Not being able to see the woman who stole your heart was, to be blunt, the plops. Now, it wouldn’t have done Isaac’s reputation any good if he’d been seen to be pining, a man had to maintain a certain level of respect amongst his fellow troops, after all.

Yet, deep down, underneath the bluster, the cheer, the jokes and needling, Isaac could admit it to himself. He’d been pining harder than a rustic furniture store.

What was it about Morrelia that captured his mind, body and soul? Was it the spirited, almost enraged glint in her eyes? Was it the soft curl in her short-cut hair? Or was it the intense sensation of her fist slamming into his gut? Who could say? Certainly not Isaac. Yet, when she strode out to fight Anthony, covered in thick plates of armour, he had instantly known it was her, and his heart had soared in his chest.

Now, he knelt down on one knee, gazing up at her with what he hoped wasn’t too fawning a look.

He needed to play it cool, after all. As cool as the burning flames of his passion would let him. Slowly, those gauntleted hands came up and removed the helmet, letting it hang off her hip.

And there she was.

Dark hair. Piercing eyes. Uneasy, somewhat disgusted expression.

“Isaac. What in the name of… what are you doing down here?”

There was some chatter from the stands to his left, but Isaac paid it no mind. The Legion were sitting over there, and they surely had other things on their mind than disturbing this reunion.

Doing his best to remain casual, Isaac shrugged, then realised it looked silly to shrug while kneeling, so he stood, balanced himself, then casually shrugged once more.

“Oh, you know. I thought if I kept following the big fellow around, then I might catch up with you again one day. How’ve you been? It’s nice to see you again.”

Morrelia planted her face in her palm and slowly shook her head. Probably shocked at the depths of his dedication.

“You really came all the way down here just in case you saw me again? You don’t even know me!”

“I know how I feel about you,” Isaac declared, leaning close. “I know how incredible you are. If you give me a little time, I’d love a chance to detail all of your most attractive qualities.”

He winked, smoothly.

“Do you have any lunch plans? I know a place where we can eat and get… closer.”

It was at that point her fist connected with his face. Isaac soared through the air in a beautiful arc, but before he could crash to the ground, an ant raced from the stands like a flash. When he landed, Isaac fell into a perfect mounted position, astride his partner and magnificent steed, smiling broadly.

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~~~

[Oh no! I’ve killed him!] Morrelia gasped, looking down at her armoured fist.

[What? No. He’s fine.]

[I punched him right in the chin! I’m surprised his head didn’t explode.]

Yeesh. You’re strong, but you aren’t that strong.

[There, look, he landed just fine.]

[How!? And he’s even sitting in a saddle?!]

As if ants would ever let themselves be saddled. We don’t need one!

[Isaac has done a lot of training himself. He’s now a proud member of the ant cavalry. You really think one punch would be enough to take him out?]

Morrelia looks a little relieved, though she keeps eyeing Isaac askance.

[Why isn’t he moving? And he still has that creepy grin on his face.]

[Oh, he’s unconscious for sure. Cavalant is the one keeping him upright.]

“Nice job, Cavalant. Good save.”

“Sometimes, this is more trouble than it’s worth, Eldest.”

“Hey, Isaac’s alright. He just gets a little distracted. You better take him back and get someone to check his jaw isn’t broken.”

“Fine.”

Still balancing her rider on her back, she turns and makes her way out of the arena. Morrelia slumps, running a hand through her dark hair.

[Well, that went poorly. I can’t believe he hasn’t changed since the last time I saw him.]

[Some people are weirdly stubborn,] I advise sagely. [Hey, quick question, why are so many of the Legionaries laughing?]

[They better not be….]

Sure enough, there’s quite a bit of pointing and laughing going on, despite how much they try to hide it behind regular Legion stoicism. Infuriated, Morrelia strides off, bellowing at the troops, who suddenly straighten in their seats, looking guilty.

[Catch you later, Morrelia, nice to have a chat.]

She doesn’t turn or nod over her shoulder, that would be way too obvious, but I get a little flick of the wrist to acknowledge my words as she walks away. Man, I wonder what the heck Isaac said to her to elicit that sort of reaction? He make fun of her mum or something?

Ah well, my mission has been accomplished, contact with Morrelia has been established, and a chat has been had. Hopefully, next time we can discuss over tea and biscuits, rather than swords and mandibles. It’s not convivial, is all I’m saying.

I fight a few more rounds in the arena, just to allay suspicions, before I take my leave and catch up with Eran Thouris outside. Unlike everyone else, she appears openly delighted with how things have worked out.

[Fighting with the Legion has garnered the Colony a lot of sympathy with the Folk,] she informs me. [We’ve managed to strike far more deals than I expected, given how reticent the Folk can be. This has gone incredibly well!]

Marzban doesn’t share her positive outlook. With a hand on the hilt of his blade and a look like an injured wildcat, let’s just say the man appears to be a bit on edge. Protectant is probably feeling the same way, now that I think about it.

[So are we done here on Freehill? Any need for further cultural exchange?]

[I think the air is a little tense. If we stay much longer, the danger of a conflict arising will only grow. We have other places to visit and more trades to make. We shall depart tomorrow.]

[Fair enough, I’m happy to get going. A good night’s rest won’t go astray either.]

One question remains, though.

[What’s the Legion going to do when we leave?]

Marzban scowls, but Eran only shrugs.

[That, is something we are going to find out.]