Memories and old friends.

[Marcus Kobra]

The sent of his wife's perfume still hung in the air lingering like a memory does. The fire crackled and popped like old memories do when they come back to your mind from long ago. The flickering glow casting shadows like passing friends, the warmth like that of making new ones. He penned another entry in his journal and looked through the window into the blue waters. He saw much further past that still to a time much earlyer in his career. Images of a horse and rider trotting out of the trees to announce that the guard was needed, that smell of horses. Dragoons. . . disbanded.

Memories.

An accented voice yet accompanied by blond hair, and for once. . . not trying to kill him. A Tokunian, some new guy. He was well spoken and polite. Ahh he'd prove to be quite the friend. The man who would help Marcus build his house. Takeamada, soldier, Grenadier, best of friends. A Brother?

Memories.

Now Takeamada had been gone for months. His home was empty of life. Dust gathered on the mantel and in the corners. The garden was now wilted. . . when would his friend come home? Was it his duty to take up Takeamada's duty in his stead? Was it his duty to watch over the Baron until his return? He'd didn't know for certain, but he was certain it could help his career. He'd have to think on it a few more months.

The fire cracked loudly. Marcus blinked and turned back to his journal then caught the last lingering bit of his wife's perfume. Yes it was definitely time to turn in.