All lovers young, all lovers must, consign to thee and come to dust--Wm. Shakespeare

She was dangerous, the solider decided. Beautiful, somehow, in her strangeness, with the type of voice that made grown men cry—or lured them to their dooms, depending on how it was used—but dangerous nevertheless. This much he could decipher, from the coiled tension that tightened the air around her, electrified it, put him on his guard though he did not quite know why. She regarded him through measuring eyes, eyes that knew something he did not, secrets as deep and dark as the sea. Delicious secrets. Nervously, he saluted her from his post, though the reasons behind this were lost to him as well. He had never been too good at mysteries. Her tail, longer than any tail he’d ever seen on a feline, twitched lazily, curling slightly at the end with every movement. She did not acknowledge the salute, only drew out a wicked looking curved blade from her belt and began to sharpen it, keeping her fathomless greeny-black eyes trained on him, hypnotic eyes, and he, growing increasingly uncomfortable, found he could not turn away—nor break the spell.

The soldier coughed. "So, em, uh, are you, ah, new around here? " She arched an elegant brow at him, and the sweat that slicked his paws was not entirely due to the warmth of sun overhead, nor the increasing heat of the nearby fire. Turning abruptly away, he wished for what must have been the sixtieth time that afternoon that she would speak again, whiskey velvet her voice, like he’d heard her joke around with that lawyer. Hell, why was a lawyer even near combat? Talking to the Major, that was for sure. Well, it was the Major’s business how he managed his will. He certainly had enough problems to worry about, what with the war and everything else.

"He’ll see you now. " Speak of the devil. The soldier’s head snapped up, and he found the faintly amused eyes of the lawyer, a sleek Dalmatian, upon him as his own gaze followed the girl’s every move. She did not return his gaze this time, though she was as cool and confident as ever. She carefully sheathed the sword, and ran a paw—or was it a hand? The soldier couldn’t be sure—through her silver-gilt curls, striding towards the inner tent where the Major waited. "Whoo, " the lawyer let out a low, appreciative whistle as soon as the girl was out of earshot. "Piece of work there, if I do say so myself! "

"Who is she? " The soldier breathed, hanging on the canine’s every word. The lawyer shrugged, loosening his tie & mopping his brow.

"Little hot for May, even in Northern Acirfa isn’t it? Wait—huh? Oh, I know she brings weapons to the front lines. Other than that...no clue. But she sure is one classy dame, eh? " The lawyer grinned, licking his chops appreciatively. "If my wife was like her...I’d keep her thisclose, see? Dear god, what I wouldn’t give... " he trailed off, shaking his spotted head in a combination of wonder and amazement.

"She’s beautiful..." the soldier murmured dreamily, leaning on his rifle as he overstated the obvious. The lawyer jumped a little, seemingly having forgotten the boy in his enthusiasm.

"Ah, but them beautiful ones are no good, kid. They break the hearts of guys like you’n me. Better to fall for the good ones, your childhood sweetheart. You got one? "

"Yes. " The boy said. "I mean, no. She’s just a kid. Silly. " The lawyer sharply wagged a finger under his nose then, and the boy straightened, affronted.

"You write her letters, boy. You’d be surprised how silly can turn into sweet fast. Before ya know it, she’ll have grown up and forgotten you. So move in now, while ya still can. "

"Yeah, I know, but what about—? " The question hung ominously in the air.

The lawyer took a deep breath of desert air and glanced around surreptitiously to make sure no one else was paying any attention. Then he leaned in and began to speak in a low, conspirational whisper. "Something ain’t right about her, if ya catch my drift. She’s— " he paused, searching for the word "—a goddess personified, sure, but something else too. Not quite what she seems. Take a gander at them _hands_, boy! Hands, not paws! You catch my gist? "

"Sure, " the soldier replied with a growing sense of unease the said "paws" . "Sure, now that ya mention it, I do. "

"What’s your girl’s name, again? "

"Jill. " He grimaced.

"You write to her. Today. Now. You could die any second. You want the postal service to be deliverin’ yer letter, not the telegraph office—an’ you know how messy that can be if ya live inna small town. " The lawyer looked him critically up and down. "At ease, solider. " And he was gone, hurrying towards the nearest jeep—next stop, airport. The soldier watched the man go, and could not say he was sorry.

She entered the inner tent and waited. He knew she was there. He always did. He did not emerge from behind the curtain—he never did _that_, either. "Miss Melbourne. " Nor did he invite her to sit. He knew her better than that. "Perhaps you are wondering why I sent for you. "

"Well, yeah, " she admitted. "I brought the munitions in, if that’s what you’re wondering. " Not all of them, either, but you don’t know that, she added silently. , focusing on the shadows beyond the curtain.

"No, " crisp and without preamble. "That is not the reason, though it’s good of you to bring them. Very patriotic. You’re a real help to your country. And the chocolate? "

She shrugged. "Not here yet. " It was in use, at any rate. Safer to tell a half-truth than a whole lie. Better this way. Isolt fancied she could see him nodding. It was hard to tell.

"You’re a very clever young woman, Isolt Melbourne, are you not? " Before she could reply, he went on. "I hear stories—legends, really—about you. They are rather interesting, truth to be told. I’m glad you’re on our side. "

"Are you, now? " She asked laconically.

