A month later:

Zak:

I LINGER ON THE THOUGHT FOR A MOMENT. NO, THAT COULDN’T WORK. BEFORE I CAN FINISH my thoughts, Darsal runs into my tent, excitement illuminating her face. Her green eyes dance in the sunlight and her long reddish-brown hair, pulled up in a ponytail, swings in her back. The moment I saw her, I knew she wasn’t a Scriptio. She doesn’t look like one. Scriptios have darker features. Darsal’s eyes are a bright green, hair a light reddish-brown, pieces bleached by the sun, and her skin a tanned brown. She also straps throw-knives to her thighs, something nearly no Scriptios do. Scriptios don’t use many throw knives.

But that's not how I knew. I have memories of people, places and things no Scriptio should know. Although Darsal doesn’t recognize me, I remember her as clear as day; and I remember what she used to be in Before.

She doesn’t talk of Before; very few people do. But for some people, Before can be harder to think about than others. It causes them pain and to remember, and, well, it can break them. For Darsal, Before is what brought her here, and what can kill her, both literally and figuratively. To know someone else’s Before is the most personal thing you can know. And for them to tell you, is a tremendous sign of trust. It means you can bend them at your will, shatter them at a moment’s notice. But some people will twist you till you break and that is the most inhuman thing you can do. And I know Darsal’s Before; one who you can’t bend her without breaking her; one of the most dangerous Befores in Guardian history.

You wouldn’t guess it seeing her at first, but once, I caught her sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, quivering like a leaf. I’m smarter than to ask her about it, but I believe I know. Everything in her past and present seems to link to Before.

A month earlier, I surprised her while she was talking to a childhood friend about her younger sister, Carrie. It doesn't take the smartest person to see that Darsal’s world revolves around her love for her sister and that she would lie her life for the girl. Like she told Black if Carrie dies, so will she. But I think the guilt of leaving her sister behind has been torturing her more than anything physical ever could. To see Darsal bursting at the seams with joy is nice for a change.

“Zak!” she cries, “Guess what! I can go to the stream again!”

It takes me only a moment to know what she means. Darsal doesn't talk that much, but she does, it’s often about the stream and the willow where she grew up visiting. To have permission to go seems to have made her happy. She has often begged me to let her go there in secret, but I don’t want to risk my life for a twenty-minute visit to a stream.

“What made him do that?” I ask, noticing that she doesn’t even seem winded from running near to half a mile, from General’s tent to here, but I’m not surprised.

She’s achieved a lot in 7 months; almost an impossible amount; just as much as a girl can in such a small period. She can accurately shoot a target 40 ft away, throw a knife or a javelin with dead accuracy. But somehow she’s the same person I knew before: confident and with such a different way of looking at things, you would think she was looking at it upside down. If you can be a fierce and intimidating warrior, and yet always happy and confident, humbly, you’ll have Darsal. She’s just the type that everyone gravitates to. You can tell by just looking at her she gets drunk without touching a drop of alcohol. She gets drunk on pure life. Well, that’s what you’d think, but I’ll never forget the tiny figure in the corner, broken past repair, sobbing uncontrollably, like a small, lost puppy.

“I don’t know. I’m not allowed to go now. We both have to attend some kind of meeting first. Can you come, please?” she says, hardly able to stand still.

I eventually agree, but something nags at the back of my mind as I chain her wrist to mine. Something isn’t quite right.