[ WP ] Under pressure , precious things break .

The picture was an older one, still crisp and colored in the way only photographs taken from before the Arrival could be. It depicted a young woman, well-groomed and with her auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. She wore a white labcoat, a green helmet embroidered on its breast. She stood before a brick building, its name half-hidden by a carefully trimmed hedge. She seemed to smile, perhaps at some joke unseen and unheard. The photo had been placed within the lid of a pocket watch, the thin steel hands slowly ticking down the seconds and minutes... 
 
 `` Who is she?'' Faith asked, leaning over Hilary Flint's shoulder. With a tired snarl he snapped the watch shut and shoved it back into his pocket. 
 
 `` Did n't those fucking tutors of yours ever teach you to mind your own business?!'' 
 
 Faith shrugged, the bundle of firewood collected in her arms rising and falling with the gesture. 
 
 `` No, as a matter of fact. They taught me horseback riding, music, magic, six different languages and etiquette. Nothing whatsoever about'business.' I am not a merchant.'' A long pause fell as she stacked the wood besides the old fire ring. `` So who is?'' 
 
 Flint's hand felled down to the pocket which held the watch, his eyes tired as he spoke. `` Her name was Elena. She was my wife.'' Faith's face went soft. 
 
 `` *Was? * I'm sorry...'' 
 
 `` Do n't be,'' he said. `` I- I met her at State. She was in the medical program there, and I was studying anthropology. We were still students when the Arrival came. She managed to survive those first terrible months, even made it north with the refugees. It was she who nursed me back to health after the Battle of Fowlerville, after that Elvish knight nearly ran me through with that lance of his. We married, and thought ourselves fortunate, for a while at least.'' 
 
 `` What happened?'' 
 
 `` She became with child,'' Flint explained, his eyes damp. `` And it was a cold, bitter winter when our son was born. He was a such a tiny, fragile thing. Twenty-six weeks old he was. I could hold him, in my hand, just like this.'' He held out a callused palm as if a faint weight was on it. `` The child did n't survive. If we'd a modern NICU maybe it would've lived. But with the ongoing Dying Times... 
 
 `` We both dealt with the loss in our own ways. I devoted myself to my duties as a Ranger, leaving for weeks and months at a time. Elena, she took it upon herself to delve into every scrap of Fae lore and medicine she could get her hands on. One of the first to scrape the surface at the potential of Humans and magic. One day I came back from a mission, and she'd had just vanished, gone off to who know's where. I never saw her again. 
 
 `` I've buried lots of comrades, kid. Their loss hurts but at least you have closure. With the missing, every day brings fresh pain as you realize you have no clue, idea as to their fates. It would've been kinder had she committed suicide. At least then I'd know her pain is over.'' 
 
 
 

