potential chance to fight, she pressed herself harder and charged at a confused knight looking for his comrades. Drawing her blade in a smooth motion, she thrust it between the armor plating and into the man's shoulder. He cried out in pain, dropping his sword and wrenching himself forward to dislodge the blade. Turning in a futile attempt to face her, he paled as Flaure was already making a second attack. With a precise motion, she drew the tip of her sword across the man's neck and cut through the arteries. A spray of blood stained his attire as he fell back, death not long in claiming his life.

'Who else!? There must be more enemies to get rid of, but where?'

Caught up in her fury, unfazed by her first actual killing, she charged ahead and found another knight retreating with the intent to hold off anyone who would come for those wounded and already farther away. He noted Flaure's approach, and he drew his sword and stalked forward to meet. Flaure made a diagonal strike for his neck, but the man blocked the attack with his blade and easily repelled her. The girl, endowed with skills beyond any of her age, was quick in retaliating, sending a glancing blow off the side of his helmet and leaving a mar on the metal. The Carpise knight attempted to drive forward and stick her in a joint between her armor, but she slapped the blade aside and again sent a ringing blow on the man's helmet. Disoriented from the blow, he didn't move to avoid her final stroke, jabbing her sword into his exposed neck. Another spurting of blood signaled a kill for the exceptional girl.

She grinned weakly at the ease with which she dispatched those two men, both larger and stronger than she. It gave hope to the argument that skill can overcome a lack of experience, an argument that she held many times with her teachers and trainers in the academy. 'Two times I fought, and two times I win with ease. This is unbelievable! How could have I let myself be disillusioned with my ability? Unsure if I deserved my title? Ha! I know I'm worthy of it now!'

Feeling certain of herself in battle, her arrogance and eagerness acted as an opiate for her pride. Suddenly she looked upon the Carpise knights as mere playthings, men unworthy of her attention. She would have to kill them all to show that no one here was able to defeat her, as it was in her days at the academy. She would be the best of all warriors alive!

"Flaure!" A voice shouted from behind.

Caught up in the adrenaline, the young woman spun on her heel and assumed an offensive stance. Once she recognized the gold tinted armor that belonged to Saldar Harkuras, she eased up her aggression and waited for him to approach. The knight captain was haggard and worn, his armor marred in several places and an ugly bruise sat atop his forehead.

"What news?" Flaure asked sternly.

"You seem in good form, a shame the enemy is pulling back already." He gingerly touched his wound, wincing. "Either I'm losing my touch or those Carpise knights are getting better."

"Both would be disheartening, Sir." The girl looked out towards the west, seeing the last few knights in full retreat, the archers nowhere to be seen. "What are our losses?"

Saldar harrumphed. "Those bastards killed seven of my knights and wounded commander Vollam badly. They even attacked the non-combatants, breaking the highest moral code of a knight! Just goes to show the kind of mongrels that Duke will hire."

"They were mercenaries?" She asked while tugging out a cloth rag to clean the blood from her sword.

"Yep. Carpise isn't well off in knights or warrior cadres, so the Duke just sends out emissaries to every land across the ocean looking to hire any men willing to fight. Of course you'd get some honorable types looking for make themselves a name, but you get a lot of mercs out for easy money, too."

Flaure narrowed her eyes. "Wasting my time..."

"Hn?"

"Nothing, Sir." Finished wiping the sword down, she sheathed the weapon at her hip. "Let's find a healer to get that taken care of."

"It's nothing for you to worry about, Lieutenant. Go rally you squad and take care of them, I'm old enough to look after myself, ya know."

She saluted quickly. "Of course, Sir."

Saldar returned the gesture with a grin. However, his lips parted in a gasp as an arrow pierced through his chest plate and buried itself into his torso. Flaure gasped as he teetered and fell back, mind running at full tilt to understand how it could have happened. Instinct spun her around to face the general direction where the arrow came from, and she saw another line of knights on the plains beyond the camp. Whoever their archer was had to be of great skill to hit his mark from a near one hundred meter distance. She gritted her teeth, drew her sword once more, and started forward.

"Enemy knights on the northern flank!!" She bellowed, drawing the attention of knights tending to their wounds. "Everyone form up and prepare a counterattack!!"

Men from her graduating class and the knights already serving began to follow her charge, the enemies following suit. The attacking force was small, even less than a company of men. Flaure, being the one calling orders to everyone, had more twice that many men alongside her. While the odds were with her side, she didn't count out the reasoning behind the enemy coming so woefully undermanned. 'Numbers only guarantee a victory on brute strength. These new knights must be veterans of war and comfortable in such odds. They won't go down easily.'

