i. TAKE ME BACK TO THE NIGHT WE MET
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OH, THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS
MASTERS OF THE AIR

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       || THERE'S A MULTITUDE OF FLASHES FOLLOWING IN RAPID SECESSION—FILTERED WITH MUFFLED SOUNDS OF SCREAMS. Frantic shouts suffice of sorrow claim the once calm atmosphere. Voices pleading forth commands to another in desperation.

There's flashes of red splashed across the wall like a poor attempt at artistry Hums of whitened ammo flicker by, of a buzzing follows the brightened lines as each slices through a body. A young girl looks up from her hands upon the floor—her body weaken and shaking.

A lone object lays beside her. But her sight fixes upon the blurry figures before her—dressed of stolen German uniforms, guns in hand. Her eyes slowly widened upon the grinding and rattling of a death machine approaching. A few soldiers began shouting in a frenzy, pointing helplessly at the tank.

As the surroundings that once gave her a feeling of safety become increasingly hostile—a firm hand grabs ahold of her weakened arm. Reality kicks in as the fear claims her shivering hands. The young girls eyes quickly flicker over to the boy—her brother. His lips move slightly. But it's as if time had slowed to a crawl as he spoke, with his words never matching up pass their designated mark. His words are slowed, garbled but his panicked features say it all.

Before the girl has any chance to react, a Wehrmacht soldier comes rushing over the bodies of the fallen—she feels a sudden tightness firmly grab ahold of her chest before she's pushed back against the wall. Dazed, her ears settle upon the humming of a pistol firing. Her voice slowly rings out, calling for him by name only masked by the surrounding chaos.

A barely audible wrenching scream rages up from within her, reaching her hand out...

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     || EYES OF PALE BLUE SNAP OPEN—WITH A HARSH GRASP FOR AIR TUNNELING FROM TREMBLING LIPS. Pupils dilated upon the mellowing hues of red and yellow above. Her chest quite upheaved with every breath shallowing escaping. A cold sweat has taken upon her forehead—snaking down across her cheekbones.

Her lids held beneath lightened brows, flutter faultily, shaking slightly as her eyes adjust. With Her heart pounding against its jail, Celina remains still. Glancing around the room suspicious and paranoid that the horror may have followed her yet again. But upon a few half blinks, all that came into view was the lonely door positioned straight ahead—nothing more. No tanks, no guns.

There's a subtle sigh of relief, washing away the vestiges of the horror—leaving Celina quite relieved to return to her mundane existence. The woman groans in slight discomfort, using her arms to prop herself up. There's a momentary pause, cracking the strain that held upon her neck.

Letting her thoughts collect as one before lazily swinging her legs over the beds ledge—letting them dangle freely. Celina leans slightly forward, lowering her head down upon her hands. Elbows dig into her thighs, taking the weight of a mind plagued with terror.

As she sits there, jaw cracking beneath the pressure of her grinding, her throat seems quite raw and agitated—tingling even as Celina swallows. It felt as though she'd been yelling with all her might.

A sharp inhale escapes, her nails slowly dig into her scalp, clenching her blonde strands beneath them. With a angered grunt, her hands quickly released back beside her. Hearing some clanking and rattles, her sight fixes upon her pet rat in its cage—it's big eyes staring back at her.

Little nose of pink and black twitching back and forth. It's little paws of light white and pink beans grasping the iron wire. All her worries fade away into the darkness, awaiting to be awoken again at sleep. A smile creases her lips, before tilting her head slightly back to align her eyes to ceiling above.

"Another day..." she muttered beneath her breath, before hopping from the bed. Celina unlatched the door, allowing the piebald rat to eagerly come onto her arm. Cici was the pet's name, frankly Celina was lucky to keep her there.

Cici had enjoyed climbing and weaving into Celina's long hair that caressed down her back. So when she walked around, all that people saw was a tiny nose peeking out from the golden locks.

"Cici." Celina grumbles as the rat begins squeaking into her ear and when that didn't work, she starts bobbing her head up and down. Stumbles to the bathroom, looks in the mirror slowly, cautiously, as if not sure of what she'll see. The sun shines bright through the window, washing away the vestiges of the horror.

