The sun had sunk well below the tops of the trees, casting the river and the forest into deepening shade. Across the river from him, the lights of the Shadow's camp had been lit, casting a dull orange glow upon the tents irregularly dotted among the trees. It was at times like this that his binoculars began to be drawn away from the riverbank, which the growing dusk rendered less and less distinct, and toward the camp, filled with light and motion and people. It was somewhat entrancing to him to watch, without thought of time, the perpetual motion of the inhabitants of the camp. Seated as he was on the opposite riverbank, in almost perfect shadow, he seemed almost to leave himself and glide unseen among those he watched, noting with detached curiosity their seemingly aimless motion. Here, a soldier paced alone among the tents, perhaps contemplating the division that had struck the nation that required him to raise his sword against those who had been his comrades; there, a group stolled along the riverbank, happily chatting as though unaware of that division. In one place, a group of older men sat in gloomy debate; in another, a group of young recruits were practicing fencing, as though it were sport to attempt the life of a fellow-creature, enemy though he be. On this last group his eye lingered. He recognized among the competitors the girl whom he had saved from the slow death of the Light's prison. She had replaced his cousin's costume with the uniform of the Shadow, composed entirely of black and complemented with gloves and her newly acquired sword and dagger. Her hair had been braided into a single thick plait between her shoulders. She seemed to be enjoying herself; she smiled and laughed gaily with the rest as she clumsily attempted to learn the use of a sword. He was reminded, not for the first time, of what a mystery she was to him. His mind was gated by the strict mechanics of reason, and his thoughts were formed accordingly. Emotions did not fit well within his scheme, and so he generally overlooked them. As far as a superficial glance could inform him, the girl's mind was rather antithetical to his: she seemed to be guided primarily by her feelings, and if she was at times directed by reason she barely knew it. It was a curious thing, he thought, that someone could be so oblivious to something so integral to her existence.

His musing was interrupted by the splash of oars as the flatboat approached to return him to the camp. Reluctantly lowering his binoculars, he watched without movement as the boat slid into place before him, then slowed to a stop as the ferryman, a thin, aging man, held it.

"Uneventful?"

The ferryman's voice, uncharacteristically deep, seemed to clash with his slight frame. In the past few days, he had gathered that the ferryman had been a person of some importance before the Light had come; now, the ferryman was in the employ of the Shadow, performing odd jobs around the camp to support the cause. No one ever seemed to notice the ferryman, but he had a way of noticing them regardless. No doubt the ferryman could have told many a tale had he been so inclined.

"Yes," he replied, as he boarded the boat. "Everything was as quiet as could be wished."

"Good, good." The ferryman pushed off and began the return journey across the river. "It would be unusual for the Light to come after us so quickly, but it is better to be prepared than surprised."

"Indeed."

They floated on in silence, until at length they landed at the camp, just below the area where the girl was playing at fencing. He stepped from the boat, nodded to the ferryman, who began to move the boat back upstream, and walked slowly toward the camp. Stopping in the shadows just far enough from the fencers that they would scarcely notice him, he returned to his thoughts. The majority of those in the group had arrived either shortly before or not long after he and the girl had, yet they talked and laughed as though they were already close friends — as though friendship, a thing so difficultly broken, could be so soon come by. There were, he thought, no fast friends; only fast candidates for friends. Friendship is never forged by balmy, slow-moving summer days: it emerges only from the searing flames of tribulation, and from the crushing frost of hardship. At least, it had been so for him. He had not called them friends when they had exchanged trivia and trivialities, but when their worlds had been split in two or shaken to the core, when they had thrown themselves upon him as the one immovable mark in the chaos that had engulfed their lives, he could call them nothing else. It had not been a thing he had expected, or even wanted, but gradually he had realized that he was across the chasm and that there was no return, and realized, too, that he would have it no other way. Yet now they were dead. That was the gnawing thought that persisted in making itself known. They were not just gone, they were dead. The magnitude of it was still too much for him to truly comprehend. He would never see them again, would never be able to help them again... because they were dead. And the worst part was that it had been his fault. His head was as clear as it had been since his escape, and for the first time he began to fully feel the weight of the exquisite guilt of what he had done. He seemed to be engulfed by a crushing void, that showed him his wrongs and demanded judgement. He had had a tremendous responsibility to them, and he had failed utterly. He should have fought for them until his last breath, but what had he done? They had trusted him, and he had broken that trust. And now they were dead. The happy young soldiers before him returned to his sight. What could they know of friendship, if they thought this was it? And what torment awaited them when they realized the truth?

