A scaly orange creature with a spiked face and long tail, slowly slithered it’s way through the training course.

“Look! Lunch!” Izal said excitedly from where he was seated against a tree, fixing a length of rope.

Verena glanced over from where she was boiling bandages. “Ah, leave it.”

“What?”

She shrugged. “It’s cute.”

“What?” Izal asked again, incredulously. He turned to Cahir sharpening their weapons.

“It’s pretty cute,” Cahir agreed.

Izal’s mouth gaped open for a moment. “I have seen you eat a Field Hare without issue, V!”

She made a face. “They’re not that cute… the babies maybe, but once they grow they have those red beady eyes and weird long teeth…”

He dragged his hands down his face in exasperation.

The trio spent several days practicing various formations and counter tactics, puncturing the time only with meals and rest.

“The Edeti style of fighting is very egotistical,” Verena explained. “They believe that they can rely on strength alone, and often leave themselves weak to agility moves and open to having their own strength used against them.”

Izal helped her demonstrate how a balance of push and pull could over power a strong opponent.

“Do you yield?” Izal asked triumphantly, having compelled Verena to the ground.

“You do understand that I allowed this to happen for the sake of instruction?”

“Come on, V, let me have this!”

“Fine… I yield, I yield, mighty shadow warrior,” she said in mock submission as Cahir laughed.

Izal grinned. “Now that I’ve won, I say we break for lunch - loser cooks!”

Verena looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Winner procures the meat, then.”

Verena sat and began unwrapping her hands as Cahir stoked a fire in preparation for whatever their companion would manage to bring back.

“It seems the General taught you well,” Cahir remarked.

Verena scoffed. “Too well for her liking.”

“She didn’t know?”

Verena shook her head. “I disguised my hair and grew up mostly under her watch and guidance until I made a mistake. In haste I had forgotten to reapply the masking color and was found out. My mother was able to get us away quickly and we hid, moving from system to system, but my mother fell ill.

“Gravity sickness?”

“Yes. Unlike me, she couldn’t handle the variations, and the frequent changes made it worse. We travelled to Serea, it being the planet closest to the force felt on Edetan that we could get to, however is was not enough, and not in time.”

“I’m sorry.”

She bowed her head in gratitude as she prepared additional cooking ingredients.

“And your father? If I may ask?”

“I sought him out, but Almeza got to him first. I’m not sure how she found out who he was, as she had been led to believe that my mother was pregnant by a comrade in arms who had fallen in battle, but she put out a hit on him and it was successful. After that I ran as far away as I could, and eventually found myself here.”

“Your mother was a soldier too?”

“Everyone on Edetan is a soldier, even the merchants and the nursemaids. That’s how my parents met. My mother was off-world leading a small fleet to help quash a rebellion on Nireu led by my father. They were protesting oppression from a neighboring planet who thought that Nireunian pacifism meant that they would be easily conquered, however my father proved otherwise. My mother had a change of heart after realizing pacifism doesn’t mean weakness. It’s a much different ideology than what is taught on Edetan, so it did take some convincing, but my father was apparently very persuasive. Though I never got to meet him before he was eventually assassinated, my mother told me many stories. He sounded like a good man.”

“I’m sure he was. You are evidence of both your parents’ admirable qualities. Of that I am confident.” Cahir smiled warmly.

A loud thump signaled Izal’s return. “How’s that for a meal!” he proclaimed proudly, pointing at an unusually large, hairy rodent.

Cahir chuckled. “Shall I skin it then?”

“Good man! Finally pulling your weight!” Izal jested with a playful clap on the back.

Izal flit quickly through the trees in a trail of smoke bursts until he reached the camp where the other two were sparing yet again.

“I have news from town!” he announced loudly and they paused their fight. “I was able to reach a few of my contacts. Almeza is almost here and she’s been granted an audience with the Great Feudal Tribune.”

“To what end?” Cahir asked, still catching his breath.

“She requested an extradition for V, but I doubt it will be upheld. If they start honoring extraditions now, Washend will be even more washed up.”

Verena rolled her eyes at his joke. “I should go see her.”

“I’ve already put in a request for audience with the GFT for us. They will allow us to meet with her on neutral ground.”

“Do you think talking will help?” Cahir asked.

“Not at all,” Verena admitted, “but there’s little point in dragging this out.”

“And can we count on the Tribunal to keep the ground neutral?”

“They have more to lose if a fight breaks out in front of them, than to let the General get her way.”

“Great, it’s settled then, time to shop!” Izal clapped his hands together.

“Shop?” the other two questioned.

“Yes, and bathe. We can’t very well walk into the Hall of Ambassadors looking like this.” He gestured broadly at them, grungy from their continuous training in the wilderness.

A freshly washed Cahir stood on a pedestal, arms held out, as multiple people recorded his measurements. Izal was busy discussing various details with the seamstresses, and Verena was examining her cloak, which had been cleaned, mended, and adorned.

After alterations were made, shoes were polished, and hair was tamed and shaved, the trio stood before a wall of mirrors to examine their new styles.

“We clean up nicely!” Izal regarded. He wore a long cerulean jacket over a billowy grey shirt and high-waisted tapered pants to match the jacket.

“We do alright,” Verena conceded, smoothing out her deep purple waistcoat and looking over the pleats and lace of her blouse.

“Am I wearing this right?” Cahir asked, adjusting his tie and matching pocket square tucked into his dark green vest. The others assured him he was.

Back in their refreshed daily clothes, the companions walked the streets of the town that was much bigger than those previous. They browsed the larger selection of shops and noted the slightly better atmosphere and level of general hygiene.

“I used to think this was a city!” Izal remarked in amusement. “I never knew until I went off-world that it barely meets the standards to be called a village!”

“It’s always strange to revisit a place after a great time has passed,” Cahir mused.

“What’s the greatest length of time you’ve spent between visits of the same place?” Verena asked him.

He thought for a moment. “About four hundred cycles maybe?”

“For some that’s more than a lifetime!” Izal said in amazement.

Cahir nodded. “It was almost unrecognizable at first. The technology and infrastructure had improved exponentially, but the closer you look the more you realize a lot stays the same.”

“There’s probably a lesson in that,” Izal said seriously. “But all this fight training, I don’t think we have a plan for diplomacy.”

“Have you thought about what you’ll say to her?” Cahir asked Verena.

She sighed heavily. “Well I doubt that diplomacy will last long, but I will give her a chance to change her mind. If not, we can agree on a time and place to hash things out in a different manner.”

They stepped into a forger’s shop and one of the smiths looked up.

“We don’t allow kids in here,” the smith said as she walked towards them.

“Me?” Izal said, pointing to himself. “I’m taller than you!”

“Oh, you looked smaller,” the woman said.

“Well yeah, next to these two giants, anyone would look small, and I know my jaw is bare, but that doesn’t mean I’m still wet behind the ears!”

They perused the goods for sale and settled on a set of dagger, stiletto, and bayonet.

“Now we have our friendship knives, should we get matching tattoos, too?” Izal suggested.

“No.” Verena said flatly.