The Everburning City

Act 1, Part 2, Chapter 10

Gwendolyn

There were some behaviours that people didn't grow out of.

It was usually the awkward mannerisms, the way you behaved when you hadn't quite acknowledged the motivation for your actions. Gwendolyn had seen enough flirting and budding romance over her few years stewarding that remedial work camp that she privately wondered if getting young people to hook up wasn't the place's primary purpose. The kids were awkward, hyper-attentive, laughed too eagerly, and were often the last people to even notice how their behaviour had changed.

And as far as Gwendolyn had seen, the way the kids did it never changed, no matter how old they got. Or the colour of their coat.

Crafter Olivia Polden was animatedly explaining something about the comm station that Valen had been working at. Her right hand was gesturing from switch to switch, her voice had taken on an almost musical tone, her breathing was slightly exaggerated, as if her diaphragm had taken the day off, and her left hand rested on the corporal's shoulder as if she were trying to undo the stitching on his coat.

Gwendolyn found her own feelings, upon seeing this, were very mixed.

Part of her actually liked the Crafter more because of it. Fawning over a corporal posted as far away from high-society as anyone in the City could get did suggest an appreciation for character over status. And as much as Gwendolyn wouldn't admit it aloud, it also suggested the Crafter had good taste.

Whatever other feelings Gwendolyn might have about seeing this were muted, substantially, but the fact that Valen would notice absolutely nothing about her behaviour. Olivia's red coat was probably more intimidating than an officer's sword, and his mannerisms were already reflecting the severe military deference shown to respected officers.

Though Gwendolyn's ear did perk up a little when the Crafter said something about being in a lot of trouble. Though knowing Valen, that trouble would fall exclusively on his shoulders. But the shift in the conversation, to the Crafter that turned on the others, that part now had her full attention.

"Gwendolyn, is anyone injured?" Valen asked. His question was so unexpected she nearly jumped when she heard him.

She sorted her thoughts as quickly as she could, and nodded. "No, sir," she managed to say before the pause in her response turned awkward. "Not so much as a singed coat. The Crafters were thorough."

"Good," Valen nodded. "Muster at the train. We're leaving as soon as we confirm the fields have been set alight. Hopefully our departure is less dramatic than last time."

"Doubt our Gloamtaken troubles would bother either of these two much," Gwendolyn noted.

"It would," Valen replied. "If you'll recall, their power might draw the Golem. If the Gloamtaken have gained the walls, it'll be up to us to get everyone out in one piece."

Gwendolyn nodded. "Sorry, sir."

"More latrine duty, I guess," Valen replied, with a warm smile that belied the threat. Seeing it on his face felt like a warm bath after walking through a storm. "Go make sure the engineers have warmed up the train. I'd like to wait as late as possible for a response, in case we have different orders for Crafter Polden."

"Will do, sir," Gwendolyn nodded, and turned away.

Distracted by her thoughts, she almost didn't notice the smell of smoke as she strode back up the tower. Her nerves struck her hard, and she clutched her hands together as she took a breath to steady herself. But as she calmed down, the particulars of the smells washed over her. Pungent, bitter smoke, fragrant, and light in colour. No acidic tinge of burning metal, or slagged stone. Just crops burning.