Harrogye, Ausicaa

Brenna missed the misty forests and mountains of Lachsea with all her heart. She longed for the freedom to run barefoot through the hills and meadows again, so much so that her chest ached with it. She often thought of Sorcha's little house by the lake and fretted over the old witch constantly. Was Sorcha eating enough? Resting enough? Could she still lift heavy pails of water on her own?

Brenna wanted to return to Sorcha's side. She simply felt out of place in Harrogye, as did Roshe. The sad creature kept landing himself in detention cells for his failure to follow orders and brawling with the others in his squadron. At present, Brenna suspected that he was only a few demerits shy of getting thrown out of the platoon altogether. Worst of all, she couldn't fault the Lieutenant for his exasperation over Roshe's antics. After all, Roshe was a wolf. He belonged in the wild, not in enclosed spaces with so many other humans. Such a loyal companion deserved a far better fate than the one she was forcing him into, and the guilt weighed on her conscience daily.

Cadet Willings and Cadet Faeste continued to harass Brenna about her unsightly hands and her poor performance during drills, but their cruelty no longer stung as much as it had during her first week. As long as the other cadets didn't question the validity of her identity or sex, she no longer cared about how they wished to perceive her or mistreat her.

All that mattered to Brenna now was her mission, and she knew it was time to act with far more swiftness and deliberation. The longer she dallied at the Station, the more likely her femininity would be revealed to someone on accident. Her menstrual flow was scheduled to arrive within days, and planning out the logistics of how to keep this condition a secret was making her head spin. The possibility of being caught with blood seeping through the crotch of her uniform was a truly horrendous thought.

Not to mention, she already experienced a most precarious encounter with Squadron Leader Ariss in the showers a few days back. Brenna hadn't meant to stare, but she might have caught a glimpse of the handsome green-eyed boy's, ahem—family jewels—on accident.

That impressive visual alone was enough to send her nerves spiraling into a state of internal chaos.

Indeed, Brenna was growing desperate, flustered, and deeply troubled. These matters pertaining to female proprietary and gender-related complications were truly upsetting. Time was of the essence, but she didn't feel anywhere near confident enough in her relationship with Squadron Leader Ariss to reveal her true intentions to him. Every time she approached him, he hemmed and hawed at her attempts to discuss the fairytale about Sorcha and her beloved in depth. He laughed politely whenever she tried to speak to him about how their fates might be entwined to one another.

To alleviate the gravity of her failures, Brenna comforted herself with the fact that, at the very least, Squadron Leader Ariss wasn't unapproachable or standoffish around her. If anything, he had become something of an unexpected ally. While blockheads like Willings and Faeste continually teased and tormented Brenna about every little thing, the cadets within her squadron under Squadron Leader Ariss' supervision had begrudgingly come to accept her as one of their own. He regularly retained her after drills to help her train, offering helpful advice and guidance on how to improve upon her weaknesses and build up her strengths.

---

As they stood on the muddy field for marksmanship practice, Squadron Leader Ariss moved behind Brenna to help reposition her M16 Aravelle. The butt of the heavy rifle had been sitting flush against her forearm. He maneuvered the weapon to rest on the right side of her chest instead. She blushed faintly when his hand brushed against her bound breasts.

"For one as slight as you, always redistribute your weight in a forward leaning crouch," he explained patiently. "Use the squared stance whenever possible, and place your anchoring foot six inches behind your supporting one. This will significantly reduce impact from recoil."

Brenna nodded obediently and proceeded to line up her shot. "Understood, Squadron Leader Ariss."

She pulled the trigger. The rifle exploded with an ear-splitting crack while the recoil pad slammed into her as though someone had punched her in the chest. Brenna winced in pain and then again in embarrassment.

Her shot had missed the bullseye completely and barely grazed the target board.

"Keep working on it, Waevers," Squadron Leader Ariss commanded lightly. "Miracles do not happen overnight, after all."

---

Brenna hated appearing so inadequate in front of her squadron leader. Every time she finally mastered a skill, a more difficult one loomed around the corner. She was well aware that he was giving her preferential treatment due to her deficiencies as a soldier. The constant struggle wounded her pride as much as she appreciated his kindness.

And what a compassionate and benevolent person he was!