Burning her hair, Cici changes shoulders each time—she's deathly afraid of the brush of doom. Celina then lays her arm straight to the sink, allowing Cici to climb down. Using a tsk at the top of her mouth, giving the Que for the she-rat to start rummaging through the makeup bag.

As Celina starts twirling the golden locks around her two index and middles fingers—Cici carefully picks through the assortment of hair pins. Followed in short by her little squeaks and frustration yawns.

Until, she finds the perfect one of a bronze color—quickly running it up to Celina, whom was patiently waiting with a smile. "40 seconds! You broke your record from last time." Celina remarked through joyous applause. Carefully pinning the tamed curls back, adding some color back to her tired face—the young pole was ready to take on the day.

6:30 am sharp marked the time for Celina to rendezvous with Mrs. Hutchinson in the kitchen. Their mission? To commence the intricate process of preparing the donut dough for the esteemed ladies of the American Red Cross.

Celina found herself captivated by the elegance exuded by these women—their manner of speech, their meticulously styled hair, and their theatrical makeup that seemed right out of a movie set. The crimson shade of lipstick, in particular, held a peculiar allure for her, a stark contrast to the strict rules her mother had imposed regarding such bold choices.

The daily meetings with these remarkable women never failed to bring a smile to Celina's face, offering her a fleeting escape from the constraints her own mind had imposed upon her.

Descending the spiraling staircase with a grace befitting a debutante, Celina extended her greetings to Eleanor, the gracious hostess of the grand estate. Eleanor, a statuesque figure with cheeks adorned by a subtle rosy blush, exuded an air of refinement that complemented her stature. "Good morning, sweetheart," she greeted with a demure bow, her voice a melodic symphony to Celina's ears.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, a symphony of tantalizing scents enveloped Celina, signaling Mrs. Hutchinson's fervent baking endeavors. The matriarch of the kitchen stood at the epicenter, enveloped in a cloud of flour that danced around her like a whirlwind as she devotedly worked on a sizable mound of dough positioned atop the sprawling kitchen island. Two additional batches of dough stood by, patiently awaiting their turn for the masterful touch of the seasoned baker, a testament to her culinary prowess.

Mrs. Hutchinson hummed a cheerful tune as her seasoned hands deftly manipulated the dough, infusing it with love and expertise. Catching a glimpse of Celina entering the room, her eyes alighted with joy. "Ah, there you are, my darling," she exclaimed, her smile emitting a warmth that could thaw even the most frigid of dispositions.

Mrs. Hutchinson was a woman of round proportions, her silver and blonde curls cascading gracefully around her face, accentuating the gentle wrinkles that time had etched onto her forehead. Despite the frustration evident in her movements as she wrestled with the dough, her demeanor exuded warmth and kindness.

Celina meekly smiled, waving her hand slightly, " Hallo.." she mustered—trying to avoid speaking in Polish. She was determined to better her English skills, she only wanted impress the women at the Red Cross. All she wanted was friends...

With each deft movement, Mrs. Hutchinson expertly shaped the dough, "Come, lend me a hand with these batches," she beckoned—-an accent lacing her words. One that Celina later found to be Scottish.

Celina sat Cici down, before walking over to wash her hands. Once giving her hands a proper dusting of flour, she began to slowly knead the cakey dough. "Alright, shall we start over English lessons." Mrs. Hutchison exclaimed with a smile.

Celina nodded her head quickly, muttering a simple " yes" Learning English was quite the experience for the young woman. Considering with the Americans there, the English they spoke was far different. Certain slang words just didn't add up in her vocabulary. In short, Celina found it harder to convene with the Americans.

"Hel-lo," Mrs. Hutchinson enunciated slowly, her accent giving the word a melodious lilt that made it a tad challenging for Celina to grasp every nuance.

"Hel-lo," Celina echoed, striving to mimic Mrs. Hutchinson's pronunciation—although devoid of any discernible Scottish inflection.

