[Signed]

The back of Brenna's neck prickled.  It had been against her better judgement to reach out in the first place, but now she found herself somewhat surrounded.  After weeks of travels, and passing through the land under Cove's Baronship, she had found what she was looking for...and every thread of her being urged her to run, never stopping until she was back within the familiar purple highlands of Minoc once more.

The young woman ahead of her flashed a benign glance in Brenna's direction, her fiery red hair whipping and furling in the brisk evening breeze.  She was obviously an officer, self-assured and authoritative in stance as she gestured toward the cathedral.  She was not threatening in her demeanor, but carried herself with the air of someone who had earned her stripes through pure grit, and determination.

Behind Brenna, however, a lower-ranking recruit glared at her, his face stony, eyes empty of emotion.  Brenna prickled again, wondering whether the recruit's thoughts meandered into dangerous territory, or if perhaps he was bereft of thought, like so many of the mindless meatshields she had trained in the past.  She turned and glared back at the recruit, but her uneasiness was betrayed by her horse, who began to tremble and lurch, uncertain of the command.

Brenna reigned in her chestnut pony, dismounted, and led it to one side, as the red-haired officer finished what appeared to be a tour given to a civilian.  She became conscious of her own wind-tangled ponytail, unbanding it long enough to run a brush through her long black hair, then banded it again.  "First impressions," she told herself, "are everything."

Introductions were swift.  The recruit with the dumbstruck gaze softened and became more congenial as Brenna and the officer spoke.  "Brenna," she heard herself saying through the thoughts swimming in her head.  "Brenna Morgan, of Minoc."

"The food is bad, and the pay is worse," the recruit quipped, then laughed at his own joke.

"Where do I sign up?" Brenna replied, only half-jokingly.  And before she knew it, she was standing inside the massive stone tower before the desk of the officer, who had introduced herself as Sergeant Mela Arkay.  The woman tucked stray red strands of hair behind her ear and adjusted her cap as she asked the required questions of Brenna.

"Race?" the officer queried, surveying Brenna's face.  "Human, I suppose?"

"Aye," replied the raven-haired girl, fidgeting with a buckle on her armour.  And then, without thinking, "the on'y race that counts, anyhow."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Jes' meant I ne'er trusted them pointy-eared type," Brenna replied flippantly.

"You mean elves?" There was an edge in the Sergeant's voice.  Mela's eyes narrowed and silence fell across the room as Brenna lifted her gaze to meet the officer's eyes.  The pupils were slitted, catlike, with a golden glint. Instantly, Brenna was on her guard.

"Perhaps you should keep comments like that to yourself, especially when your officer is half-elf," Mela stated firmly through clenched teeth.

"Aye," replied Brenna, simply and with conviction.

The questions went forward, one after the next, and Brenna answered each evenly and respectfully.  But inside her a fire was burning out of control: anger at having to reach out beyond the borders of Minoc...anger at having her life disrupted, at giving up her title and becoming a mere recruit....anger at having to feign respect for an impure--an elf!!  All these thoughts she quelled with the images of the hungry children, dusty in the streets of Minoc, pressing their noses against the darkened windows of empty shops.  "Determination, hold me fast," she thought as she signed her name. "I will not forget even the least of you."

Signed
 Brenna Morgan