The girl was looking toward him at that moment. Their eyes met. Excusing herself momentarily from her companions, she moved eagerly to the edge of the group. "Is that you?" she called.

He remained motionless for a moment, not comprehending her meaning. Then, awakening, he stepped reluctantly forward into the edge of the light surrounding the group. "If it is me that you mean," he replied, sensing very well that it was.

"I've hardly seen you since we got here." She had had been asleep for a non-negligible portion of that time, for which he was to blame. He had also avoided her direct attention, for which he was likewise to blame. "Want to come practice with us? You seem to know how to use a sword." He had, after all, allotted to himself an unequal portion of the weapons with which they had begun their journey, though fortunately he had not had to use them. Several of the others were watching him with curiosity, awaiting his response. The question, naturally, had only one correct answer by the rules of politeness, which he had not altogether abandoned. Besides, he did know how to use a sword, and practice with it would not be amiss — if any practice could be got from this lot.

"I suppose," he answered. He advanced reluctantly into the group, following the girl as she introduced him to the others as the mastermind behind her escape from the city. There were somewhat more than a dozen recruits in the group, all less than twenty years old. He was not used to crowds, and so his mind attempted to analyze them as individuals. At a glance, however, their appearances seemed to be all that distinguished them. Otherwise, they seemed in personality to match what he had seen in the girl thus far. They were, he thought, the kind of people who fade into the background, largely irrelevant to anything substantive. He pondered again how the girl's mind worked, attempting to avoid the evident answer that it did whatever it felt like. In the meantime there was some conference among the recruits, which resulted in his being handed a training foil and standing in an open space several feet away from a young man, about his own age, armed with a corresponding training foil. A countdown was made, and his opponent took the offensive with an artless lunge. He blocked elegantly, drifted to the side, and in the blink of an eye tagged the young man sharply on the chest with the blunted point of his foil. There was a ruffle among the spectators, and his opponent was changed for another not unlike the former enough to justify further distinction. He dispatched several more challengers in a similar manner with equal ease. Then, apparently, it was decided that perhaps it would be a fine thing to see if his skill could not help the girl, who appeared to be one of the least talented yet most popular of the newcomers, to become at least as competent as her fellows. Accordingly, the countdown was again initiated with the girl holding the foil opposite him. She was clearly still in the earliest beginner stages of learning swordplay, and she held the foil awkwardly, unaccustomed to it. When the countdown ended, she opted for a defensive strategy, which amounted to trying to hide behind her blade. He waited a few moments, circling slightly, then moved in. She attempted to block, but her uncertain grasp of the motions required reduced the block to effectively waving her sword in the hope that he might blunder against it and be repulsed. Instead, he feinted to one side, then swiftly and surgically darted his foil past her guard on the other and tagged her on the chest. A rematch was agreed upon, and the countdown was again performed. This round went much the same, but when he slipped past her guard she managed to dart backward just in time to keep from being tagged. However, the move put her off-balance, and the inevitable was delayed for only a moment.

"You're really good at this," she said, with admiration. He was by no means a master fencer, but the difference in skill was already great enough to make that irrelevant. The sentiment was repeated by others of the group.

"I used to practice a great deal." Those with whom he had practiced were, as he was incessantly reminded, deceased.

"Do you think you could... teach me? Sometime?" She seemed almost embarrassed to ask him (he could not be certain that she had not blushed the slightest amount), but hopeful at the same time. The request surprised him somewhat. It was not that he was averse to the idea, it was simply that it had not even remotely occurred to him until presented. He gazed back at her for several moments, trying to understand how she saw him. As best he could guess, she admired his superior skill and knowledge, but was also made shy by his earlier rebuttals.

