oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there
Her surprise is not unwarranted, though it makes Anju's normally stoic facade crack with a smile. "I do. My father is an inventor and my mother is a politician. I grew up quite wealthy and well-protected. My home was custom made on their money and gifted to me the day I graduated, so I never needed to stay in the barracks even when I enlisted." Though the massaging was fantastic, simply having her hand held is surprisingly nice. "And though it is easy to forget, though I was naturally tall, muscle is a product of discipline. I was greatly looked down on by my peers - frequently subjected to snide comments that I could not be reprimanded as a soldier because of my parents' protection." Certainly some of her superiors had been guilty of that, but not all of them. As if Anju would have run to her parents anyway - that was where everyone had been truly wrong. She was (and still is) far too independent and prideful for that.
Such confessions are not what she had expected of this encounter, but as a rather faithful woman she believes it is perhaps fate because Anju has heard these words hundreds of time in her life as a soldier. "The war turned all of us into unwitting soldiers. Your sentiment is not uncommon in our profession, and should never have been shared by civilians." Mahogany irises gleaming nearly red in the light, she takes her free hand and gently places it over Flora's. Not condescendingly, but comfortingly. "My sister-in-arms died at my side while we fought for Stormbreak. The bow you shot was hers before it was mine. Every day I wonder if I could have prevented her death if I had done something different." Shaking her head slightly, mouth pursing at the corners in a downturn, Anju sighs. "And I am a trained Dragoon. You were not. We cannot let our grief turn into self-condemnation, or we may hesitate to make the right choice next time. And then we stand to lose someone again because we did not trust ourselves." Perhaps a bit dark, but that is the way her militaristic mind works.
As is decisiveness, as she squeezes Flora's hand firmly. "Then I will help train you," she declares. "I have trained countless soldiers, Flora. I know potential when I see it. It would be my honor to help you find it."
Such confessions are not what she had expected of this encounter, but as a rather faithful woman she believes it is perhaps fate because Anju has heard these words hundreds of time in her life as a soldier. "The war turned all of us into unwitting soldiers. Your sentiment is not uncommon in our profession, and should never have been shared by civilians." Mahogany irises gleaming nearly red in the light, she takes her free hand and gently places it over Flora's. Not condescendingly, but comfortingly. "My sister-in-arms died at my side while we fought for Stormbreak. The bow you shot was hers before it was mine. Every day I wonder if I could have prevented her death if I had done something different." Shaking her head slightly, mouth pursing at the corners in a downturn, Anju sighs. "And I am a trained Dragoon. You were not. We cannot let our grief turn into self-condemnation, or we may hesitate to make the right choice next time. And then we stand to lose someone again because we did not trust ourselves." Perhaps a bit dark, but that is the way her militaristic mind works.
As is decisiveness, as she squeezes Flora's hand firmly. "Then I will help train you," she declares. "I have trained countless soldiers, Flora. I know potential when I see it. It would be my honor to help you find it."