The distance between the two charging sides closed rapidly, colliding with a clamor of metal against metal and war cries. Flaure, her thin body more limber with youth and feminine build, ducked around a man's mace and drove her sword into his exposed gut. She twisted the blade inside him and tore it out, rending his insides apart and spilling a healthy portion of his life's blood. Tempo not falling, she jumped into the fray and dueled with another man with a hand axe. Her sword, proving its edge, shattered the wood handle of the axe and sent the iron head flying into the distance. The man had only a second to regret the turn of events before the slick point of a sword pierced his throat and ended his consciousness. The young woman lunged against the flow of the opposition, but her eyes noted someone else in the fight who radiated the same assurance of skills.

'Who is this?'

The brief moment she had to observe the man revealed a berserker under the guise of controlled arrogance. With one hand swinging a bloodied sword against his foes, the other hand out as balance and defense to his body, he attacked with the same feral anger like that of a mountain cat. Her eyes noted a man thrusting a sword for her neck, and she was forced to dodge the attack and focus on her own fight. Swinging around again, his sword clashed against Flaure as she parried the blow. Settling the blade against his hilt, she flung his sword away and opened him to attack. With the quick movements defining her skills, she drew her arms back and drove her blade to home in the man's gut. Satisfied with his imminent death, she allowed her focus to fall onto the enraged enemy knight. His silver armored torso spun like a top, sword striking out against two of her men that attempted to pin him down. The fluid movement continued on, the blood soaked weapon falling against a knight's neck and splitting the chain mail apart to delve into flesh.

'His sword can cut against mail? No weapon can be that finely sharpened after a brutal fight such as this! He must have incredible strength to make up for the lack of an edge.'

"Flaure, behind you!!" A voice cried out.

Training snapped into place, and the girl lunged forward to avoid any attack from behind. Turning on her heel, she saw another Carpise knight pressing his advantage with a mighty broadsword, running forward to keep the girl on her toes. Unable to continue for fear of tripping, Flaure held her ground and readied herself to block the attack and stop his charge. The broadsword fell, and the girl felt her arms give against the immense strength behind the weapon. By luck, her every muscle worked to bring the sword to a stop, a few centimeters separating it from her shoulder. From behind her aggressor, another form appeared and swung hard against the man's head, sword ringing out and knocking the enemy down. Together Flaure and the man delivered separate killing strikes, piercing neck and stomach. She looked up to see who assisted her, recognizing Jonas with blood seeping from his left arm.

"Jonas, pull back and get that tended to." She ordered, half from logic and the other of worry.

"Can't! We've gotta rout these bastard or they'll slaughter everyone else!" He shouted, standing straight to show the wound didn't bother him. He started forward in a half jog. "Come on, one more push as they'll snap like a cheap dagger!"

Flaure nodded her consent, following alongside to aid in the carnage. She looked at the battlefield, seeing that the enemy was actually in retreat, falling back to allow the wounded to gain a lead in the escape. Dozens of bodies lay silent on the field, blood staining their armor and the grass beneath them. Healers were already coming from the campgrounds to tend to the wounded, giving a shoulder to those able to walk back to safety. She couldn't see where the silver armored berserker had gone to in the midst of all this death.

"Corvalia knights, halt!!" A strong voice shouted over the field. "Hold positions!!"

Flaure recognized the harsh barking from commander Westler and was content to follow his orders. Already her body was growing stiff from overexertion, adrenaline unable to keep her limbs moving as she commanded. Jonas was at a standstill, fingers trying to tie a knot for some cloth scrap to bind his wound.

"Here, let me take care of that." She insisted, grabbing the thin material and properly tying it around his arm. He was lucky, the amount of blood and cut leather suggested it was only a minor injury. "How did you do?"

"I'm fine...but this is intense!" He gaped, shivering from weariness. "I...can't get their faces out of my head. Two men...I..."

"Hush, it's alright." She cooed.

Jonas stared at her with a strange look. "Aren't you affected by this? I mean, wasn't this the first time you've had to...kill someone?"

She nodded weakly. "It was...but I had no choice, it was either them or me."

"How can you, I...don't you feel anything about it?"

"Of course I'm upset, but it's a war. There's no place for emotions or feeling sorry for the enemy. That's the way it is, they said as much in the academy, remember?"

The boyish knight couldn't find a response for her words, choosing to sit on the ground and wipe his blade off. Flaure did the same, reminiscing on their moral beliefs. Flaure knew that his childlike looks were a hint to his innocent and restricted childhood, and Jonas knew that her simple explanations were a testament to her logic driven mindset. They were very different from one another, and they understood that fact quite well. For a long while the two remained silent. Neither felt the need to rationalize a war that was inherently irrational.

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