At length, he replied. "Yes." That she was willing to be taught by him was a good sign, and it reminded him of his goal of teaching her to be more than the pawn she had been. There was, he was reminded, still a not insignificant chance of success.

"...Thank you." The girl seemed to take his acceptance with some amount of awe; whether because he had acquiesced easily for once or because she admired him he did not venture to guess. More than likely it was both.

Several minutes later, he found himself silently observing the efforts of the others of the group. They seemed to be slow learners, which frustrated him because he knew how they could have improved. As he watched, he noticed in the shadows the scout who had introduced him to the Shadow. The scout had been away from the camp for most of the time since they had arrived, and must have recently returned. The scout moved leisurely toward the group, then paused on entering the light. "What're you all up to?" he asked.

"Practicing fencing," a nondescript fair-haired girl answered, as several others greeted the scout eagerly.

The scout nodded slowly, advancing almost among the recruits. "How're you progressing?"

The girl chuckled. "Not very well."

"He's really good, though," a dark-haired boy added, indicating him.

"I'd offer to play a few rounds with you," the scout said, "but I'm not just here out of curiosity. The general said he'd like you —" he addressed the girl by name — "and your nameless friend here to join him. So if you'll excuse us, we'll take our leave of you for a moment."

The girl seemed surprised. "Me?" He could not help but share her curiosity; why the general would want to see her he could not guess. For that matter, it was almost an equal puzzle why the general wanted to see him.

"Yes, you. You'll have to let him tell you why, though."

"...All right."

The scout led the way away from the fencers toward the general's tent. The general was the leader of the Shadow; not by virtue of his popularity, necessarily, but because he was an accomplished tactician. He had seen the general before, though never up close. The general was tall and powerfully built, with iron-gray hair and a stern but benevolent air. His voice was smooth and deep, though he was reportedly past sixty years old. It had been the general who had begun to gather the Shadow. He had been part of the military under the previous regime, and instead of submitting to the Light he and his comrades had fled to plan a counter-revolution. As a result, the general was revered by nearly all of the Shadow as their founder, in addition to his other qualities.

The general's tent, as was to be expected, was situated centrally in the camp, and was noticeably larger than most of the other tents. A guard stood watch at the entrance, to whom the scout nodded as he led them into the tent. Inside, the tent was furnished most obviously with a round table at the center, surrounded by several chairs. Miscellaneuous crates, weapons, and papers adorned the floor beside the walls. The tent was also occupied by a number of people. The general sat opposite the doorway, with a map on the table in front of him. Beside him sat several of his advisors and officers, also focused on the map. The most unusual figure, however, stood to the side of the table, facing toward the table and map. It was a young girl almost certainly under thirteen, with long dark-brown hair. She was clad in the uniform of the Shadow, with the exception of her boots, which were purple-gray with silver accents, and carried a light sword whose hilt and sheath were in the same style. Most strangely, however, she wore a blindfold over her eyes, such that it must have been impossible for her to see anything; and yet she seemed not to mind it. As they entered the tent, most of those present looked toward them, including the stranger.

"Here they are," the scout announced.

The general greeted them. "Welcome."

The girl returned his greeting, not without puzzlement. "Thank you."

"You're wondering why I asked you here," the general began. "Allow me to explain. This," he gestured toward the stranger, "is none other than the former princess of this kingdom."

The revelation was, surprisingly, surprising, even to him. By all accounts, the princess had betrayed her grandfather in exchange for protection from the Light, and had been killed regardless shortly thereafter. Her appearance here was one of the last things he had expected.

The princess bowed slightly. "Greetings." She addressed the girl. "We have met before, I think?"

The girl was almost speechless with surprise at the turn of events, not to mention the princess's memory, but managed to answer the question. "It was at.. that royal dance, right? You were watching from behind the fountain, and I spoke to you."

