He was dreaming about her. Who else would he dream about? It was strange to him, a dream about dreaming. Him and her, lying together on the floor of a T-34 Scout aircraft, the only place on earth where they knew their Sargent would never find them. He never talked openly about their future, because it seemed so silly, but he tried to get it across. He couldn't help but imagine a cottage by the coast, he couldn't keep out the smell of burnt cookies he knew he'd fail to make properly, he was powerless to force away the possibility of having those brown eyes forever. In this dream he didn't want to wake up. He'd already done that before. He already woke up from those hazel eyes, from that deep brown hair, from a laugh that overpowered every sense of restraint in his body. He'd woken up from a girl who was bravery and courage shaped into the body of an angel. She was dead, but in that dream she was alive. So for the white ahead of his eyes he resisted, and for the feelings of her body diminishing to the ever potent cold he fought, until finally the sound of her breathing was gone, and he could only hear the howl of the northern wind.
He opened his eyes and saw the grey sky above him, a thin flurry of snow coming down on his nose. He couldn't hear any hustle and bustle of the wall, or the camp that he'd marched off to. He realized he had to move, he tried to roll himself onto his stomach but felt himself roll a lot farther than he thought he would. He caught himself on his hands. His fingers dug bitterly into the snow, before he summoned the coordination to look to his left and see that he'd rolled off of a pile of bodies. Billind. He saw the Jolly Man's face wholly devoid of life. The memories of exactly what had happened previously had rushed back towards him.
He tried to pull himself to his feet, but he stumbled awkwardly backward onto the bodies of his dead fellow soldiers. He was still groggy, he wondered if it was the poison. He got up slower this time. Upon standing, he took stock of where he was. He could see the tents had been packed up, the fires had been put out, and the loghouse was utterly abandoned. They're attacking. He got up and bolted the way he thought that he'd came. He was running, as fast as he'd ever run before. Like a sprinter at the track. He stumbled and slipped across the newly fallen snow before he saw the path open up to the wall. He looked and he could see men in fur skins hiding behind trees waiting for their attacks. He ran out into the clearing between the wall and the trees and then he turned around, "WAIT! WAIT WAIT!" He could see the Tribesmen lowering their bows, he turned to the wall and shouted as loud as he could, "Don't shooot! Don't shoot!" He saw the glint of stainless steel against snow filtered sunlight as the soldiers lowered their rifles.
He could see the man with a beard step out onto to the area of cleared trees beneath the wall. He had a bear skull ontop of his head, and was covered in a fur hide, cradling an Alzcan assault rifle in his arm. The woman with a bow quickly stepped up next to him. She had two and a half wolf skulls on her shoulder, and a crows feather behind her ear. She lifted her bow, "You're dead."
He threw up his hands, "That seems to be a pretty popular theme these days, but I'd really prefer it if I weren't."
The bearded manned turned to her, "Kill him right this time."
She shook her head, "I already did. I put a poison arrow in him."
"Maybe you missed."
"I didn't miss, I saw it draw blood"
"Well than how is he still alive?"
"I don't know."
"You probably missed"
She shook her head, "I put an arrow with enough poison to kill a giant into his calf, so I didn't miss. Now we can argue if it should have killed him, or you can give me the chance to kill him right this time."
Michael tensed up, but the bearded man smirked, "So you can miss again?"
She whipped around, Taking her arrow out of her quiver, and holding it up to the bearded man's throat, "Humiliate me again, and we'll see how often I miss."
"I'm here to negotiate!" Michael said.
"I know exactly why you're here." The bearded man responded, "To stand up on that wall and keep us from crossing it. Just like you always have for a thousand years, but now things have changed, now we're winning. So you come down with your tricks and your words, to try and change the truth. We're going to see the sun in the land of summer and you can't stop us." He reached behind his back and grabbed a mace of stone, "So time to see if I miss."