"Perfect!" The elder remarked, "you'll have the English language down in no time!" This made a warmth buzz through Celina—a smile fixing upon her lips. The lessons would go on for another hour, each one harder than the last. Yet Celina didn't back away from it—if her brother could do it, then surely she could.

When the last batch of dough had been expertly kneaded and set aside to rise, Mrs. Hutchinson let out a contented sigh. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she looked over at Celina. "Thank you, my dear," she said softly. As Celina bowed and turned to organize the goods for their journey, Mrs. Hutchinson's warm smile lingered. "Your presence brings joy to this old kitchen."

There was a certain depth in the way the older woman gazed at Celina, a look that made her wonder if she somehow reminded Mrs. Hutchinson of a lost loved one—perhaps a daughter. The thought lingered in Celina's mind, but she hesitated to voice the question.

Carefully placing the last batch of donuts into a leather sack, Celina took a moment to tie a satin bow of pink around them. In a world filled with darkness, she believed that a touch of color could bring a glimmer of happiness to those they were meant for. The Red Cross ladies always appreciated the bows—often using them as cheerful accessories in their hair.

As Celina stepped outside the cozy kitchen, she was greeted by the sight of Artemis—a feisty, silver bay mare. Artemis, or "Artie" as she fondly called her, had a gentle disposition that matched her striking appearance. Celina loved reading books on her off time, with Greek mythology catching her attention the most. Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt.

The mare's eyes were a bright blue, and they always seemed to light up whenever Celina approached—perhaps due to the promise of donut scraps.

Loading up the goods, securing them with practiced precision, Celina prepared to embark. She ascended the small steps positioned next to Artemis and settled herself onto the English saddle— after being here for years, she realized there were indeed different types of saddles.

With a soft click of her tongue and a gentle nudge, Celina urged Artemis forward. The mare responded with a burst of energy, galloping off with a grace that was both captivating and exhilarating. In that moment, as the wind tousled her hair and the world blurred by, Celina felt a surge bubbling within her—a sense of freedom that only a ride could evoke.

She had ridden many horses before whilst in Poland, it was her favorite pastime. Though the forests and weather was far different than other there, Celina still enjoyed a good ride. As the sun began its crest for mid afternoon, casting a warm golden glow over the countryside, the gentle rhythm of hooves against the dirt road could be heard in the distance.

Celina, perched atop Artemis, guided the mare with practiced ease, her hands steady on the reins as they made their way through the rolling hills. Many of the passersby waved at the young woman, each giving her a gentle nod.

Each dew-kissed tip shimmered with a translucent brilliance, painting a poetic scene as wildflowers bloomed in a breathtaking array of colors. A chorus of mourning doves set the stage with their gentle melody, evoking a sense of wistful nostalgia in all who were fortunate enough to bear witness.

Meanwhile, a kaleidoscope of cattle, boasting various shades and sizes, meandered towards a barn tinted in hues of crimson. This rustic sanctuary had the capacity to shelter up to a hundred beasts hourly. Like gears in a well-oiled clock, the farmhands began their morning rituals.

Young and old, their attire adorned in rugged denim overalls and well-worn leather boots, converged in the central courtyard. Each face bore the marks of determination, etched with lines that spoke of resilience and unwavering dedication.

In a symphony orchestrated by nature, a soft whistle from the rancher's hand set the stage. From the depths of the pasture, a harmonious melody arose as the cattle joined in, their calls melding with the rhythmic clanking of metal shoes on concrete and rocks, proudly worn by the sturdy quarter horses. The young boys around the ranch exchanged knowing glances and shared chuckles—some even pausing to finish their breakfast in the midst of the bustling scene.

The breeze tousled Celina's hair as she rode, the wind carrying the sweet scent of freshly baked donuts from the leather sack slung over Artemis' sturdy back. The pink satin bow fluttered in the wind, a cheerful pop of color against the dusty landscape.

As they rode, Celina's thoughts drifted back to Mrs. Hutchinson and the quaint little kitchen where she had spent countless hours learning the art of baking. The older woman's kind eyes and warm smile filled Celina with a sense of belonging she had never experienced before.