The princess smiled. "I remember. That was one of the few real conversations I had outside of my own family and our closest servants." She paused a moment, then said, almost to herself: "You looked beautiful then. I'm sure you still do."

"...What do you mean?" the girl asked.

The princess's smile turned sad. "After the Light took over, I wasn't killed, as it seems to have been rumored. Instead, I was blinded, as the reward of my betrayal. That's why I wear this." She touched the blindfold.

"...I'm so sorry..."

"It's all right. I've gotten used to it by now."

He marveled at how the princess seemed perfectly able to live with herself. He himself had been crippled by his guilt for entire months, and he still felt the overpowering weight of his conscience. Yet the princess seemed, if not as happy as before, scarcely more unhappy. She had done worse than he had; she had betrayed her own grandfather. Yet here she was, seemingly still cheerful. How did she manage it?

The general took the opportunity to continue his explanation. "Our scout here found her wandering the city. He offered to lead her here, and she accepted. Your presence here was actually his suggestion. You struck him as an aristocratic type, and he thought you might have met each other."

"I was right, too," the scout remarked.

"We also thought that your friend could be of use, since he was able to bring you safely most of the way here."

"I hear he's good with a sword."

"He is," the girl added quietly, glancing sideways at him in a manner that almost struck him as nervous.

"So, in a word," the general went on, "we think that both of you could prove to be valuable sources of intelligence. With what you know and you've seen, we can assault the Light's stronghold more effectively."

He thought that it was rather ironic that the general and the scout treated the girl as the more valuable of the two of them; he was just her friend (though he could not, in fact, honestly say so as of yet). It was amusing that they would assume that the aristocrat whose primary concern was not being bored would know, much less remember, any kind of militarily useful secret, and was more useful than a scholar who knew no small amount of floor plans by heart. Of course, he reminded himself, they had no way of knowing who he had been. The most they knew about him was that he was reclusive, endurant, and an excellent fencer.

The girl seemed to sympathize with his misgivings. "I don't know.. if what I remember would be useful..."

"Anything counts, even if it seems insignificant. That's partly why we thought it would be a good idea to introduce you and the princess: you can exchange ideas and possibly remember more with each other's help. The scout can also help you, since he knows what kind of information can prove useful."

"So you want us to tell you everything we know about the city so you can invade it?"

"If possible, we may attempt a covert operation against the Light's leaders to minimize loss of life. But otherwise, yes, that's exactly what I'd like you to do."

"...All right."

"How about we meet up by that big oak tree next to the river to talk about it?" the scout suggested.

The princess and the girl nodded assent.

"Very good," the general said. "That should be all for now, unless any of you care to pore over a few months' worth of battle plans."

Making battle plans was not something he was unskilled at, but he did not think that his presence would be justified, and he preferred to keep himself unknown. He followed the scout and the girls out of the tent.

They took their leave of the princess and the scout, and began to return to their tent for the night. Though numbers of new recruits had joined the ranks of the Shadow, their particular tent had not yet gained any additional tenants. As they walked, the girl appeared to be deep in thought. At length, she turned toward him and asked, "What do you think of the princess?"

He was unsure of the origin of the question, but he answered anyway. "She seems to be well-educated for her age. She must also have some survival skills to stay alive in the city for so long, and while blind."

The girl nodded. "Did you see how she moved around almost like she could still see...?" He had noticed the phenomenon, but had attributed it to practice. Yet the princess had reportedly only just arrived at the camp. "And she remembered me just by my voice..."

After some moments' silence, the girl went on to ask him if he had met any of her 'new friends' from the Shadow. He answered in each case that he had not noticed the person in question, and eventually the girl lapsed into silence again. As they entered their tent, he noted to himself with some disfavor that the girl seemed to have been affected negatively by her new acquaintances; that is, they had made her more like what she was, to the exclusion of what he wanted her to be. At least there was the chance to teach her fencing, which might prove at least somewhat beneficial to her.

"Goodnight," she said, as he drifted off to sleep.

He did not answer.