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. . . She dips her head once, clips her helmet to her belt and waits for you to lead on. Perhaps this conversation is best had in private? Perhaps she trusts you, and shows this mark of favor, to be led to the station of a lesser officer and perform her briefing there, to reinforce her vast appreciation of a timely rescue and as a testament to your skill and valor.
Or perhaps she waits for you to lead her to your command post because there's nigh on a hundred corpses in hers, more wounded, shaking prisoners, guards, wards, medics and barrels of water being delivered at peace, and, in the corner, a heavy war destrier from the 82nd is gently whining its last before a Pyrewatcher silences it.
Who can say?