Artemis trotted along, her hooves kicking up small clouds of dust as they approached the outskirts of town. The familiar sights and sounds of the bustling marketplace greeted Celina as she guided the mare through the crowded streets, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and blooming flowers mingling in the air.

As they reached Thorpes Abbotts, Celina pulled gently upon the reins—with Artemis flaring her head back in response. The young blonde meekly nodded a simple hello to the young guard—leaning over to show him her card. The leather of her saddle creaking softly in the afternoon sun. The young man simply smiled, giving the okay with a thumbs up. His eyes lighting up at the sight of the leather sack brimming with treats.

Celina wearily bowed as well before gently nudging Artemis in the stomach with her foot. The bay took off immediately, her nostrils flaring and ears straight ahead. Some of the airmen were already out, doing lord knows what.

But seeing her caused some to get a bit rowdy—hooting and hollering like a batch of children. A couple even attempted to whistle, but Celina merely flashed a smile. She wasn't one for much social interaction, especially when it came to men.

In school, all grades, Celina never experienced being asked out, dancing with someone or even dating. Men were like another language to her—one she found quite boring. Frankly, she hated math just as much, but she rather the math class over talking to one of them.

As Artemis glided pass the trucks and quarters, Celina spotted a few of the RAF pilots—thought they kept to their own side of the base. She hoped to catch a mere glimpse of her brother, his squadron was stationed here not too long ago.

He was apart of the 303 squadron, or the 303rd Tadeusz Kościuszko Warsaw. A group formed primarily of Polish soldiers in 1940 by the RAF. This was in an attempt to save Britain from the grasps of the German Luftwaffe.

But their quarters were far off from where the American Red Cross was stationed. So reluctantly, Celina pushed on.
She slowed Artemis done to a mere crawl as they walked past the signs telling where everything was. Celina faintly picked out the words, ' RAF station' on one wooden plank. 0.9 miles was all she could get before Artemis tossed her head up in retaliation.

"Stop..." Celina found herself muttering in English—knowing the horse had grown up around the British. Honestly, she had found this out when she tried commanding in Polish—only for the horse to blankly stare.

A faint mist hung delicately over Thorpe Abbotts as Celina continued on towards the Red Cross station. The stone streets glistened with morning dew, casting a serene aura over the airbase. The chirping of birds filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of a horse's hooves approaching.

As Celina arrived—a woman quickly emerged from the station with an air of warmth and grace. It was Helen, one of the seasoned volunteers whose open arms and wide smile enveloped Celina like a comforting embrace. "Hello, Helen," Celina managed to utter, her voice barely more than a whisper—betraying her nervousness.

The young blonde slowly descended Artemis as Helen held the reins still. Her dress fluttered slightly as her feet kissed the ground. Celina desperately wanted to wear trousers and button up shirts like the ladies there did, but atlas, found Mrs. Hutchison was strongly against it. It was quite a climb for Artemis as the bay had stood at 17 hands—the tall beast.

Celina made sure to add some reassuring pats against Artemis's soft fur—with the skin wrinkling up everytime her finger gazed upon them. She slowly took the reins from Helen, who in response offered a hand with a cheery "good morning to ya!"

The young Pole was quite taken off guard, noticing the brunette had extended her hand towards her. Celina hesitantly accepted Helen's hand, Celina hesitantly accepted Helen's gesture, her fingers trembling slightly as they intertwined with the brunette's..

The brunette's gaze lingered on Artemis, who clearly displayed her discontent at being in such a place. "Someone seems upset this morning," Helen observed with a gentle smile, though Celina could only manage a faint semblance of a smile in return. She knew Artemis was never one to hide her displeasure, especially in unfamiliar surroundings.

"Arty isn't happy anytime of the day," Celina remarked, her voice betraying a blend of English and Polish dialect. Sensing her inner turmoil, Helen offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You're doing great," she reassured, her voice carrying a soothing tone that eased Celina's nerves.

As Helen placed her hands on her hips, her honey-colored eyes scanned over the leather bags Celina had brought with her. "So, what do you have for us today?" she inquired, curiosity dancing in her gaze like early morning sunbeams. Celina noticed the vibrant red lipstick and bold black mascara that adorned Helen's lashes, a stark contrast to her own plain appearance.

