Word Count: 54,016
Summary of Events:
Nikita, getting a moment to himself, looked at the items his father had given him and discovered a book hidden in a false bottom on the chest he'd received; Gavriila came in and looked at the book before they hypothesised extensively about where the things were from and why Nikita had been given them. Several days later they were called into a battle, Gavriila lost her sword and then saw Nikita's mare riderless and so fled the battle with his mare, certain he'd died. Nikita woke up in the middle of the deserted battlefield and found Gavriila's sword before figuring out which way the camp was, finding Gavriila in his tent crying, and solacing her.
Excerpt of the Day:
"Never had Gavriila felt more relieved. Lieutenant Kharondirev hadn't been killed, he was alive, he was alright. He hadn't even been wounded, other than a sizeable collection of bruises.
Gavriila looked at him as he rubbed over his mare while she casually dined. To think hat he could just as easily have been dead chilled her, but she shook off the thought quickly, he was alive, and he was well.
But pushing aside those thoughts left Gavriila feeling somewhat unsettled. Twice yesterday Lieutenant Kharondirev had kissed her. Once on the forehead before she'd gotten a good look and realised he was there and alive, and once on the corner of her jaw.
Gavriila could still feel how softly he'd cradled her head in his hands, how tenderly his lips had massaged themselves deep into her skin, especially on the second kiss. She felt a flush of warmth at the thoughts.
The more time she was spending with Lieutenant Kharondirev, the more she was getting to like him, and the thought that months ago she hadn't wanted to like him seemed to her foolishness now. She loved him.
Startling, Gavriila covered her mouth — even though she hadn't said anything — had she– did she really think that? She looked at Lieutenant Kharondirev as he gently cradled his mare's head in her arms, standing restfully.
Dark brown boots wrapped around his legs all the way to his knees, close-fitting light brown breeches fit around his thighs, his light-coloured shirt hung loosely around his body, his head was topped by a neatly-trimmed head of inky black hair.
His face, of that noble cut that made Gavriila think that his mother must've been the daughter of a nobleman: it looked fairer and more refined than any other face she'd ever seen — even Papa's — and there was something about that nobility that left her feeling a longing.
She longed to have him wrap his arms around her gently, to hold her close, his chest moving softly underneath her head; she longed to have his lips caress her forehead again so soft and gentle.
Yes, she had a feeling it was true: she loved Lieutenant Kharondirev. And it was a solution, too. If she got married — instead of Fanya — then she could get out of the army sooner, and her family would be provided for.
A thought suddenly struck her and she bit her lips. His father had died too, and from the way he talked, and from all the soldiers she knew, he didn't appear to have any brothers in the ranks. Did his father even have any sons other than him? If she were to marry him, how would he be able to provide for both families?
Fanya might have to get married after all — even if Gavriila were able to win Lieutenant Kharondirev over — otherwise one family would be provided for and the other would be endangered, no matter what."
Fanya: fanyah
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