Deirdre—Dressing For War

	Still dripping wet from her long bath, Deirdre sat down on the stool in front of her borrowed mirror and started to brush herself dry.  She concentrated on keeping her breathing even and on the feel of the teeth of the comb in her fur.  She kept her eyes fixed on her reflection in the glass.  It wasn’t a very good mirror, not like the one she’d had in Cearnach.  It didn’t matter.  At her age she was growing past the concerns of vanity.  Every day, she found a new scar, or another patch of spreading grey, but it no longer worried her like it once had.
	As she worked, her attention drifted to her armor on its stand.  The leather cuirass, and the left shoulder strap were still stained with Ciara’s blood.  She hadn’t cleaned it off because she couldn’t look at the spot without feeling sick and angry.  Everything that had happened in that field beside Oseille had been her fault.
She had almost worked up enough energy to start getting dressed when Alana burst into the room.  Deirdre sighed, but quietly, so she wouldn’t be overheard.  She liked Alana, in spite of the girl's family.  The little lynx had the same kind of restless energy she’d had twenty years ago, she was neat, in a typically feline sort of way, and she was always on time.  But she tended to forget about the distinctions of rank when it suited her.  
	“What were you thinking?  You know what my mother is like, how could you bring Ciara to her?” said Alana
	“This way, I know she’s safe.  It’s the best I can do for her,” said Deirdre.
	“I thought you knew better than that,” said Alana.
	Deirdre snatched her clothes off the floor, embarrassed at Alana seeing her like this, and jerked on everything that fit as padding for her armor.
	“I”ve ignored her for too long, and it almost got her killed.  I’m not going to take the same chance again,” she said.
	“She isn’t safe here, either.  She ran off into the city, and I don’t blame her.  But she doesn’t know what this place is like,” said Alana.
	The girl picked up the heavy leather cuirass and slung it over Deirdre’s shoulders, a little harder than she needed to.  Deirdre grunted when it hit her, and braced her knees against the side of the bed.  She kept her mouth shut and hope that Alana would assume that her moment of weakness was because of the force of the blow.  She couldn’t afford to let anyone under her command see how weary she really felt.
	“Of course she ran.  She’s just like Connor, she never bothers to stop and think.  But she’s still safer here, because you’re going to look after her,” she said.
Alana pulled too hard on the strap that went around her chest, making her gasp for air.
	“She’s your daughter, damn you.  Are you really going to keep dumping her on other people like this?  She’s going to end up hating you,” said Alana.
	“She already does.  There’s nothing I can do to change that now,” said Deirdre.
	Deirdre tugged everything straight, and glanced sidelong at Alana.  The child was slender and flat-chested, like Ciara was, though she wasn’t as small.  Alana was a little older, and there was a hardness to her that she couldn’t hide.  Except for their difference in species, she and Ciara could have been sisters.
	“You owe her more than that,” said Alana.
	Deirdre growled audibly this time, and grabbed her sword off its hook on the wall.  
	“Why do you care?” she said.
	“Because she’s right, but nobody will listen to her.  Because she’s decent enough to want to help everybody, not just her rabbits.”
	“Somebody has to look out for her.  If she’s stupid enough to try to go back out and get in the way of the fighting again--”
	“Then it will be your fault, for always taking the easy way out.”
	“We don’t have any more time for this.  I gave you an order, and I expect it to be obeyed,” said Deirdre.
	Folding her ears flat against any further argument, Deirdre stomped off down the cooridor.  She was being childish, and she hated herself for it.  Every time she put on her armor it reminded her of all of the other promises she’d already broken, and it made her snappish.  But this time, things would be different.  This time, when the fighting was done, she would give it all up for good.  She would make sure of that.
	“You and Connor got to choose how you lived your lives.  Ciara had her life forced on her, and from what I’ve seen, she’s made much better use of what she had than either of you,” said Alana.
	The the door was open, and Alana was out, splashing across the muddy field.  Outside, the day had turned windy and cold, and spurts of rain drenched the waiting army.  All over the field people scrambled around, trying to get to their proper posts.  Officers stomped and shouted conflicting orders over the noise.  The teams of horses pulling the ballista wagons fretted in their traces, and their handlers alternately fought and tried to soothe them.  Deirdre’s old scars started to itch and her the inside of her mouth was slick with the remembered taste of blood.
	She scratched her arms, shook herself, and waded into the press in an effort to dismiss her rising emotions.  Keeping busy kept her from thinking about the wrong things, and let her focus on being a soldier.  But this time, it didn’t work the way it was supposed to.  She felt terrified, and the blood in her mouth was Ciara’s.  She bit down hard on her tongue, hoping that the pain would make her fear go away, but the taste of blood just grew stronger and she felt her gorge rise.  She had to squeeze her eyes shut and gulp air until the feeling passed.
	“It’s all going to go wrong this time.  Everything has gone out of control,” said Alana.
	“That’s why I want you to look after Ciara.  You're the only other person in the world who can see how bad things have gotten,” said Deirdre.
	A runner approached them, leading Deirdre’s grey gelding in full tack. Around them, the chaos resolved itself into neat lines and ranks of soldiers, and the field grew quiet.  Deirdre swung herself up into the saddle, relieved to be able to think about simpler things again.
	“I need someone I can trust,” she said.
	Trumpets sounded on the other end of the field and, around them, the army started to move.  Deirdre tapped her heels against her horse’s flanks, urging him forward.  She held the reins loosely in one hand, and squirmed a little until she was more comfortable in the saddle.
	“How many more chances do you think you’re going to get?” said Alana.
	Deirdre flattened her ears and nudged her horse again, to make him speed up.  She could feel Alana watching her as she rode away, but she didn’t turn around to see.  There were more important things to worry about, now.