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing to be like the elegant Red Cross ladies who exuded confidence and grace in everything they did. How she longed to be like them, but she knew deep down she lacked the training and expertise they possessed.

Celina took a deep breath, thoroughly encouraging herself with simple words. She didn't want to make herself out like a fool—all she wanted to blend in. It that easier said than done. Ever since Celina and her brother came here, they had been spat at and ridiculed.

As the delicate morning light peeked through the cracks within the clouds, Celina meticulously unpacked the goods from her sturdy leather sack. The aroma of freshly baked pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp scent of dew-kissed grass. She was in the midst of her daily routine, preparing to serve breakfast at the quaint countryside inn, when the serene tranquility was shattered by the arrival of the new airmen.

A couple of rowdy Americans, their voices raised above the din, took notice of the foreign woman and began making sly comments in jest. Celina, with her head held high and the hint of a determined expression on her face, paid them no mind. Her English may have been far from perfect, but it was enough to comprehend the mockery being directed her way

One bold man, driven by arrogance or folly, reached out his hand towards Artemis. The proud steed's response was immediate - a wild rearing up, causing the donuts perched precariously on the edge of the satchels to cascade to the ground in a sugary downfall.

Celina's eyes widened in alarm as the pastries tumbled onto the dirt, their delicate flakiness now besmirched by the unforgiving earth. The morning sun, with its golden spotlight, did not discriminate in illuminating the disaster that lay before her. All those hours meticulously spent in the kitchen, the attention to detail, the passion woven into each creation – all wasted in an instant.

The aroma of fresh-baked goods lingered in the air, mingling incongruously with the scent of dust and grass. Celina felt a surge of frustration rise within her, a deep-seated anger that threatened to bubble over. It was a feeling she was becoming all too familiar with, courtesy of the unforeseen challenges presented by their peculiar American guests.

Frantically, she bent down, her nimble fingers working feverishly to salvage the treats before they were irrevocably marred by the dirt. Her mind raced with a flurry of emotions – disappointment, irritation, and a growing resentment towards those who had, whether intentionally or not, caused this calamity.

In the midst of the chaos, a looming shadow suddenly fell over her, casting an eerie silhouette on the ground. Celina's heart skipped a beat as she focused on her task, trying to ignore the unsettling presence that now stood beside her. Every movement felt like a minor defeat, a subtle reminder of her lapse in vigilance that allowed this mishap to transpire.

Helen burst onto the scene in a whirlwind of fury, her normally composed façade shattered by the scene that unfolded before her. With a sharp intake of breath, she surveyed the chaos, her honey eyes ablaze with righteous indignation.

"You there!" Helen's voice boomed, cutting through the tension like a knife. Her fist clenched tightly at her side, the knuckles turning white against her fair skin. The scarlet hue of her lips formed a grim line as she pointed an accusatory finger towards the perpetrators of this debacle. "Get out of here, the lot of ya!" Her command reverberated across the makeshift courtyard—a stern decree that brooked no argument.

In a daring display of defiance, Helen bent down amidst the shattered pastries, her nimble fingers wrapping around a torn donut with a fierce resolve. With a swift motion, she hurled the sugary confection towards the retreating airmen.

Robert had been behind the first group of young airmen when he was drawn by the commotion. His keen gaze fell upon the chaos that unfolded before him – the fallen pastries, the agitated horse, tension that hung thick in the air. Yet, amidst the disarray, his attention was arrested by a sight that gave pause even to his seasoned eyes.

The horse, a creature with a glossy coat of brown and silver, stood at the center of the chaos—-its mane billowing in the breeze. As if sensing the unrest that permeated the air, the steed reared up proudly once again.

But it wasn't the horse's display of power that captivated Robert in that moment. It was her... the blonde that rushed to save the day—to save the arrangement of donuts. Something about the way she moved set an ache of sorrow through him. Frankly he felt sorry for the way his men was acting.

