Fearless (A Mulan Retelling)

Chapter Eleven

When Iris awoke from her nap, she was groggy. No doubt due to the really early morning lesson Kayde had gotten her up for just three hours before. Ah yes, sleep deprivation was feeling like a very real thing now. Iris looked around now, noticing that most of the rogues were still asleep in their bunks. She got up anyways.

As soon as she arose, she went to the basin in the wash room of the barracks and cleaned her face with a cool rag. She closed the door behind her moments afterward and stared at herself in the small mirror hanging above the basin.

The first thing that she noticed was her eyes. Before she came here, her dark eyes had sparkled a little bit, even with all the things she had been through.

With her fear and drowsiness, however, they were dull. Her eye sockets were colored with dark rings and her lips were pulled into a frown. She also noticed that some of her hair had fallen in the night. Upon noticing that, she pulled her ponytail down, intent on fixing the stray hairs.

Noticing the dirtiness of her hair, Iris dipped her head in the washbasin, trying to scrub it all out. It felt so good to her exposed neck that she stripped of her armor and rinsed her whole body with the rag. After she was done, she noticed that she at least smelled better.

She put on her father's armor before tying her hair back into the short ponytail. Once she was finished, she noticed how weak she really did look. She may have been wearing armor, but she still had her mother's angled face.

After leaving the washroom, she headed straight for the door. She hoped the armory was open. She figured since it was still early, there may not be a line that she'd have to wait behind. No one to bump into or likewise converse with --no one that might study her. Once she left, she noticed how dull the morning was. There was no sun shining... just grey clouds.

She kept up a brisk walk, not noticing anyone awake yet. The camp had a desolate feeling to it without the presence of the sun.

All she could see was hard-packed mud that had been trampled over a thousand times or more, ashes from old campfires, and dull brown buildings. It was all the same.

Just dull.

Upon reaching the armory, she had still seen no sign of life, so it was a relief to see the blacksmith standing at the window. He noted her with confusion but still stepped closer to the counter to help her. After he placed his hands on the wooden stand, he spoke.

"Up early, eh? What can I help you with?"

"I came here with my measurements. I was told to come back today to retrieve my armor," she told him, standing tall.

He nodded and motioned for her to come closer to him. When she obeyed his gesture, he pulled out a piece of paper.

"Write down your name and I will see if it is ready."

She was extra careful to not write in graceful calligraphy like she had been taught but in her best sloppy scrawl. It seemed a little forced, she noticed, hoping that the man wouldn't read too much into it. The blacksmith snatched the piece of paper off of the counter and scurried to the back as he murmured to himself. She waited for a few minutes for him to come back.

When he did, she saw the lump of brown material in his hands. When he handed it to her, he spoke to her again.

"Go to the back room and try this on, lad, so I can see if it needs any alterations or modifications. It's made of fine studded leather, so for a rogue, it should suit you very well."

Iris nodded, and followed him to the back room. Once she was alone, she stripped the medium armor for the second time today and pulled on her new suit. It fit well, despite the hard tunic squeezing the living daylights out of her chest. However, that part would never be fixed --not until the day women were allowed in wars.