Even outside of their training exercises, Brenna sensed that the handsome green-eyed boy cared deeply about her as a fellow human being. He was always asking questions about her childhood in Lachsea. He seemed particularly enthralled by the stories she told about her made-up family. Granted, these stories were based mostly on half-lies and half-truths.

Brenna had yet to summon up the courage to unpack the complexities behind her real lineage. She feared that Squadron Leader Ariss might brand her a fool—or worse, a lunatic—if she revealed too much, too soon.

If he was already disinclined to believe in fate and fairytales, then how could she convince him of something as preposterous as the existence of a lost princess?

To make matters worse, Brenna's monthly flux began to flow later that afternoon. She feigned sickness and requested a medical leave of absence from the Lieutenant. He granted it to her with some reservation. Brenna supposed she couldn't hide behind imaginary illnesses every month, but, at least, for now, she was safe. She retired to her private quarters in the dormitory and worked on converting some cellucotton that she had swiped from the on-site clinic into makeshift disposable napkins.

Right before suppertime, Brenna heard a knock at the door. She frowned. Who could it be? It was much too early for Roshe to return to the dormitory. Brenna scrambled to hide the evidence of her handiwork beneath her bed covers.

Once the napkins were properly tucked out of sight, she called out as calmly as possible, "Who is it?"

"It is me, your squadron leader. Open up, Waevers."

Brenna's gray eyes grew wide as she rushed over to unlock the door. Sure enough, as the door swung open, Squadron Leader Ariss was standing on the other side. He clutched a metal canteen in his hand.

He offered it to her. "I heard you were not feeling well. I brought you some soup from the mess hall."

"Oh!" Brenna gasped in surprise. "Why, thank you! How very kind of you."

She nearly tripped as she accepted the canteen from him. Squadron Leader Ariss caught her arm just in time. "Careful now, Waevers. You are already on medical leave."

Brenna blushed and quickly stepped away from him. "Thank you, Squadron Leader Ariss. For the soup."

He stared at her with amusement. "Are you going to make me stand here all night? Or will you invite me inside?"

"Oh!" she gasped again. "Please come in, come in!"

He gave her a once over. "You seem to be in fairly good spirits. Will you be well enough to join us on the field tomorrow?"

"Oh, I do not know," Brenna mumbled nervously. "I have a stomach bug. The discomfort comes and goes..."

Squadron Leader Ariss didn't sit down. He kept walking around her room as though he was searching for something. It made Brenna a little nervous.

"I am sorry to hear it," he murmured sympathetically. "Do let me know if you need anything. I hope you recover soon. I would hate to see you fall behind with your training, especially after all the progress we have been making..."

His eyes drifted across the desks and chairs by the door to the small dresser in the corner. A piece of white fabric was sticking out from the top drawer on the dresser. It was one of the bandages that she used to hold in her breasts. Brenna's breath caught in her chest, but she willed herself to relax. Even if the squadron leader saw it, surely, he wouldn't know what it was being used for...

"Bandages?" he remarked casually. "For your rash, I presume?"

"Yes... for my... rash."

He winked at her. "Still, you should tidy up that dresser of yours. Or else you might be written up during our next room inspection."

"Understood, Squadron Leader Ariss," Brenna replied with a curt nod.

His sharp green eyes honed in on the small lump beneath her bedding. He smiled. "Are you hiding something under there, Waevers?"

Brenna resisted the urge to glare at him as her pulse began to race. Why was he being so invasive all of a sudden? Did he suspect something?

She tried to deflect his question. "I thought you had come to inquire after my health and bring me soup, Squadron Leader Ariss. I did not realize you had also come to inspect my room."

"I apologize, I meant no offense," Squadron Leader Ariss insisted. "I was merely curious."

He turned to face her. His gaze bore into hers in a most unsettling way. "I must admit, I am very curious about you, Waevers. You are unlike any recruit I have ever met before."

Brenna swallowed uneasily. "What do you mean, Squadron Leader Ariss? I am a cadet like any other."

"Are you, though?" he mused quietly. "I have been observing you for weeks now. I even consider you a friend. As such, I cannot help but wonder why a boy like you would choose a hard life in the navy when there are easier paths you could have taken. The gods certainly did not bless you with the brawn or build necessary to become an Imperial officer. As your friend, I worry about you, and I wish to help you. So, please, tell me the truth. No more excuses, no more lies. Why are you really here, Waevers?"