Robert gently pressed his hair back and tightened his tie before slowly making his way towards her. Celina was far too engrossed in saving the goods that she didn't notice the lean airman approaching. His footsteps were light, barely making a sound against the chaotic backdrop of the bustling base.

"Hello," his voice quiet but firm, startled her, causing her to fumble slightly backward. "Oh, I am so sorry, I... I didn't mean to scare you." The man's hand found its way into his trousers while the other met his forehead in a nervous gesture. She watched as he muttered to himself, his gaze averted.

Robert mentally kicked himself for coming unannounced and scaring the young woman half to death. But then it got him thinking, was it his looks that caused her fright?

Celina felt a subtle blush creep onto her cheeks; the American gentleman before her was indeed charming in every aspect. His curly, mahogany locks framed a face with piercing blue eyes reminiscent of a pristine lake. She mustered a timid smile, hoping it reflected genuine warmth. A small, fleeting concern surfaced - what if her smile was crooked or awkward?

"Uh, can I help you with those?" Robert tried again, his voice gentle—attempting to break the awkward silence hanging thick in the air. Celina met his gaze, surprise and gratitude evident in her eyes. Her hesitation faded as she nodded in acknowledgment—a sense of relief washing over her.

Robert knelt gracefully beside Celina, the gentle rustle of his uniform punctuated by the soft clink of his well-deserved wings catching the first rays of dawn. The fallen donuts, scattered like forgotten dreams on the pavement, beckoned his attention. Without a spoken word, he moved with a quiet determination to aid the perplexed girl.

Celina, her brow knit in perplexity, observed Robert's movements. Her command of English was a fragile bridge—her utterances hesitant and fractured like shards of a broken mirror. Their hands, reaching for the fallen donuts, danced in harmony, a brief touch igniting a spark of connection between them.

There was kindness in his smile, a gentleness. It was the smile of one who laughed with ease and saw person under the behaviour, a soul-connector. He was the kind of person who lived how he believed people should, as if he were sunshine that only radiated from the best aspects of those he met, their flaws entirely invisible to his gaze. He was a calm sea, dancing birdsong and the new buds of spring.

A warmth radiated from Robert as he turned towards Celina, his smile as endearing as a spring morning—a faint foreign inflection lending a charming melody to his words. "I'm Robert or Rosie if that's easier.," he introduced, extending his hand towards Celina in a gesture of goodwill. But to his astonishment, she met his introduction with a labyrinth of puzzlement in her eyes—a veil of uncertainty shrouding their budding interaction.

"It appears my accent has cast a shadow on our meeting," Robert contemplated silently, a fleeting flicker of disappointment passing through his expressive features. However, unyielding in his resolve, he endeavored to bridge the gap that lay before them. Celina, cautiously reciprocating his gesture, tentatively extended her hand towards his, her touch firm yet gentle.

"And you are...?" Robert inquired softly, his voice carrying a reverent tone in the intimate setting of the shop. Robert inquired softly, his voice carrying a reverent tone in the intimate setting of the shop. Celina's response was a soft smile, a tender flicker of emotion dancing in her eyes.

"I... Not... good with English," she uttered in a fragile voice, her slender index finger pointing towards herself in a self-deprecating gesture. A moment of understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the barriers that language often erected. Her eyes spoke of a beautiful soul and her movements told of a need for nurture, but then perhaps that's how one is. How telling it is that so many have the appearance of the animal that has known intense suffering, such at the dogs that are rescued from cruel indifference

Frankly, Robert's spirit refused to yield to these obstacles. With a gentle touch, he guided Celina through a nonverbal exchange. Using his finger as a compass, Robert pointed towards himself, a spark of playfulness igniting in his eyes. "My name... is Robert or Rosie," he announced with a twinkle of humor, a blend of warmth coloring his words.

Turning towards Celina, he extended his hand towards her once more, a silent invitation encoded in his gesture. "And your name? You?" Robert prompted, his voice a gentle melody that harmonized with the soft hum of the shop around them.

She had never been talked to by a man before, much less someone like Robert. His presence, towering and commanding, unsettled her in a way she couldn't quite put into words. But not in a bad way... Throughout her life, Celina had always been invisible, a whisper in a world filled with loud voices. And now, as Robert stood before her, attempting to bridge the gap between them with his words—Celina felt a tinge behind her eyes, A spark igniting in her belly.