He went on as if he had not heard her. "As I said, it is well for this purpose that you flew over here so quickly—you’d make a good soldier, you know—because I have a mission for you. " A pause. "The telegraph office appears to be slogged in over 6 months worth of telegrams—God knows why—and the point is, these notifications will probably reach the appropriate people a few years down the line instead of a few days. I can’t spare any of my men—not that I could pull a stunt like that off with repercussions, in any event. You live closest to the deceased. A couple of letters to the families of the boys—they were from my old regiment. Pilots. KIA. I wrote the letters before I got transferred. There, on my desk. You’ll be in Cape Suzette anyhow, correct? "

"KIA?! " Isolt cried, irked to discover the enveloped letters, just as he had stated.

"Presumed--killed. Killed In Action. Six pilots, five from Cape Suzette and one in Walla-Walla. " Another pause, longer this time. "You can handle it, Miss Melbourne. " I’m counting on you, were his unspoken words.

"You sent them to their deaths, didn’t you you old bastard?! That’s why you feel so guilty. That’s why you won’t spare the men again. That’s why I’m the sitting ankara. Well, fine. First-hand experience with death makes one pretty immune to grief. "

"Isolt. " The Major said, and his voice was both gruff and saddened. "A good soldier loves the army. But a good commander must destroy that which he loves. Now remember, these boys are—were—Uslandian. " And I’m just an outsider, a wanderer, nothing to nobody, right? Right. "Be prepared for motherly hysterics. Shock. Denial. "

"Whaddya want me to do, comfort ’em? I’m a rack—a pilot, not a replacement child. " She had almost said racketeer. That was close. Too close.

"Isolt. Are you listening to me? I gave you an order. What do you say? "

"See you in hell, Major. " The girl snapped, and stomped out of the tent, two of the six letters falling softly to the ground. Two families, hoping for a sign, hoping for their sons, must wait a while longer.

A chuckle from beyond the curtain, and a devilishly handsome monkey, above average monkey height and in his late forties, drew it back with a smile. "I love your way with words, " he said, but she was already gone, and that was the way it was, and always had to be.

The Kitten Korner, Cape Suzette

A tiny gray bear cub, knees drawn up to her chest, sat in the silence of the dusty back alcove, watching and waiting. She was clad in a pristine navy blue dress, lace-collared, with blue ribbons woven through the cuffs. A rickety serving cart stood forgotten by her side, the dark polished wood & the dust making quite the backdrop. A single, high, bottle glass window sent a shaft of sickly light down into the near-emptiness, and a number of large wooden crates labeled FRAGILE, cluttered the shadows.

"Nelle! " A loud, slightly miffed voice yelled. "Nelle, where are you?! "

The cub did not reply, if bear she was indeed, only moved deeper into the darkness. The ceiling overhead creaked, and there were footsteps just outside the alcove’s door.

"Pol, where’s Nelle? " The voice, now thin with irritation and near-panic, asked.

"She be in th’re. Th’ alcove, ’iding. Supposta be doin’ rounds wit’ me. " The boy’s voice was reed-thin and ended in a wail. "I doan wanna be doin’ rounds iffen Nelle’s not comin’! " Murmuring beyond the door, and the sure sounds of Pol crying piteously. A click, and the door swung open, unsettling the dust that had been collecting for the past decade or so. An orange-haired, violet eyed, teenage rabbit leaned in, sneezing at the sudden cloud of dust that arose. She shook her bright head, clucking her tongue at Nelle.

"Nelle, you know you can’t hide from me. Come on, the girls are waiting. You’re drawing baths for Rouge through Alice, and Brat wants her fur styled. Cimaroon has a customer at three, and— "

"No. " Nelle replied, albeit sullenly, her tone broking no argument. The teenager sighed, exasperated, and stalked over to haul the errant Nelle up by her fine lace collar. The cub did not struggle, but instead let herself be righted and dusted off. You won more battles standing rather than sitting.

"You can’t hide in here forever, Nelle. I know it hurts, but it’s not the end of the world, " the rabbit laughed, tousling Nelle’s brown sausage-curls affectionately.

"I’m a monster. Just like in those stories. " The little girl suppressed a shudder, remembering, and the elder carefully began to maneuver her and the cart hall-wards. "Just like her. " It was spoken with a certain amount of childish awe bordering on reverence. "But I'm ugly—ugly! —so I can’t really be like Her. " This, with the often startlingly accurate wisdom of childhood. "I hate it here! "

"Shush, " the teenager hushed, and abruptly grasped the child’s chin in her paw, forcing that sullen face upwards. "You know what you’d be if you weren’t here? Huh? Dead, that’s what you’d be. Nobody cares about kids like you, Pol, or the others, that’s for sure! Consider yourself lucky Livy took in your spoiled, silly mother instead of where she could’ve ended up. So you just shut up and be grateful, you stupid, spoiled, selfish little brat. " The venom in the elder’s voice startled Pol, who had been waiting in the hall, and the five year old began to cry again, in loud, hiccuping sobs. Crack. The slap echoed in the stillness, and, shocked, the boy stared up at his favorite with something akin to fear, shattered trust, innocence. "Now look what you made me do! " The girl snapped, pinching her just hard enough to provoke a loud squeak. Then she held out her arms to collect Pol into them, as she always did when he cried or was hurt or scared. But he backed away from her, eyes huge and betrayed.

"Do—do you know who—who she is? " Nelle’s tremulous words broke the tension-filled silence, and the teenager jumped slightly.

"Lackeys don’t know everythin’, " she replied gruffly, and, escorting them to the end of the hall, was gone, a certain wistfulness about her lips.