Word Count: 84,003
Summary of Events:
Nikita was woken in the night by a scream he initially thought was the cry of a screech-owl, but discovered was actually Gavriila having had a nightmare; he comforted her until she went back to sleep. After several days of battlefield cleanup the Sergeant-General who'd bullied Gavriila was found among the wounded and given his extensive punishment, Nikita — as commanding Lieutenant of the unit the Sergeant-General was a part of — doling out the requisite flogging. Afterwards Gavriila offered to read some more for Nikita, and he decided to have her read the roll of paper he'd received from his father: it turned out to be a birth certificate for the Ilya Zhihondoniov the sword belonged to. Convinced he and Ilya Zhihondoniov were one in the same, Nikita became depressed and Gavriila tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't look at her . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
"Gavriila sighed, she wished he would look at her, but decided to go on anyways. "I know this probably won't help you feel better, but it was an observation I'd made. If I would've assigned to you a first name . . . I would've chosen Ilya to be your first name."
Lieutenant Kharondirev was silent, braiding the remaining hair of Breashah's mane down to an end, being as there was no more hair to gather off her neck.
Gavriila waited, rubbing Nadia, who'd been looking for some attention.
"You're right," Lieutenant Kharondirev finally replied. "That didn't make me feel better. What was the point of sharing something like that?"
"Because I thought it was interesting," Gavriila replied. "The very name I thought suited you best is the name involved in this whole mystery."
"It's not a mystery," Lieutenant Kharondirev said.
"Yes it is," Gavriila replied. "You have a sword and a birth certificate that belong to someone whose birthday is exactly the same as yours to the letter and could very well be you, but you have nothing more than papers and fears. You need to talk to your mother and find out the truth: did your father just get those things in a raid and take them because they shared your birthday and could maybe provide a way for you to scout undercover in Aissure, or were you kidnapped, or was it something completely unrelated to either one of those? You don't have all of the answers, and yet you're walking around resigned to this purported fate as dictated by a couple of objects."
Lieutenant Kharondirev started undoing Breasha's braid, offering no comment.
"You're a soldier, soldiers check out their reports. Just because they find a document or hear someone say something about a person or place doesn't mean they believe it," Gavriila said. "They look around for themselves, they get the testimonies of many people, they figure out if what they've seen or been told is true, or if it's just a bunch of bunk, someone trying to lead them on — lest they make the wrong decision about whether or not to launch an attack and come out of things looking like a fool, if they live, or being disgraced when they die because they were so foolish and didn't examine things thoroughly."
Gavriila waited for Lieutenant Kharondirev to say something. He stood with his back to her, stroking his hand down the flat ridge of Breasha's skull that formed both her forehead and the bridge of her nose. She felt like he deliberately wasn't looking at her.
"What kind of a soldier are you — regardless of what your name or title is — if you're going to go accepting things as truth without thoroughly examining everything to be sure that you're not being fooled?"
Lieutenant Kharondirev kept his back to her, stroking Breasha's head, not volunteering an answer, although Gavriila knew that he had to know the answer: he wasn't a very good soldier.
"Pack your things Major Comaromkova," he said. "We're going home."
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