Her heart raced, her palms growing clammy as she struggled to comprehend the strange sensation of someone paying attention to her. As Robert spoke, his words a blend of unfamiliar sounds and gestures, she felt a surge of panic rise within her. In her confusion and discomfort, she turned away, her actions a feeble attempt to shield herself from his scrutiny.

But Robert persisted, his voice gentle yet persistent as he tried to engage her in conversation. Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Celina couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of curiosity flicker within her. Could this man truly see her, the hidden parts of her that she had kept locked away for so long?

Celina's response was not in words but in the language of the soul. A radiant smile graced her lips, her eyes speaking volumes even without the accompaniment of spoken language. It was a moment of connection beyond words, where two individuals bridged the gap between them with nothing but smiles and gestures.

"Me...ah..." she found herself taking more breaks In between the words than she would have. But oddly, instead of him mocking her tone, he continued to smile. "Well, That's okay, take your time." Robert sheepishly replies—his eyes darting from hers to the ground.

Celina simply nodded, her mind in a swirl of emotions, unsure of what to say as she slowly rose to her feet. Robert hesitated, wanting to offer his assistance in helping her up, but Celina politely declined using a faint smile. It didn't take long before Helen strode back, a confident aura surrounding her after shooing away the others.

"Alright, fly boy, go back with your group," Helen declared proudly, positioning herself beside Celina. Robert, taken aback by Helen's abruptness, tried to explain, "I was just trying to help -" Helen cut him off swiftly, "I was only...blah, blah," she said mockingly, moving her hands like a muppet. As she began to push Robert away, Celina found herself intervening—placing a gentle hand on Helen's bicep.

Under the sprawling canopy of ancient oaks, where sunlight shimmered through the leaves like molten gold, Celina and her faithful steed, Artemis, stood alongside Helen and Robert. The air was sweet with the scent of blooming wildflowers, and a sense of tranquility enveloped the small clearing where they had converged.

"He helped," Celina whispered, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of the leaves—causing Helen to skeptically relent, folding her arms across her chest. It was much to Helen's chagrin, for she was not one to easily trust another unknown American pilot.

With a grateful glance towards Artemis, who nuzzled her cheek affectionately, Celina began readjusting the satchels slung across her slender frame, preparing to head back home. The sun painted a warm glow upon her features, highlighting her softened expression.

"When will I see you again?" Rosie inquired, his voice a gentle murmur—gesturing between the two women as he spoke. Celina tilted her head slightly, the setting sun casting shadows upon her delicate features, feeling a pang of irony that just when she thought she no longer needed the English book of translation, fate had brought her here, to this place where words were irrelevant.

Helen raised a slight brow as she watched the duo, debating internally if she should intervene again, her gaze shifting between Celina and Rosie with unwavering scrutiny. The tension in the air was palpable, mingling with the scent of earth and pine.

"I... come," Celina paused, her voice clear and unwavering, closing her eyes briefly as if seeking strength from the ancient spirits that dwelled within the woods. Her nose scrunching up in concentration, she tried to recall the words, the syllables foreign yet familiar on her tongue. "Every other day," she finally declared, her tone resolute as she met Robert's gaze with a steady look.

Robert nodded, a soft smile playing upon his lips, his gratitude evident in the depths of his eyes. He reached out, tentatively attempting to place his hand upon Artemis's neck—-seeking to establish a connection with the majestic creature who stood with Celina. But the young mare wasn't too thrilled about it, her wild spirit refusing to be tamed, tossing her head up slightly with a huff from her nostrils.

Celeste meekly nodded before rising the reins slightly and getting Artemis onto the road—leaving Robert behind with a new feeling he hadn't experienced before. Even in his years in school and being a lawyer, he never felt the need for companionship—even as the women threw themselves at him. But there was something about this woman that was drawing him in and Rosie was determined to found out who she was.

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AUTHORS NOTE
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—-WHOOP WHOOP, FIRST CHAPTER!!

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