Boudika did not just reward him with one laugh, but two. The absurdity of the puns, unexpected and also slightly brilliant, evoked something far too close to girlish giggling for her liking. She curbed it as quickly as possible, but not before the sound burst from her chest and mouth like flowers blooming, ecstatic and bright. Boudika didn’t know what to do with his easy charm and that disarmed her—she had no defences against it, no natural apprehension. Before she could help herself, she commented: ”You better be careful, things can quickly go a-rye if you try to be too different.” But then readily, quickly, they were moving on to talk of his friends—and Boudika could not mistake the clear affection he felt for them, in the way he spoke. For a moment, she felt a pang of exquisite sadness. She had once talked of others similarly—of Vercingtorix and those within their sphere of young officers, all whom she had grown up beside. Boudika had known their fears, their wants, their weaknesses, their strengths; she had known what girls they loved, and the problems they had with their families. And even as he continued to speak, she could not help but think of them. Even as she nodded in the moment, saying almost absently, ”I would really appreciate that. Honestly, the markets are just the bit intimidating.” Even as she said it, she thought: Cian had come from merchants who worked very hard to put their son through the academy, and he was extremely conscientious of causing others inconvenience; she knew he liked carrots but not potatoes. She knew Anann, and how no matter how many times he learned to watch his left side, for some reason he was always unbalanced there; and that got him killed; she knew he always laughed, and asked about her day. She knew Miach was more of a healer than a soldier, but could memorise tactics in one glance, and drank like a fiend. She knew Balor loved poetry and wanted nothing more than the war to end; he had a childhood sweetheart back home who he intended to marry upon the cliffside. The gulls were crying overhead and the people were awakening, and still, she thought: All those boys had made her laugh and had made her cry; they had pushed her through ruck-marches and cavalry practices, through endurance runs and obstacle courses and disciplined marching. She had ate beside them and slept beside them and in that moment the piercing hole where their absence resigned… oh, it echoed within her. Of course the sea was then in front of her, bright and alluring, promising an answer to a question she never asked. And still, she thought: Dagda. Dagda, who had never attempted to be within their clique. Dagda, who was the only one to visit her, when she was imprisoned. Dagda, the only one to apologise for what they would do to her; the only one to tell her she was the best of them all, and always would be. And perhaps that was all Boudika knew of him, of Dagda. Perhaps she would never know more. Oh, August is lost in the moment—and she in the tangling memories of her past, in the fact that her heart is somewhere on the other side of the sea, and that is the answer to her unspoken question. You aren’t here, in this moment. She bit her cheek until it bled. She forced herself to look at August, letting the ghosts die. My whole life. The honesty and the pride made her smile, although it was not as authentic as the last. ”You sound as though you genuinely love it.” The thought made her happy, in a way that was both sad and promising—because, Boudika thought, because perhaps that meant she could learn to love it herself. ”I would very much enjoy that.” And it was with that fragile hope that she followed him; the hope of a child, almost, seeking something they had never seen. Boudika was not expecting the curiosities to be turned back onto herself although, retrospectively, she should have. Indebted to his kindness, she could not softened her truths. “I was lost when I arrived. I was a part of a shipwreck and I was the only survivor that I know of, and I washed up on the shores of Solterra…. But I wandered until I found a meadow, and there was a stallion there, who told me the story of the Courts and Novus. I didn’t want to be alone; Day was too much like my homeland. Dawn and Dusk were… too kind.” Boudika did not know how else to explain it. She rolled her shoulders in a shrug, feigning nonchalance. ”Caligo I related to the most… and maybe that is a silly reason for choosing an allegiance, but it is as good as any when you know nothing of the land.” Perhaps she had softened her truths—but that was easier than admitting them. And the farther they walked, the more she felt as though she could be someone else. Surrounded by the sights and sounds of the market, it would be easy to close her eyes and imagine she was truly a dancer of Denocte, and this was her home. Vercingtorix. Cian. Anaan. Miach. Dagda. And August, in front of her. Right there, in the moment. Boudika turned her eyes from him, glancing at the market, the stalls, as they progressed deeper into the throng of it. ”And what of you, August? Why have you decided to stay?” Boudika wanted to know; she wanted to know why Denocte was worth staying in, not from pessimism, but because she struggled daily to find her sense of belonging, of purpose, of understanding. In a land of outcasts, Boudika had secluded herself as a pariah. |
@August