"There's nothing south!" Michael said, "Just burning lands, that's it. The Zytrians are at war, and they're losing, badly. There's an invasion coming-"
"An invasion?" The woman asked, her grasp on the bow weakening.
Although he wasn't certain exactly what the status of the war was, Michael wasn't afraid to embellish, "Yes, and invasion. You think this wall is imposing? You fear the gun atop it? You've never seen a Dragon before, I have. It can burn cities-"
"We have no cities." The man responded.
"I've heard of your war." The woman said, "I'm not scared, there's no fate."
"They burn villages, men women and children all together. They're armies are of sorcerers, men with powers to incinerate."
"Sorcerers." The woman said, "Like from before the changing of the guard?"
"Elves, and Orcs, and Dwarves, Ruthless, Brutal. And vengeful against the Zytrians."
"But we're no Zytrians!" The bearded man replied.
"Do you think they can tell the difference? A human is a human to them. They'll burn you all, they'll kill every last one of you. You think you're saving your people, but you're only dooming yourselves to burn, you're dooming us all!"
"More tricks and lies!"
The woman shook her head, "Even if I do believe you. We have to go south. My people's lives depend on it. If we stay then we'll all be deader than stones."
"And if you go south you'll die too." He replied, "That's why I'm here to negotiate, I want a truce."
"A truce? There's no truce! We win you lose, that's the truce. I'll watch this fortress sacked before I march south with my people behind me!" The Bearded man responded.
"A truce on what terms?"
"You can't be serious! This is our chance. To see the south." He stepped forward and grabbed her hand a softer look in his eye. His voice was warm and affectionate "This is what we talked about, when we were little. About seeing the summerlands , hills that roll like green waves on an ocean. We'd stay up at night we'd try and climb trees to see if we could see even the glimpse of a mountain peak on the other side of the wall, no matter what brought us here we can't give up on that dream now, not when we're this close."
Her fist tightened around the bow, "I'm not a child anymore."
"That's not what I-"
"My people come fist," she turned Michael, "What are your terms."
Michael's face brightened, "Thank God." He gestured to the wall, "We open the gate, we let you and your people in. We have enough rations to last all of us 6 months. By then, hopefully the war will be over and we'll be able to find you a home further south."
The bearded man shook his head, "Thora don't."
She turned back to the forest, "Everyone out!"
They came out from the forest in their thousands. First the warriors, then the women and the children. Many were carrying sleeping bags on their backs, and climbing equipment. They walked somberly, as if silently approaching the end of the world. Michael led them through the gate, to the silent army sent to stop them. Michael didn't take long to explain their arrangement to the white guard. Their was hostility from the soldiers yes, but both people's mostly just looked tired. The white uniformed guards of the wall looked as if ghosts staring upon the faces of the living, it was a strange sight to see. And when the first tired woman from beyond the wall laid down her bed roll, Micahel knew that a conflict one thousand years in its existence was finally over.
Michael made assurances to the tribesfolk that they could keep their weapons and whatever they brought with them. He said they could have their share of food and water, and that Fort-F could be there home, but only so long as none of them were ever spotted on the other side of the wall. He told the soldiers that so long as they tolerated the tribespeople, they wouldn't suffer the same fate as the other forts.
The woman with the bow turned to Michael as she stepped through the blackened gate at the rear of her people, "You know the fight isn't over right."
He looked away, "Could you shut up and just let me enjoy the first peace I've had in years?"
"I could."
"You know, I never did get your name. We should probably at least know eachother's names if we're going to lead together." Michael stood and watched the tribesmen set up their tents and begin lighting fires. It was as if this wall had always been their home.
"Thora. Thora Wolf's pelt."
He was curious, "How'd you get that name?"
"I was born on a hunting trip away from my village. They day I came into the world my father and mother were attacked by fifteen werewolves. My father fought them off, and when he returned home he brought me with him, and a dozen wolfs' pelts. Thus the name."
Michael nodded, "I got my name because my parents thought it sounded nice."
"She rolle